Page 14 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

“I’m sorry Alana left you. And I’m sorry for treating you like an enemy.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I look at you, Fox, and I see a threat. Someone Alana might choose over…”

“You?”

Warmth settles in his cheeks, a gentle blush I’m not sure even he knows he’s rocking.

“Plainview. She might leave, which means I’ll have to hold my brother through his grief again.

Or he’ll leave, too, and I’m honestly not sure who will hold me.

Which, you’re probably thinking I deserve; a result of my shitty attitude. ”

“I didn’t say that.” I dig my hands into my pockets and relax my shoulders. “Might’ve thought it here and there, but I wouldn’t say so out loud.”

He chuckles, exhaling a soft, mint-flavored breath that feathers against the hanging tendrils of my hair.

“I was so focused on me , that I didn’t consider you’ve lived the same life.

I had Alana’s childhood, and you had her twenties.

We both know what it’s like for her to hit the freeway and leave us behind, and dammit, I was so determined not to feel that way again.

I wanted to hate you and hope you’d walk away. ”

“There’s no rule that says we have to compete. She made her choices, and even if I think this place is a dump, I want her to be wherever she’s happiest. That’s what love means.”

“Makes you a better person than me.”

“Yeah. But I already told you that.” My phone vibrates in my back pocket, buzzing against my butt and drawing my hand around to grab it.

But I search Chris’ eyes first. I don’t dare pass up an opportunity for a truce.

“She’s not coming back to New York unless Tommy and Franky agree to do the same.

And believe it or not, but word on the street is that Tommy ain’t going anywhere without you.

So you could probably chill on World War III.

I’m only here to visit, and eventually, I have to leave again.

” I spy my phone screen and Tommy’s text:

3cm! It’s taking foreverrrrrr !

Lowering it again, I shrug. “If this was a competition, it’s pretty safe to say you’ve already won.”

“I’m sorry I was a dick.”

“No, you’re not. You meant every word you said, and you definitely can’t wait for me to leave. But you feel kinda bad about it now that you realize you won.” I bring my phone up again and show him the screen. “You wanna call Tommy and talk him down before he tears the walls off the hospital?”

He scans the words on my screen and smirks when he gets to the end.

Concentration makes way for relief, and fear is replaced with contentment.

Then he shakes his head and wanders to my fridge.

“You call. Put him on speaker. We’ve got five minutes before Barbara makes a report to child services about Franky’s neglect. ”

Snorting, I unlock the phone screen and swipe to my call log, but before hitting dial, I walk back to the door and onto the landing outside.

And since I don’t actually give a single shit about the people in this town and their judgment of me, I cup my mouth and shout, “Franky!? You okay down there?”

Scandalized, Chris straightens at the fridge and spins in my peripherals. This, at least, is entirely predictable. I consider it exposure therapy. Which is exactly how I got Franky used to my shouting.

“Franklin?!”

“Don’t shout.” Chris rushes across to the door. “He’s never going to answer to?—”

“I’m okay!”

Smug, I turn back and stare up at a man whose mouth hangs open in shock.

“If you do something often enough, even those who struggle with regulation and public nervousness tend to adapt. The first time, we were in a department store in the city, so I played Marco Polo just for fun.”

“He would’ve hated that.”

You would hate that.

“He did. At first. But he got used to it. Now, he knows the sooner he responds, the sooner I stop.”

“Child abuse.”

I choke out a laugh and shimmy around the man who takes up most of the doorway.

Slipping under his arm, I stroll back to the fridge he left open.

“Oh, you got the fruity soda. Franky, for sure, told you this was my favorite.” I tap on Tommy’s name and tap again on the icon to set the call on speaker, then I toss the device to the counter and snag a soda .

One for me. One for Chris.

“Is everything okay?” Tommy answers in a panic. “Please tell me you haven’t lost Franky. Lana can’t handle that kind of stress right now.”

“You think so little of me.” I pull up a chair at the counter and crack open my drink. “Franky’s fine. I’m fine. Chris is a little out of sorts, so I figured he could do with hearing your voice.”

“Chris?” His tone hitches on the single word. “Where is he? What’d you do to him?”

“What did I do? Jesus. What on earth have I done to earn this reputation? I’m a nice person!”

“I’m here,” Chris rumbles, stalking to the end of the counter. He bends and rests his elbows on the faux-granite top, running a hand through his hair before he cracks the seal on his soda. “I was helping her bring her suitcases upstairs when you texted. So she called to check in.”

“Called to give the man-boy a taste of home,” I murmur under my breath, earning a side glare from said man-boy.

“Are you…” Hesitant, Tommy pauses. “You guys are getting along now?”

“We never don’t get along.” Lie, lie, big fat pumpkin pie . But I sip my soda and smirk behind the lip of the can. “Alana needs us to be friends. Thus, we’re friends. I have no clue why you’re so pressed about it.”

“How’s she doing?” Chris counters. Change the subject, man-boy. It’s okay. You miss your momma . “She in pain?”

“She’s frustrated and tired. And sweating a little bit.”

Tommy mustn’t be with her, since he wouldn’t dare mention the sweat where she can hear.

Which, I suppose, is something Chris notices, too. “Where is she? Where are you?”

“I’m in the hall, Lana’s in her room having her blood pressure taken. I saw Fox’s name on my screen and figured she’d either lost Franky or killed my brother. Neither of which is something the mother of my child needs to overhear right now.”

“Ye, of such little faith. In fact, Chris and I are basically best friends at this point.” I glance across and beam because, of course, his eyes narrow to slits.

Something about lying really pisses him off .

“He helped me with my suitcases, and now we’re having sodas.

We’re heading back downstairs in a sec, to make sure Franky hasn’t been tempted by a pedo-van filled with puppies.

Oh, and Barbara needs to have her bookstore membership revoked.

She comes in here, reads books she didn’t pay for, consumes the free coffee, and counts out her pennies for the pastry she wishes she could have at a five-finger discount.

Who needs judgy, narcissistic mothers when you have customers like that? ”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Tommy drawls. “Are you pissing people off, Fox? Because I’d really like the store to still be operational by the time Alana gets back.”

“I could light the old twat on fire, and the shop would still be functional. They come here for the gossip, Thomas, not the books.” I set my soda on the counter and scrunch my nose, because Chris’ controlling gaze follows my every move.

Every breath. Every single word I utter.

Sliding off my stool, I head back to the apartment door and cup my mouth. “Franklin? You okay?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls. “This is how she parents, Tommy. Marco Polo is the extent of her protective measures.”

“I’m okay!” Franky calls back.

Smug, I turn on my heels and enjoy that extra buzz of satisfaction when I find Chris’s eyes glued to my legs.

Lord knows he doesn’t mean for them to be.

“You sure whine a lot for a guy not parenting that kid. You could be downstairs right now, watching over him and beating child services off with a stick. Instead, you’re up here, crawling out of your skin because you need your big brother to pat your head.”

“This is gonna be a wild six weeks,” Tommy sighs. “I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!” Chris snatches my phone and holds it near his mouth. “She’s okay? Does she need anything? Do you need anything?”

“I need to get back in there so I can take care of Alana and my baby girl, but I can’t do that till you two knuckleheads stop bickering. Are we good?”

“We’re good.” I slide past Chris, brushing obnoxiously close purely to annoy him, and steal my phone and soda, walking away again.

My suitcases are upstairs, and my favorite little guy is downstairs.

Thus, it’s time for relocation. “I’ll keep the guys on a tight leash and the external stimuli to a minimum, lest we have a meltdown. ”

“You mean Franky?”

I saunter through the door and smirk at the thunder of Chris’ stomping footsteps. “Sure. You go do the Alana stuff. Tell her I love her to bits, and I need her to bake me banana bread just as soon as she’s up to it.”

“Not gonna tell her that last bit.”

“Bummer.” I don’t bother checking that Chris locks up behind him—despite my expensive laptop and the horde of snacks I packed—because I know he’s that kind of guy.

He wouldn’t dare leave someone’s living quarters exposed to the public.

“Make sure you mention the love then, and send progress texts whenever you have time to breathe. If she’s only at three centimeters, I expect that baby will be here somewhere between dinnertime and next Christmas. ”

“Helpful,” Tommy grumbles. “Doctor said we still have a while.”

“Like I said. We’ll hang out here and lock up at five, then we’ll get Franky fed and settled in or whatever. When it’s time, it’s time. You’ll call when she’s up for visitors.”

“Yeah, I guess?—”

“Oh! I meant to ask. Chris wants to know if he can be in the birthing suite? He wants to see Alana poop.”

“What?”

Chris spasms, almost tumbling down the stairs behind me. “What?”

“No!” Tommy snarls. “He doesn’t get to come in here for that. What the hell is wrong with you, Chris?”

I peek over my shoulder and swallow the bubbling laughter, desperate to escape. “Sorry, little buddy. I asked, but he said no.”

“Chris!”

“I didn’t ask that!” Chris grabs the phone and takes the call off speaker, then he shoves past me, crushing me to the wall because there’s simply not enough room for us both. “I did not ask to see anything. She’s full of shit.”

He strides between book stacks and moves toward the front of the shop, nodding to whatever Tommy says and grunting at other things. Finally, he reaches the desk—no child-services officers in sight—and offers the phone. “You wanna talk to Tommy for a sec?”

Elated, Franky takes the phone and brings it to his ear. “Tommy! Is the baby here yet?”

While he chats, Chris turns with a snarl and stalks back in my direction, meeting me halfway through the long store and stopping only when our toes almost touch.

He gives me no choice but to fold my neck back to maintain eye contact.

Despite his formidable rage, I can’t help the teasing upturn of my lips. “Problem, Christian?”

“We were getting along.”

“Huh… Guess we were.”

“And then you went and pulled that shit.”

“You call that shit .” I suckle on my bottom lip and snicker. “I call it comedic genius.” And since his eyes drop to my lips, I decide I’ll dig at him a little more. “I saw you checking out my ass, by the way. And my legs.”

His cheeks turn a deathly white.

“You’re an adult, I’m an adult. You’re single, I’m single. We’re healthy, attractive human specimens. It makes sense you’d look. ”

“I wasn’t looking!”

“Really? You weren’t?” I twist and peek back at my bum. “We were getting along, Christian. But here you go, defaulting back to being unkind.” I exhale a dramatic sigh and pat his chest, before stepping around him and moving toward the counter. “Hurts my feelings. Hurts all my feelings!”

Still, I glance over my shoulder and catch him, deer in the headlights, staring at my ass.

“Mmhmm.”