“Mom! What the hell are you doing out here?”
“None of your business. Go back inside where you belong.”
Her son’s eyed narrowed to slits. “What’s that on your neck?”
“William Anthony Connelly, I respect your privacy. I expect you to show me the same courtesy.”
“Oh, for the love of . . .” Will swore. “I’m happy to respect your privacy, but I’d really rather not find you necking in the woods with HANK OSBOURNE!” he roared.
“Will!” Julianne called from the porch. “You’ll wake the baby!” She waved at Annabeth. “Hey, Annabeth. We were just going to have dessert. Would you like to join us?”
The last thing Annabeth wanted to do was make small talk with her son right now. “No, thank you, Julianne. I have an early day tomorrow. I’m going home. Thank you, though.”
“I’ll walk you home.” Her behemoth son was being a tad overprotective.
“It’s only across the driveway, Will. Your mother isn’t in any danger. If it makes you feel better, come up here and stand next to me and we’ll both watch her safely to her door.” Julianne winked at Annabeth.
Will tried his game face on her, but Annabeth was immune. She strolled inside unaccompanied, making a mental note to offer to watch Owen for Julianne every day for a week.
Twenty
Owen kicked his feet and pumped his arms in his bouncy seat.
“I’m going to have to start calling you Cheerio, little man. You’re way too happy in the morning.” Will took another swallow of his coffee, reaching over to wipe a spit bubble off his son’s chin. “Daddy is not a morning person, so you’re gonna have to tone it down a notch.”
The baby let out a delighted gurgle at Will’s words. Will smiled in spite of himself. Now nearly two months old, Owen was awake for longer spurts of time. Usually Will didn’t mind, but this morning he’d hoped to have his son fed and back to sleep before Julianne finished her shower. Unfortunately, Owen had other ideas, meaning there wouldn’t be a repeat of yesterday morning’s soaping of his wife’s back, among other things.
For the past two days, he and Julianne had secluded themselves in the house, taking care of their son and each other. Since her storming of his bedroom, they’d had sex at least a dozen times, and Will still couldn’t seem to get enough of her. What they hadn’t done was talk. At least not about their relationship. That subject seemed to be the elephant in the room, neither of them wanting to disturb it.
That wasn’t the only thing Will had been avoiding. Roscoe had been calling and texting him since their phone conversation the other night, but Will hadn’t bothered to answer. The mess with Bountygate was getting uglier, and Hank and Roscoe had been correct: Will’s name was right in the center of the storm. He needed to decide what to do, but Paul Zevalos wasn’t returning his phone calls, either.
As if all that weren’t enough, finding his mother in the woods outside the house making out with his team’s GM was proof enough that Will’s world was beginning to resemble a busted play. He wasn’t naïve enough to think his mother had remained celibate since his birth; she was young and very pretty, after all. But she’d been discerning of her reputation, and his, for many years, keeping her relationships very private. Much as she kept the rest of her life. Hank Osbourne, on the other hand, cut through a swath of rich divorcées like Brody Janik ran through defenses after a catch. His mother wasn’t on the same level with the socialites Hank wore on his arm. Will still believed Hank was using his mother to gain information on his relationship with Coach Zevalos, and he worried she’d end up hurt.
Julianne’s cell phone buzzed in its charger. Her phone had rung twice already this morning and it was barely nine o’clock. Will handed Owen a mini Blaze football. The baby’s hands immediately clamped around it, his long-fingered hold sparking a burst of pride in Will before Owen brought it up to his mouth and began gumming it.
With Owen now occupied, he meandered over to where Julianne’s phone sat on the desk. He told himself he wasn’t snooping, just curious about whether he should alert her that she had messages. This was the problem with their not having talked. Will was fairly certain he knew all her secrets—surely she couldn’t have more—but her brother was still a major player in Bountygate, and Roscoe’s warnings about not trusting her played like a highlight reel in the back of his mind.
Two missed calls and one text message from her brother. His whole body tensed. The shower was still running upstairs. Damn it! If he didn’t check, Roscoe’s voice would poison every interaction he and Julianne had today, including the sexy one he’d been planning for the boathouse later on. If she had something to hide, she’d keep her phone locked or out of sight. With one finger, he slid the keypad open and read the text from her brother.
Call me. You haven’t checked in for two days. I need to know what’s going on with Will. How’s the baby?
A bead of sweat ran down his back. She was checking in with her brother daily? He didn’t get the impression they were that close. And she was giving her brother updates? On him? No! Will wasn’t going to let Roscoe’s paranoia get to him. He needed to trust Julianne. And not just because he was beginning to need Julianne.
“Dude, are you just gonna let that kid gum that football to death?”
Will jumped at the sound of Brody’s voice, nearly flinging Julianne’s phone onto the tile floor.
“Jesus, Janik, have you ever heard of knocking?” Will gently placed the phone back in its spot.
“I didn’t have to knock. I saw you from the verandah so I knew you were home.”
“What are you, a freakin’ peeping Tom?” Will needed a punching bag to take out his anger on, and Brody had arrived uninvited. “What if my wife were walking around naked in here?”
A slow grin spread over Brody’s face, further stoking Will’s anger.
“So it’s now that kind of marriage, huh?”
Will still wasn’t sure what kind of marriage he had, but he wasn’t discussing it with Brody. He lunged across the kitchen at him, but the agile tight end, adept at avoiding linebackers in pursuit, danced out of his way.
“Dude, I brought breakfast!” He shook a white paper sack from the Queen of Hearts Bakery in front of Owen’s face. The baby squealed in delight. “Do you want a scone, little dude?”
“Give me that!” Will snatched the bag from Brody, his stomach rumbling as the scent of fresh blueberry scones wafted out of the bag. “You’ve done your good deed for the day, now get out.”
Brody turned one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, tickling Owen’s bare feet as he sat in front of the baby. “No can do. Roscoe told me I couldn’t leave until I physically saw you call him. Seriously, that guy’s a pain in the a . . . keester.” He winked at Owen. “I may have to look for other representation if he keeps using me as his tool.”
Roscoe was getting desperate if he was resorting to forcing his other clients to do his bidding. Not that Brody had to be forced to butt into Will’s business. He’d seemed to make a career of it. Will pulled out his cell phone and texted his agent, telling him he’d call him when he was damn well ready.
“Done.” He shoved the phone back into the pocket of his shorts. “Now, you can go.”
“Jeesh, your daddy is grouchy in the morning,” Brody said to the baby.
Will rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Brody, you were right the other day. This . . . thing could get a little ugly before it gets resolved. While I appreciate your lapdog determination—”