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  Panic seizing control of his decisions, Jax dropped his shoes and bolted through the front door.

  Chapter 16

  OZ RACED into the kitchen behind the girls to find Joaquín standing there with three bouquets clutched in his hand.

  His stream of vulgar Spanish was too idiomatic for Oz to get every word, but Oz caught enough to translate it as, “Who’s that motherfucker and what’s he doing in my house?”

  Before Oz could get a lock on the anger blasting through him, he snapped back, “It’s my goddamned house.”

  When Angela ducked around him, Oz realized he’d taken several steps toward Joaquín.

  “You wanna watch the language in front of the kids?” She threw that at Joaquín before her eyes searched Oz’s face.

  He unclenched his fists and held up his hands. “I’m fine.”

  Jax was nowhere to be seen. Had he run upstairs?

  “Papi?” Ayla’s voice was uncertain.

  Joaquín went down on one knee in front of her, offering one of his bouquets, pink carnations and daisies. “Para ti, mi bella. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Thank you.” She flung her arms around his neck, until Regan came and tugged at her.

  “Do I get flowers, Papi?”

  “Sí, mi bebé.” He held out another bouquet.

  She hugged him and then ran to show it to Oz. “Look at my flowers, Daddy.”

  Oz didn’t hear footsteps overhead. Could Jax have gone into the basement instead?

  “I made you a Valentine at school, Papi,” Ayla told him.

  “I would love to see it.” Joaquín rose to his feet, setting the third bouquet, four roses with baby’s breath, on the counter.

  Ayla dashed over to her book bag.

  Oz kept an eye on Joaquín as he bent to inspect the bouquet Regan held out. “They’re very pretty, Regan. Did you thank Papi?”

  “Thank you, Papi,” she said.

  “De nada, mi bebé.”

  Regan looked up at Oz. “Where’s the TV man? I want to show him my flowers. The him on TV gave one to the girl.”

  Oz stared at Joaquín, who shrugged. Fucking shrugged. Of course he did. When was the last time Oz had looked at his face and seen anything but that placid sneer?

  “Girls, why don’t you give me your flowers, and I will put them in water so they stay nice.” Angela gathered the roses and bent down to take the bouquet from Regan. Oz wondered if she’d correctly interpreted the tension in his muscles as a desire to shake that expression off his ex’s face.

  He bet that muscle was twitching like hell now.

  Go get him, Angela mouthed.

  “Daddy, where’s the TV man?” Regan asked again.

  “I’m going to find him,” Oz said, and took the stairs two at a time.

  His bedroom was empty, and the bathroom, and both of the girls’ rooms.

  As Oz jogged down and back through the kitchen to the cellar door, Joaquín stared at him over the glitter-covered heart Ayla was showing him.

  Oz ground his teeth together and went into the cellar. Jax wasn’t in the laundry room or the storage room, near the fuse box or the water heater.

  What the fuck had Joaquín said before Oz got out to the kitchen?

  He climbed the cellar stairs and went straight for the front door. If he looked at Joaquín, Oz didn’t think he could hang on to his temper.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to the air as he yanked open the door.

  “Daddy, you need a coat.” Regan ran up behind him.

  “I’m only going out for a minute, baby.”

  “And TV man forgot his shoes.”

  Oz turned back, seeing the size twelve Hi-Top black-and-blue Vans under the coat hooks.

  Jesus, Jax. What the hell?

  WHEN HE got down to the sidewalk, Oz couldn’t see a tall, barefoot, boneheaded former child actor headed either way on 209th Street. Guessing Jax was probably retracing the cab’s route from 295, Oz headed south toward Hillside Avenue.

  He reached for his phone to call the jackass but realized it was on the kitchen counter.

  The sun was dropping, sending the temperature back down under freezing. His SoCal boy had to be miserable. Jesus, Oz was miserable. He should have taken the car.

  Jax had stood still when he was a kid with a fishhook stuck in his ear. What could have made him bolt like a rabbit?

  Oz started to go left on Hillside, then saw Jax across the street sitting on a bench, one leg bent to tuck his foot under his thigh. His other foot was pulled up inside his jeans. His thick, wavy hair hung over his face as he tapped at his phone.

  The crossing light was flashing Don’t Walk, but Oz jogged across the intersection, stepping off the center island as the light changed, ignoring the impatient honks and swerving around a car that almost drove through him.

  Jax glanced up at the sound, then back at his phone, though his thumb stopped typing. He kept his eyes focused on the screen as Oz approached, even when Oz sat next to him.

  Oz shoved his freezing hands in his pockets. “So. Word all over TMZ is that some homeless former child actor is wandering down Hillside Avenue in bare feet.”

  Jax didn’t look up. “At least they got that right.”

  “My ex can be a serious asshole sometimes.”

  Jax turned, eyes studying Oz’s face. “Ex?”

  “Husband.”

  At Jax’s stunned expression, Oz went on, “Yeah. I married him. I know. Kind of calls my judgment into question, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. We separated over a year ago and the paperwork on the divorce was finalized in August.” He exhaled. “Are you going to jump in anytime soon?”

  “And the kids—Ayla and Regan?”

  The sound of his daughters’ names in Jax’s voice made Oz’s chest feel hard and loose at the same time, like that free-falling thing was going to happen again.

  “We adopted them together.”

  Jax nodded.

  Oz stood. “I wasn’t planning on the day going like this.” That was an understatement. “But it did. And some of that is okay because this already seems like more than just getting each other off.” He took the tied-together Vans off his shoulder and thumped them onto the bench next to Jax’s thighs. “If that’s not the case for you, fine. But I’d kind of like to explain more where it’s not so damned cold. And your feet are turning blue.”

  JAX COULDN’T believe he’d been so stupid. Or that a simple pair of sneakers could be so warm. As they walked down Oz’s street, Jax carefully backspaced out the story he’d been prepping to send Dane and Gideon about getting lost in Queens and being mugged for his Vans and needing someone to come get him. Because the truth, I ran out of my maybe-boyfriend’s house barefoot because I felt like a horrible home wrecker and was afraid I’d end up in the tabloids was way too humiliating.

  When they got to the house, the ex-husband straightened from his lean against a red Honda Accord. He spoke Spanish at first, but Jax’s memory allowed him to translate that much at least. “Your sister threw me out of the house.”

  Oz stopped several feet away. “You promised you’d text before coming over.”

  The man switched to English. “I had a surprise. For the holiday. This is your new boy?” He gave Jax a dismissive look.

  Not that Jax expected Oz’s ex to be glad that Oz was moving on. It was just weird. Like Jax was in some kind of scene but he’d forgotten his lines and no matter how long he delayed, the director kept rolling. He felt the camera come in for a tight shot on his blank face.

  The ex walked around Jax. “Not bad cake for a white boy.”

  Jax changed his assessment from scripted show to reality TV since it felt like the ex was acting out a role from Jersey Shore.

  “Thank you.” It was a compliment. And Jax could always take a compliment.

  “Don’t thank me. You better hope you don’t make any mistakes. Follow all his little rules.” He jerked his chin at Oz. “No matter what, you get thrown out like me. N
o man will ever be good enough, eh, mi amor?”

  The guy walked back around Jax and opened the driver’s door of the Accord. “My other surprise. I got a new job. A good one. I’m going to be the personal trainer for Dayanara. Her latest record is going platinum.” He got in the car. “I have to go down to Miami, but I’m doing something for mis niñas to look up to.” He slammed the door.

  Jax made sure to be well on the grass as the car flew back down the driveway.

  After the car had scraped into the street, Oz turned and looked at Jax. “So that was Joaquín.”

  The crinkle at the corners of Oz’s eyes made the panic swelling Jax’s throat ebb enough for him to get a breath.

  “I think I promised you an omelet.” Oz led the way into the kitchen.

  “Are things, uh—” Any of the ways Jax tried to put the words together sounded like criticism, but he couldn’t believe Oz was so calm. “—always so hectic?” Hectic was definitely less of an accusation than chaotic.

  Jax remembered all the times Oz had to push back or postpone one of their planned phone calls and realized it was a stupid question.

  “No.” Oz smiled. “Usually, it’s worse.” He leaned into Jax as they went through the door. “I’m kidding.”

  Angela met them in the kitchen. “God, he makes me crazy. You should make him follow the custody agreement.”

  Custody agreement. This was all so very far from anything Jax had experienced. He got that gay people got married—could get married now—but all the rest of this stuff, divorces and custody agreements, it wasn’t covered in the news reports of happy couples on courthouse steps. Theo was walking blindly into it, and Jax was—Jax didn’t know what he was doing here.

  “Thanks, Angle, I never thought of that.” Oz’s sarcastic voice stung, and Jax was glad it wasn’t aimed at him. “You staying for supper?”

  “What are you making?”

  “Breakfast. Omelets and pancakes.”

  “Damn. I wish I could, but I’d better get Kenneth home and make sure he does some homework.”

  If Angela and her son left, it would only be Jax, Oz, and the two little girls. As much as Jax wanted to hear what Oz had to say about this being more than getting each other off, Jax didn’t see that happening around Ayla and Regan. The whole two-dads scenario—not that anyone was asking him to play that role—was something Jax was nowhere near close to ready for.

  Regan ran out into the kitchen. Jax couldn’t say he’d seen her do much walking yet. She was always in a hurry.

  She stopped in front of him and reached out, but stopped before she touched his hand. “Come see. He looks more like you now.”

  Right. Because in addition to everything else that had happened, Oz’s daughters were watching Jax grow up in bursts on Family Daze.

  “Can you do me a favor, Regan baby?” Angela said. “Go tell Kenneth we’re leaving.”

  “Okay.” She turned away, then ran back. “Bye, Aunt Angle.” She threw a hug around her aunt’s thighs and then darted away again. When she hit the hall, she screamed, “Kenneth!”

  “Ayla stormed off upstairs because I made Joaquín the Jerk leave. She’s probably making a voodoo doll for me right now,” Angela said after the echo from Regan died away.

  “No way.” Oz held up a hand. “I don’t let them have computer access in their rooms, and they don’t cover that until next year of Sunday school.”

  Angela grabbed her coat from a hook by the door where it had been covering Jax’s. He should put on that too-thin-for-New-York wool, wrap the scarf over his face, and skulk off. Call a cab. Like Oz had said, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

  Jax didn’t need this kind of stuff going on. After all, he had to get back to his hotel suite in Vancouver so he could… sit around and wait for a call that wasn’t going to come.

  Angela shrugged into her coat. “It was nice meeting you, Brian Anderson aka Jax Conlon.”

  Jax shook the hand she held out.

  “Oz told me about you not being out. Don’t worry. I’m not planning on e-mailing Page Six.”

  “Thanks.”

  “God, where is that boy?” She strode toward the hall, but her son came around the corner.

  “Bye, Kenneth,” Oz said, and got a mumbled grunt in return.

  An uncommunicative teen and a too-knowing sister weren’t top-of-the-line shock absorbers, but Jax was still sorry to lose the buffer. After the door shut behind them, the air felt like it was supercharged with static.

  “Think you can wait a little longer for food? I should probably go up and talk to Ayla. You could go and watch yourself with Regan.” The big grin suggested Oz found that amusing.

  Regan was using the recliner as a slide, climbing up to the back and slipping down the suede to the elevated footrest, headfirst. When Jax came in, she finished off a climb and sat on top of the seat back.

  “See.” She pointed at the TV.

  The episode was from the second half of the last season. Ren had been in a coma when they filmed it. Jax had been naive enough to believe Ren would be all right. But looking at the faces of Blaze and Melissa, who’d played Blaze’s girlfriend the last two seasons, Jax should have known. They’d written in that Ren had been in a car accident. Of course his ubernerd character, Tyler, would never have been found unconscious on the floor of a nightclub bathroom.

  “He looks more like you now.” She slid down on her back, then twisted and stuck her feet up toward the back of the recliner. “But your brother is missing. What happened to him?”

  Jax swallowed and licked his lips. How did you explain a heroin overdose to a four-year-old? “Ah, uh, he was in an accident.”

  “Was he wearing his seat belt?”

  Ren sure hadn’t been careful.

  “No.” Jax felt ridiculously tall with her looking at him from her upside-down position, so he sat on the sofa.

  “That’s bad.” She pronounced it with a considerable amount of gravity for someone using the furniture as gymnastic equipment.

  “Yes.”

  She climbed back up to the top of the chair and watched for a few minutes. “You miss your brother?”

  With the exception of Alicia, Jax had genuinely liked everyone on the show. They’d felt like family. He’d spent more time with them than anyone else, been closer to them than anyone until he met Theo, Dane, and Gideon. Ren had been a lot older than Jax, had already been on a successful series, but never acted like he was above it all.

  “Yea—yes. I do.”

  Regan slid down the chair, dove off the footrest, and before Jax could react, did a forward roll and came up sitting. She stared at the TV, where they were getting the bad news about Ren—Tyler.

  Was she allowed to sit so close? Wasn’t it supposed to be bad for their eyes or their brains or something?

  “Ayla misses Papi,” she said after singing along to a commercial about a toy puppy. “It makes her mad a lot.”

  Maybe Jax should say something about how he wasn’t there to take anything away from their other dad, or should he tell Regan to talk to someone else about her sister?

  “Do you miss Papi?”

  “He’s fun. We have movies and McDonald’s and toys with him. But I miss Daddy when we hafta go with Papi.” She sprang up. “Watch my cartwheel.”

  He did. It was easier than watching the end of the episode.

  JUDGING BY Ayla and Regan’s enthusiasm, pancakes for supper were a big treat. Jax’s omelet was fluffy and made to order, but he wished he could trust himself with just one forkful of the fried starch Oz served with warm syrup, butter, bananas, and pecans. Ayla’s joy was immediately crushed when she slid into the seat opposite Jax at the dining table. No amount of syrup or butter improved her mood. After pushing around the dripping pieces on her plate for a while, she asked if she could be excused. Oz suggested she excuse herself to her room, and after some tearful choking down of her short stack, she shoved away from the table and ran upstairs.

  Jax felt a little like
crying himself. He leaned toward Oz. “I don’t want to upset anyone.”

  Oz rested his silverware on the edge of his plate. “I thought actors got used to a tough audience.”

  “You learn to not read reviews.”

  “This is a minority opinion.”

  “Can I have some more syrup, Daddy?” Regan said.

  “There’s plenty on your banana. Do you want cinnamon?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Oz rose, shaking his head and smiling. Jax could have used a joke right then.

  It had been a long time—kind of forever—since anyone had needed to know that he was leaving the table, but Jax still said, “Excuse me,” as he pushed back his chair.

  Regan regarded him intently, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Jax went through the kitchen door. “What’s funny?”

  “Consistency. Any time one of them is in trouble, the other one goes to extremes to show what an absolute angel she is.”

  Jax started to fold his arms, then tucked his hands in his back jeans pockets and leaned against the counter. “I really don’t want….” There was so much he didn’t want. Upset little girls. Angry exes. And one big thing he did want.

  Oz reached over Jax’s shoulder and pulled down a jar from the cabinet. After putting it on the counter, Oz rested his hands on the Formica on either side of Jax’s hips.

  Oz smelled like syrup and butter and the warm spice that was the man himself. The space between them shrank. Or maybe Jax leaned toward him. The twig and berries were still in hibernation, but Jax wanted to touch, just touch.

  Oz’s hands moved from the counter to Jax’s hips. “What don’t you want?”

  Now that was a loaded question. Jax decided on the simplest answer. “They’re sweet kids. I don’t want to be the reason for anyone crying.”

  “Crying happens. They’re kids.”

  Jax was sure he could testify that he didn’t know how his hands ended up on Oz’s shoulders. Oz brushed a kiss across Jax’s mouth, and he couldn’t help glancing toward the kitchen door.