The After of Us (Judge Me Not #4)(18)

My expression betrays me and Chase kicks my foot under the table. “Just behave, Will. Don’t forget Missy is her cousin, and Missy’s husband is my business partner.”

Ah, see, the underlying real reason why Chase is wary of my intentions.

I put up my hands, in an effort to placate him. “Okay, okay. I got it. No working my smooth moves on Missy’s cousin.”

Chase completely misses my attempt at a joke, but Kay, to her credit, gets my humor and smiles over at me.

Something is clearly still worrying Chase, so I ask, “Hey, what’s up your ass?”

“I’m just thinking about Lily,” he responds.

Instantly defensive, I say, “I thought we had this all worked out? I swear I’ll be back in two weeks, max, to pick her up.”

Blowing out a breath, Chase says, “So, that’s how you plan to work it?”

“What do you mean?” I am truly stumped as to where this is heading.

“Well, Lily is obviously too young to fly alone. I thought maybe you’d ask me and Kay to drive her up, but it sounds like you’re coming back to pick her up, yeah?”

“Yes, Chase. I’m coming back to pick her up.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

And then my brother finally gets to what’s really bugging him. “And how exactly is that supposed to work? You don’t have a car, Will. The one outside is just a rental.”

“Uh, yeah, that one’s a rental, but…”

Chase doesn’t know about the extravagant graduation gift—the BMW—my mom gave to me, but he must suspect something. Shit.

“Will?” Chase prompts.

“Okay, yeah, I have a car. I already set it up to have it driven from Vegas to New York next week.”

Chase is well-aware our mom likes to spoil me, and, in a quiet voice, he asks, “Is this the graduation gift Mom was being all sly about last weekend?”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah, it is.”

“So, what’d she get you?”

“A BMW convertible.”

Chase runs a hand over his face. Leaning back, he mutters, “Unbelievable.”

My brother isn’t jealous or anything like that. He just hates that our mom substitutes material things for actually being there for us. He does have a point; it is a pretty f*cked-up situation.

Kay places a hand on Chase’s arm, the one with the words I stand before you, judge me not tattooed around his bicep. I stare at his ink and think how—on this day—those words apply more to me than to him. ‘Cause here I am, standing before my brother, asking him for help, since frankly I am floundering.

“Bro,” I say quietly.

Chase looks over at me, and I clear my throat. I want to be as honest as possible, just to lay the facts on the line.

“Look, I know I’m asking a lot with all of this. But, seriously, it isn’t just for me. I’m asking for Lily, too. I just want to do the best thing for her, I really do.”

Chase nods, accepting me at my word. Kay also smiles over at me encouragingly.

But me? What’s going through my head?

Well, truth be told, I can’t shake the feeling that if I really wanted to do the right thing for Lily, I wouldn’t be leaving her at all.





Will



The next morning, Chase and Kay rope me into going to church with the family.

As I let out a groan, Kay tells me, “Emma will be there. After mass, you can talk with her about enrolling Lily in daycare.”

“Oh, joy,” I reply. I was planning on just calling Emma, but my fate appears to be sealed.

I spend the next half an hour putting on a suit and helping Lily into her fancy duds. Well, the suit part takes all of five minutes, maybe seven with tying the tie. Lily is the problem-dresser.

While throwing frilly lavender fabric in my face, she crosses her arms over her undershirt-covered chest. I got that on her at least, along with a pair of lavender leggings. It’s the dress that goes over everything that Lily doesn’t like.

“I go like this,” she declares, pushing out her bottom lip.

My patience is worn thin this morning. “Lily, just put on the goddamn dress.”

“Quit swearing!” Lily chastises, and rightly so.

“I’m sorry, Lil,” I say, humbled by my five-year-old.

My daughter finally allows me to slip the dress over her head. But as I’m helping her put on her shiny patent leather purple shoes, I know something has to be brewing in that little head of hers. She’s far too complacent suddenly.

A few minutes later, when we head out to Chase and Kay’s minivan, parked in the driveway, I realize why. Seems my tattle-tell daughter can’t wait to run up to Chase and inform him, “Daddy swore. And it’s not the first time, either. It’s just awful, Uncle Chase. He has potty-mouth.”

Chase breaks out in a devious smile. “Hmm, that is awful, Lily. Potty-mouth, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure your daddy receives a suitable punishment for his terrible language.”

“This from Mr. Gutter Mouth,” I grumble under my breath as Kay takes Lily and helps her get settled in the minivan.

When Kay slides the door shut, she gives us a look. “Brothers,” she says, shaking her head and walking away.