Vulnerable [Suncoast Society] (Suncoast Society #29)(63)

“Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek before climbing over him again—only nailing him in the legs with her bony appendages this time—instead of just climbing out of bed on that side and walking all the way around. She left the room and he sat there, still trying to process.

He checked his phone—he found a text from Leah that she’d sent twenty minutes earlier saying Leo’s parents had both arrived and were there, but no change in Leo’s condition. And then various texts and missed calls from other Suncoast Society friends asking how Leo was doing.

Jesse grabbed a pair of shorts from his bag and pulled them on. He hit the bathroom first—yep, one post-bath Typhoon Laurel disaster going on in there—then groggily managed to stumble his way out to the kitchen where Laurel had seated herself at the counter.

“What do you want me to make for you, sweetheart?” he asked on his way to the fridge.

“May I have a sandwich, please?”

He stopped and turned to her. “Seriously?” He regretted his tone and immediately gentled it. “Honey, you make yourself sandwiches all the time at our place. Why couldn’t you have made yourself a sandwich?”

“Mommy said I’m not allowed. That I’ll make a mess.”

He was not nearly awake enough for this but knew he couldn’t go back to sleep now, either. Not with Typhoon Laurel wide awake and on the prowl and Eva…not.

He’d deal with their differing parenting styles later. If Eva was serious about wanting him to stay, she would have to make some changes of her own. Laurel needed consistency and it was blatantly obvious she wasn’t getting it.

Then again, if he hadn’t been dropped into the Twilight Zone last night, technically he supposed he was the one who could dictate that now.

He headed to the fridge, just past two open upper cabinet doors. He reached out and closed them along the way, glancing in to see one filled with wine and other liquor glasses, the other holding liquor bottles and some serving pitchers, sugar bowls and gravy boats, and other assorted useless crap only used on holidays.

“Honey, don’t leave cabinet doors open. You know better than that. If you open it, close it.”

“I didn’t open those. I’m not allowed to. And I can’t reach them. One’s Mommy’s cabinet and the other has the breakable stuff. Mommy keeps my Hello Kitty cup in the drainer by the sink. I can reach it without a chair.”

He wasn’t going to get into an argument with her about it now. He’d deal with the lying later, when he was more awake and had some coffee in him.

Wasn’t there something about kids acting out when there was turmoil? The poor kid had a shit-ton of turmoil going on right now.

I’ll ask June and Scrye about it. Or Eliza and Rusty.

Of all their friends, they were the first who came to mind as experienced parents he could go to for advice about raising a little girl.

His first job, actually, was to clean the coffeepot and get a fresh batch of really strong brew going. He’d need it.

In the fridge he found most of what he needed, except for bread, which Laurel directed him to in the pantry cupboard. With her guidance, he found paper plates and utensils and her cup. He could probably grab his shower while she was eating. They’d have to discuss getting her back in school tomorrow or Wednesday. There was nothing she could do but sit at the hospital, and the routine would be good for her and keep her mind off Leo’s condition.

As he fixed Laurel a turkey and cheese sandwich, he struggled to shove back his growing resentment.

He felt sorry for Eva. He did. He got it.

But there were multiple ways she would have to step up and help him. She couldn’t just abdicate all her adult and parental responsibilities and dump them onto him because Leo was—literally—not available.

And dammit, who was going to be his Dominant for the duration? If he had to suck it up and adult and parent and deal, so would Eva.

After getting Laurel settled in the living room in front of the TV with a glass of iced tea, her sandwich, and a bowl of fresh fruit, he extracted another promise from her not to go outside. Then he fixed himself a mug of coffee and headed down the hall to wake Eva. He’d have to straighten up the bathroom before he could get his shower. Typhoon Laurel had left a disaster behind, including what looked like half her damn toy box.

He stopped by Laurel’s room. She had, at least, attempted to make her bed. She got points for that. Several dresser drawers stood open, looking like a crackhead had rummaged through them for clothes. He started to straighten things up then caught himself.

This was Eva’s house. She could wake up and do disaster recovery in the wake of Typhoon Laurel while he got his shower.

It surprised him, actually. At their house, Laurel was very neat and tidy, and he’d never seen her room here looking this messy before. And it hadn’t been messy just Friday when they’d picked her up. She must have done that since they’d returned to the house that morning.

He trudged down the hall to the end, to Eva’s door, and knocked. “Eva, Laurel’s awake and I need to get a shower. I just fed her lunch.” He started to turn away before he realized he hadn’t heard a reply yet.

He paused, waited, then knocked again. “Eva?”

Damn, she’s a sound sleeper.

He took a deep breath and sipped his coffee.

Patience, dude. She’s in crisis mode, too.