Slayde scooped Jenny up, put her in her crib, nudged Drake. "She's asleep."
Drake jerked and scrambled back, eyes wide for a moment. Then he grunted. "What? Oh. Okay."
"Shh." He tucked Jenny in, checked on Maggie who was sleeping hard, and sighed. Then he headed downstairs to grab a glass of wine and his phone. It was still nice enough to sit outside after dark, if he didn't mind a little sweat.
Drake followed him down. "So that's it? Kids are in bed so it's free time?"
"I've been at work since six-thirty this morning. It's after eight now. Is thirteen and a half hours a day not good enough for you?" He was going to lose it.
"Jesus Christ, you are the most prickly bastard I've ever met, and I'm a cop so I've met my fucking share. I was just trying to get the lay of the land so I knew whether there was shit I needed to help you with or if that was it for the fucking day." Drake glared hard.
"That's it. I'm off work until the kids wake up, barring emergencies." He sipped his wine, holding on to his temper with both hands. Sorry bastard comes in, throws off his schedule, insults him, and then tries to pretend he's prickly? Fucker.
"Fine. I'll get out of your fucking hair then." Drake turned on his heel and headed toward the front door.
"Are you always this easy to get along with? Mindy never said you were a giant bitch-fest of an asshole."
Drake whipped around and headed back toward him. "I'm a giant bitch-fest of an asshole? I show up here to help you out, to help take care of my sister's kids, and you act like I'm the last person you want to see. You act like my coming here has been the worst fucking thing that could have happened to you and the kids. So excuse me for living."
"You are a drama queen and a half. Are you sure you're not queer?"
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
This was the part where he got his ass kicked, he guessed, so he might as well make it worth it. "Well, you show up, unannounced, call me names, stomp around and snarl and act like I'm the fucking outsider here." He finished his wine. "I was in the delivery room when Jenny was born. I was there for all three first steps, first words. I potty trained all three of them. I'm here. I'm family."
"So am I!" roared Drake. "I'm their uncle, Mindy's brother. You can't make me go away, not even by being an asshole."
"I swear to God, if you wake those kids up, I will beat your ass."
"You see? I can't do anything fucking right according to the almighty Slayde." Drake snarled and turned on his heel, once again making for the door.
He rolled his eyes. Jesus, he was tired. Why couldn't Mindy have a family member who was fun to talk to? An adult person who was reasonable?
Of course, she wasn't close with her remaining parent, maybe Drake was just a chip off the old asshole.
He'd expected Drake to slam the front door, but it closed quietly. Almost loudly quiet, if that made any sense. A moment later he heard the sound of a motorcycle, which quickly faded away.
Huh. So much for help.
He grabbed his phone, dialed his boys. God, let them not be fucking. He really needed a friend.
Chapter Three
Something jumped on the bed with Drake, waking him and making groan. Shit, he probably shouldn't have had that third beer. Which was the only reason he didn't lash out at the intruder and threaten to shoot them.
He cracked open an eye and managed to swallow another groan at the sight of Christian, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, beaming at him.
"Uncle Drake! Good morning!"
"G' m'ning," he mumbled.
"Uncle Slayde made waffles!"
Not for him, he was guessing. "Sounds good, kiddo."
"Come on!" Christian tugged at his hand.
"Okay. You go ahead and I'll be down in a minute." He'd shed every stitch he was wearing when he'd fallen into bed last night, including his underwear.
"Okay. Uncle Slayde said apple juice or orange?"
"Orange, please. And coffee?" He gave Christian a smile. "Tell him I said please."
"I will!" He got a grin and then the little boy was running. "Uncle Slayde!"
He heard a distant, "Don't you run on the stairs, young man."
Man, there were five thousand, three hundred, and sixty-four things to think about with kids at any given moment.
He shook his head and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, not bothering with underwear for now; he'd find a clean pair later. Yawning, he headed downstairs, trying to ignore the way his head was banging.
The noise climbed up the stairs -- the girls were running around in circles and singing, Christian was brandishing a Nerf sword and wearing a pirate hat. Christ. To add insult to injury, the kitchen was bright, sunshine pouring in through the windows. God had a fucking terrible sense of humor.
He stumbled into the room and managed a more pitiful sounding than he'd wanted, "Coffee?"
"Sure. How do you take it?"
"Black." If he didn't get the jolt, it didn't wake him up.
"Okay." He was handed a mug. "Waffles are almost done."
"Thanks, man. I'm not the most, uh…human first thing in the morning." Drinking only made that worse.
"No worries." Slayde looked fresh as a daisy -- showered, smiling, wearing a pair of jeans and a Sesame Street T-shirt. It was insane. "We tried to let you sleep in. The kids have had oats already this morning."
This was sleeping in? Crazy. He managed not to say that, though. "I appreciate that."
Slayde nodded, whistled. "Breakfast, guys."
"I heard there were waffles." Was there nothing Slayde didn't do?
"Waffles, bacon, eggs." The kids each got a quarter of a waffle, a tiny bit of scrambled egg and a piece of bacon.
Drake sure hoped that Slayde had planned on him eating more
