The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

“C’mon, Mark. You can say it. You just want . . .”

I roll my eyes as Rosie waves to me on her way down. “I see you, cupcake,” I shout, then into the phone, I dip my voice. “Fine,” I groan begrudgingly, but I like telling him. He deserves to know. “I just want you.”

“Daddy!”

When Rosie grabs the bar again, she misses the metal and loses her grip. Without thinking, I rush toward the bars right as she topples to the ground. My heart crawls up my throat as she lets out a shriek of pain.

Four hours later, Rosie is conked out, her right arm in a pink cast stretched out on her twin bed, the orange cat draped around her head.

My heart rate has slowed, but only slightly.

Pretty sure I won’t forget the sound of that fall for a long time.

Turns out it’s only a forearm fracture, and the doc said she could play on the monkey bars as soon as three to four weeks after the cast comes off.

Tell that to the gray hairs I probably have.

There is nothing?nothing in the whole world?as harrowing as witnessing your kid fall. I head to the kitchen, grab a beer, and text Asher again. I texted him when I left the ER in one piece. But he asked me to text him, too, when we returned home, even though it’s the middle of the night. I send him a quick note letting him know that Rosie’s sound asleep.

His reply is instantaneous. If you’re not asleep, FaceTime me. Want to see your face.

I dial him, stat.

The second his handsome profile fills the screen, my pulse calms. Crazy, how one person can both get you going and settle you down. “Hey,” I say.

With a red pillow behind him, Asher stretches on his side in bed, propping his head in his hand. His hair is shaggy again. No scissors have touched his locks since the wedding. “How is she?”

I give him the details. “. . . and she'll have it on for four weeks. Through Christmas.”

“Was she bummed about that?”

“Not at all,” I say, laughing for the first time in hours. “She was more concerned with when she could have it signed.”

“And the verdict?”

“Monday. So tomorrow, guess who’s taking her marker shopping?”

He chuckles softly, then yawns. “Sounds like fun.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it, Mark. It does sound like fun. Wish I could go with you two.”

That sounds like a perfect Saturday. I take a swig of the beer. “Me too.”

“She's going to be fine, though. I've broken plenty of bones. I bet you were way more freaked out than she was.”

“I think I aged ten years, Ash,” I say, leaning against the counter.

He yawns once more, and I really need to let him go. But talking to him is my favorite part of every day.

“Listen, Mark,” Asher says, sitting up in bed.

For a second, I tense. Hardly anything good starts with listen. But I don’t have a single reason to suspect anything bad is coming so I decide not to worry. “What is it?”

“I hate to say this, but I don’t think you should come next weekend for my birthday. It seems silly when you have a kid in a cast. She needs you. And I don’t want you to have the added stress of worrying about letting me down. I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine. Your little girl needs you.”

My brow creases as I stare at my sleepy boyfriend who’s impossibly sexy in his Parisian bed, and incredibly thoughtful too. He’s so fucking good to me.

“I think you’re right,” I say, relieved.

“And trust me, I want to see you so much I could chew my leg off.”

I crack up. “I like your legs. Keep them on.”

“That's pretty much the only reason I haven’t chewed off the right one. Anyway, we'll see each other at Christmas. Tomorrow, when you go shopping, get an advent calendar, to pass the days. Think of it as twenty-five days of dick.”

I laugh harder. “And I better get a double dicking on Christmas,” I tell him.

“Count on it. But I do want a naked striptease on Facetime on my birthday,” Asher says. His smile makes me want to crawl through the phone to Paris.

“And you’ll get one,” I say, then sigh. “I really want to see you, Asher. Can it be June?”

“July, baby. That's when I started.”

“I hate time.”

“Me too,” he says, then we say goodnight, and I cancel my trip.

Too bad. I had so many birthday plans for him, including telling him exactly how I feel about him.

But that’ll have to wait till Christmas now.

50

PROPERTY OF MARK BANKS

ONE WEEK LATER

ASHER

I’m too old to care about birthdays, right? That’s the reason I didn’t tell anyone here that I’m having one tomorrow. And why I’m not allowed to be sad about spending it alone.