The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1)

“Get a real job?” I offered.

“Bingo. They’re cool, though. Ultimately, their philosophy is ‘People are who they are,’ eh? I think I finally qualify as ‘people.’ They nag me less than they used to, and Ma actually told me she was proud of me for stickin’ it out last time we talked on the phone. Of course, Dad was yelling that I was nuts in the background, but he only ‘sort of’ meant it,” he said with a laugh before tackling his toast with gusto and slugging it down with a gulp of coffee. “Now if I had your job, that would be a different story. Your parents must strut through your studio lot with heads high telling everyone on set, ‘My kid did this.’ ”

Ahh…talk about a reality check.

“They’re gone now. They never saw what the studio became.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. That was an ‘open mouth, insert foot’ job. I apologize.”

I waved dismissively. “There’s no need. It was a long time ago.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I bet they’d be proud of you.”

I doubted it.

But that wasn’t something I’d share with my overnight guest. If Trent had any inkling of selling me out, I’d rather have a graphic play-by-play of our sexcapade published with photos than read about my parents any day of the week. Which reminded me…

“You didn’t film us, did you?”

Trent went perfectly still, then shook his head. “No, and fuck you, by the way.”

I smiled, brushing crumbs from my hands. Oh, well. It would have been nice to part on friendly terms, but it was better for him to think I was a prick in the long run.

“I had to ask. You know how it—”

“Dad!”

Oh.

Fuck.

“It’s time for me to go,” Trent whispered, sliding from the barstool like a stealthy ninja. “You want me to go out a back door or crawl out a window?”

“No, just…” I formulated an off-the-cuff plausible explanation for Trent’s presence as footsteps approached. It sounded like more than one person, but it could have been my heartbeat churning in my ears. I put a forefinger up and tilted my chin. “Follow my lead. And for the record…this was nice. Thanks for—”

“Good morning. Oh, hallelujah! It smells like freshly made coffee in here.” Charlie sailed into the kitchen and came to an abrupt and rather theatrical stop. “There’s—gasp! You’re a very large human, sir.”

“Charlie!” Oliver chided, bounding in behind his older brother. “He means…you’re tall.”

Trent snickered and held out his hand. “I get that every once in a while. I’m Trent.”

I took a moment to catalogue the almost absurd difference in size and coloring between Trent and my sons. Trent was dark and imposing…devilish. My boys looked almost angelic in contrast. Don’t get me wrong…they weren’t. Especially not Char.

Charlie was five eight with a halo of golden curls, bright-blue eyes, and had a flair for fashion…and drama. Much to Charlie’s chagrin, Oliver had gone through a major growth spurt when he turned twelve last summer, but he was still on the short side. They shared coloring and a lean physique; otherwise, they didn’t have a ton in common. Charlie was out and proud and a force of nature all his own—an insightful whirling dervish, constantly on the move.

He was smarter than hell too. If I wasn’t slightly nervous, I would have been amused by his no-nonsense once-over. Even wearing a pair of houndstooth print trousers, a light-blue sweater, and red loafers…without socks, Char managed to look badass.

Ollie was quieter. In his perfect world, he would have preferred to blend in with the crowd and observe the action from a remote corner with a book in hand. He was smart like his brother but more cerebral. Charlie planned to take over the universe with sheer willpower and a heavy dose of charm. Ollie, on the other hand, was cautious by nature. Other than playing video games and skateboarding, which he learned from Char’s boyfriend, he tended to stick to books. He loved science, math, and above all…he adored his older brother.

Ollie shook Trent’s hand after Charlie, then pushed his blue-framed glasses to the bridge of his nose and gave a shy smile. “Hello.”

I wrapped my arm around Oliver’s shoulder and squeezed Charlie’s arm. “Trent, these are my sons, Oliver and Charlie.”

“Enchanté, Trent.” Charlie stepped out of my reach, skirting the island to grab a cup of coffee. I could practically feel his eagle eyes assessing the situation and compiling a list of uncomfortable questions to fire at me later. “Sorry about the early drop-in, but I warned you via text that I was coming and…Ollie needed a change of clothes.”

“Gray and Justin had a special dinner at their house last night. Just pizza and stuff, but it was fun. I thought you were gonna be there too, so I told Mom I’d come to your house. But then Char said I could go home with him and Ky. That’s okay, right?” Ollie asked.