The ones screaming at him to protect his son.
He cut through the back of the sink base, the loud whine of the saw and scent of sawdust filling the air. When he had three perfect circles, he tossed the scraps aside, set the tool on the floor out of the way and went to the front of the cabinet. Grabbing the corners, he wiggled the base into position then stepped back.
They still had a long way to go—three more lower cabinets along this wall needed installing as did a dozen upper cabinets, and he was putting the finishing touches on the large center island at the workshop. But the floor had been laid, the walls prepped and painted, the appliances were on order and the lighting fixtures were being delivered in two days.
“That woman is one hundred pages of crazy in a fifty-page book,” James grumbled, putting away his phone.
“That’s why God invented voice mail.”
“You should know, seeing as how most calls I make to you go straight to it. Mine and everyone else who dials that number.” James crossed his arms, braced his legs wide. Eddie knew that stance. It was the one James adopted when he was getting ready to do battle. “Including, apparently, your ex-wife.”
And there was the reason for it.
Eddie stilled. “What?”
“Lena phoned me. Told me she’s been trying to get ahold of you for the past five days but you haven’t answered any of her calls or returned them. I told her you and Max were both fine and that I’d relay her message.”
“What message?”
“To call her. What do you think she wants?”
He didn’t know. And that was the problem. The reason he’d been avoiding her calls.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll tell her not to bug you.”
“She didn’t bug me and I don’t mind that she called. Especially when she was obviously upset and worried something had happened to Max.”
“You told her Max was fine.”
She had no reason to worry. No right to. Not when she was the one who walked away from their son.
“She seemed relieved,” James said. “What’s going on? She still bugging you about more time with Max?”
“Nothing’s going on.” Nothing except his ex-wife changing the rules they’d lived by for the past five years. “I’ve got it handled.”
About four months ago, Lena had started calling several times a week instead of every other weekend. At first, Eddie hadn’t thought much of it, but then she’d started talking about spending more time with Max, how she wanted to be a bigger part of his life.
That was when the fear had set in. Ever since their divorce, ever since she’d willingly granted Eddie full custody, she’d never wanted to be more than a partial influence in their child’s life. Twice-yearly visits—always in Shady Grove—had been enough for her all this time. It should continue to be enough.
Or at least that’s what he’d thought until she’d admitted the reason for her change of heart.
Cancer.
Lena had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer in January. Per her wishes, Eddie hadn’t told anyone, not even his family. Not Max. Lena was fine now, her prognosis excellent after a hysterectomy and chemo treatments.
No sense worrying Max needlessly. No point in letting him know it’d taken a near-death experience to make his mother want back in his life.
Eddie had agreed to let Lena see Max anytime she wanted. It was the right thing to do.
But that didn’t mean Eddie had to like being the good guy. Or that he had to answer every one of her phone calls.
Kneeling in front of the cabinet, Eddie inserted shims under the bottom to make the base level. As he worked, though, he felt James’s gaze on him, like an unreachable itch between his shoulder blades. Nagging. Irritating as hell.
“Everything okay with you?” James asked.
“Yep.”
But James remained rooted to his spot. “Let’s go to O’Riley’s. Grab a beer.” From the tapping going on behind him, James had his phone out again. “But it’s your turn to buy.”
“I’m working.”
“Fine. I’ll buy.”
Eddie tossed the shims aside. “I don’t want a beer.”
Actually, a beer didn’t sound half bad. If a quick drink had been all James was after, he might have gone along with it. But James was too perceptive to buy Eddie’s evasions about Lena. Too damned nosy to let it go. And spending any amount of time deflecting what was sure to be an interrogation sounded like pure hell.
“I’ll text Leo,” James said. “Have him meet us.”
Both brothers yakking at him, questioning him, wanting to know his every goddamn thought? More like pure hell with the flames set to High.
Eddie stood. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Between putting in twelve-hour days for Montesano Construction, family obligations and his new live-in relationship with Sadie Nixon—his best friend since childhood—James always had somewhere to be. Something to do.
“Not for an hour.” He didn’t even look up from whatever he was typing. “Sadie and I are going to her parents’ house for Will’s birthday dinner.”
“You want to waste an hour while Leo hits on every pretty woman at O’Riley’s, that’s your choice. Me? I’m going to finish this, pick up my kid and go home.”
“You sure?” James asked quietly, but Eddie knew what his brother really wanted to know.
Are you really all right? Do you want to talk about it? What can I do to help?
He was grateful for the concern. He didn’t want it, didn’t need it, but he could appreciate it just the same. “I’m sure.”
Nodding, James stepped forward and slapped Eddie’s shoulder. Gave it an affectionate—if heavy-handed—squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He walked out, his phone once again buzzing for his attention. Eddie turned to his work. He appreciated his brother’s concern. Knew James and the rest of their family were there for him and Max if they needed them. Whenever. Wherever.
It meant a lot.
But there were some things a man had to do on his own.
* * *
“I’M TELLING YOU, that woman hates me,” Sadie Nixon said with such heartfelt drama, Harper glanced around to make sure they hadn’t been magically transported to a Broadway stage. Harper’s cousin always had had somewhat of a theatrical streak.
But, nope, they were still in Irene Ellison’s gourmet kitchen. The scent of roasting beef filled the air, mixed with the yeasty smell of the rolls in the second oven while potatoes bubbled on the back corner of the six-burner range. Speckled black granite counters topped white cabinets, and green-and-black accents kept the room from being too modern or austere.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Aunt Irene told her daughter as she spread whipped white frosting on a triple-layer coconut cake. “Rose is a lovely woman.”
“She’s a fabulous woman,” Sadie agreed, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “Wonderful, really. Kind. Caring. Considerate. And she hates my guts.”
Aunt Irene shook her head. “Now, Sadie—”
“It’s