A VERY UN-SHAKESPEARE ROMANCE: ‘A Fake Dad Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy’

A quiet house had never sounded so good.

Robbie cocked his ear, savoring the peace. At least there was one upside to getting up early. First thing every morning, he went online to his account on the encrypted messaging service Internal Affairs had set up for him and his partner to use. There was still no message from his partner. He knew it was only going on five days since he’d arrived at the gym to pick up the girls, but he was restless.

Robbie tried to tell himself that was a good thing as he closed his IA-issued laptop. But no break in the case meant they weren’t any closer to getting Tara cleared and her and the kids reunited and safely home. Surely the Kellys weren’t laying low. It wasn’t their MO. When you fucked with a Kelly, someone got hurt. Bad hurt.

Pushing those dark thoughts away, he pulled on his running shoes and tiptoed over to the next room to check on Reagan and Cassidy. Cracking the door, he noted they were still asleep in their beds, Miss Purrfect spooning the baby in the playpen. The cat lifted its head and bared its teeth as if he were an intruder. He made a face back. He didn’t even want to know how the cat had gotten into the playpen. Likely used its demon-like claws to climb the netting. He let himself out before the cat could give one of its nasty hisses or growls and tiptoed down the stairs.

All that mattered was the kids were asleep as dawn’s fingers spread across the sky, after yesterday’s exhausting, patience-testing day filled with what can we play next? and how many more days until we see Mom again?

Truth be told, he could suck it up and play more girly games—anything from fixing Barbie’s tangled hair to using shot glasses as baby teacups for a tea party, with the stuffed bear and rabbit sitting at the table with their beady little staring eyes. Yes, he could take even that freak show.

But he couldn’t take the Mom question.

Because he didn’t fecking know when they’d see Tara again, other than at the end of the two weeks. Tim, true to his usual positivity, had told him to be grateful they hadn’t asked anything about their dad yet. After that honest-to-goodness slap in the face, he’d stewed about what to say if the topic came up. Tara had done a good job before she’d left, but he might need to tell them not to go off with the father if he were to show up—not that Robbie expected that. Scotty was on the run from the Kellys. He was probably in a no questions asked motel swigging his favorite beer, hoping to, at best, keep his fingers and toes.

The uncertainty of the whole situation was driving him nuts.

And so was all of Billie’s harping about having a drink with their next-door neighbors. For two days, his brother hadn’t stopped talking about Clarice’s famous margaritas, or how it would do them good to get out of the house for an adult evening after being in Kiddieville all day. Of course, Billie had already secured Tim for babysitting. Bully for him.

“Morning,” Tim called as Robbie entered the rosy-lit kitchen. His little brother was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like usual at the early hour, since his shift at the retirement home started at five a.m. “I’ve already had a walk on the beach. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Robbie grunted in response. Every morning his eyes tracked to the stupid saying in a matted heart frame behind the cozy white plank table: This Kitchen Is Seasoned with Love. Every morning it made him want to puke. He thought about what kind of saying they could frame at the precinct. This Breakroom Is Splattered with Blood. Now that would be funny!

“You sound like your normal cheery self,” Tim said, pointing to the fresh coffee in the corner of the massive black granite countertop. “Grab a cup before I tell you what I found this morning.”

Every cell went on alert. “What did you see? Sketchy guys on the beach? Someone weird drive by? Tell me.”

Tim put his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. “Nothing dangerous. You might get a little freaked out though. Ah…Miss Purrfect decided to use your shorts in some kitty defecation ritual.”

“What?”

“Check out her litterbox. I’m not sure how she stole your shorts, but I don’t think you’re going to want them back now.”

“That damn cat was sleeping with Cassidy when I checked.” He strode into the laundry room and stopped short, horrified by the sight of his black shorts, scratched up and covered in cat shit. “Dammit! That fu—”

“Language,” Tim called, coming to stand beside him. “Look, it’s not uncommon for cats to get like this when their normal routine is upset. Plus, you tossed Miss Purrfect off the couch last night when we started watching The Little Mermaid.”

God, like he needed to be reminded of that sing-along nightmare. “Because that feline is an animal, not a person.” He ground his teeth. “Tim, I’ve been more than patient with the girls…”

His brother’s mouth twitched. “I knew you were reaching deep yesterday when Cassidy insisted you put a bow in your hair. For the fourth time.”

“Well, Billie can’t seem to get it right, so I did what I had to do.” They both snorted at that. “But, Tim, I can’t take a bad-tempered cat. After this, I want to throw it outside and be done with it.”

Tim put an easy hand on his shoulder, giving him those understanding I’m a good listener eyes that probably rocked his girlfriend’s world. “I know you do. Billie would agree. He and Miss Purrfect had a standoff in the bathroom at lunch when the cat wandered in while he was taking a piss. He didn’t like that the cat was standing there watching, and when he tried to slam the door in the cat’s face, it sprayed him. He didn’t say anything, but he bitched to me about it stinking to high heaven.”

“That’s why you sprayed Febreze upstairs.” Robbie turned around and marched to the stairs. “Okay, that’s it. We will not be terrorized by some—”

“Those girls love that cat, Robbie,” Tim said softly behind him. “It’s all they have of home right now besides each other.”

He halted, fists clenched at his sides. Guilt broke through the concrete around his heart. “It needs to learn a lesson in manners.”

“My girlfriend has a cat, so trust me when I say you can’t win a power game with a cat.”

Robbie throttled back his anger. “Fine. When you’re right, you’re right, but something’s gotta change. For Billie too.”

“Don’t I know it. Why do you think I put her in with Cassidy last night?”

“And yet it managed to steal my shorts and shit on them while I was asleep.” He shot his brother a look. “Wait. Is a kid sleeping with a cat even sanitary? It’s not on Tara’s list. You read it, right?”

“We’ll take Cassidy into the ocean today if she’s covered in cat hair, don’t worry, and of course I read Tara’s instructions.” He detoured to the kitchen, so Robbie followed. “Billie, not so much. Have your coffee. You’ll feel more human.”

How could he feel human when that cat had somehow gotten the slip on him and snuck into his room and stolen his underwear?

“No, I’m going for a run.” He ran his frustrated hand through his hair. “Billie had me this close to agreeing to go out with those women next door to let off some steam last night after hearing you guys singing along to every freaking song in that really disturbed movie.”

“The Little Mermaid is a classic, and honestly, it’s better that they’re singing than crying. Don’t you think?”

Who said his baby brother didn’t know when to go for the jugular?

“You win that point. Tim, I don’t know how people do this. From the moment they wake up, it’s nonstop. Where is Cassidy running off to? Is she sticking something in her mouth? Is she trying to drown in the ocean? What accessory does Reagan want to put on her Barbie? What do they want to eat? What do they want to play? I swear, I’m starting to agree with Billie. If I was in a relationship, I’d make an appointment for a vasectomy.”

Tim was trying not to laugh. “Easier ways to prevent kids than having someone go in with scissors and stop your swimmers. But your call. I personally like being around the girls. They’re like my seniors in some ways. Erratic, yet very dear. Innocent, yet so wise. Demanding, yet easy as all get-out. Yesterday afternoon, Reagan and Cassidy were happy to have their feet in the air on the beach and laugh for ten minutes. Tell me that isn’t special.”

He leveled his brother a hard look, very much feeling like the old grouch he was so often accused of being. “I’m glad you think so, Tim. Personally I can’t believe we ever did that as kids. It’s a complete waste of time. Putting your legs in the air and laughing for no reason. What’s the point?”

“Go run!” Tim walked to the door and opened it. “You obviously need it. I’ll have pancakes and sausage waiting for you when you get back.”

Tim had been doing most of the cooking, being that he was the best cook of the bunch.

Robbie sighed. “Sorry I’m bitching. Thanks for cooking. I’ll…buy some hot dogs and burgers. We can grill tonight.”

“Sounds good. Watch out for jellyfish on the beach. Those onshore winds last night brought a bunch up with the tide. And I know how much you hate them.”

He didn’t just hate them. He loathed them. Why had God created something that could practically reduce a man to tears with one sting? Bees had nothing on jellyfish. “Yes, Mama. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. Oh, and Tim. Did you quote Shakespeare as you watched the sun rise this morning?” he asked, feeling the satisfying need to poke at his brother.

Tim flipped him the bird after looking around to make sure the girls weren’t there to witness it. “Yes, and I looked up some insults the girls wouldn’t understand. Don’t let this one hit you on the way out. I scorn you, scurvy companion.”

Now that was what he was talking about. Brotherly baiting. A little roughhousing to start the day. Better than coffee. “Don’t you get scurvy from a lack of Vitamin C?” He lunged for his baby brother. “What am I, a pirate?”

Tim evaded him with the grace of a much-plagued younger brother and grabbed a chair for protection. “Out, damned spot.”

“I swear to God, Timmy, I’m going to put you and that cat in a body bag if you keep this Shakespeare thing up.”

“Nothing will stop me.” He raised his fist like a plagued hero making a vow in some off-Broadway drama. “I’ve finally found something that gets under your skin and Billie’s. I will not surrender. I won’t.”

Robbie pretended he couldn’t open the door fast enough as Tim began spouting more Shakespeare gibberish. Honestly, he was feeling better already. His tennis shoes sunk into the sand as he made a beeline toward the beach. The lure of the scene had him breathing easier. The frothy tide was breaking as it reached the gorgeous stretch of golden sand. The sky was mottled with red, orange, and bright blue, all competing for real estate in the open expanse.

The beach was empty of inhabitants, another bonus. Being a city dweller, he craved being alone, and running in the national parks or fishing outside of Boston were his escapes from the madness. He was going to enjoy this run and force his brain to stop bitching. Because even he was getting tired of himself and his damn thoughts.

Maybe that’s what that Shakespeare guy had meant with the out, damned spot comment. He chuckled to himself and started running, enjoying the way the sand challenged his legs at first. Keeping to the wet sand, he let it rip, doing what his weird Shakespeare-quoting brother had suggested—bypassing the legions of dead or dying jellyfish on the beach.

He ran until he was at his peak cardio level, something a quick pulse check told him. Maintaining his pace, he let his gaze crest across the beach and out toward the ocean, the earthy scents of salt and ocean coming in with each inhale. Used to the rocky shores and cold waters in the Boston area, he thought the Outer Banks was a lot like a steam room, the water so perfect it was almost too warm to swim in.

He’d always preferred the cold water, often winning the longest time in the Atlantic when he and his brothers went to the beach up their way. His mind flashed to his family. He wondered for what had to be the millionth time how they all were, but most especially if any of the Kellys had paid a visit to Danny at the pub. He’d been tempted to call on the burner even though he knew better, and that had made him finally realize why stupid criminals always got caught calling friends and family. They couldn’t resist. But he would. He had to. For Tara’s sake as much as everyone in their rental house. With his mind on Tara, he pushed his pace faster. He wasn’t a religious man anymore, but he wasn’t too proud to call in some prayers. Please let her be safe and back with her babies soon.

The seagulls cried and squawked around him, some fishing for breakfast while others chased a puffin who’d hauled out a decent-sized trout. He and his brothers should charter a boat and take the girls fishing. Usually, when they came to the beach, they went out on the water to fish or shoot the breeze and drink beer, but it hadn’t dawned on him to do that here.

Would the girls be okay on the water? Or would they be happy for about ten minutes and then get bored? Was there whale watching this far south? But would he be bored with a bunch of other tourists waiting for some big tubby water mammal to spew water through its spout?

God, he missed work. Give him a breaking and entering or a carjacking, and he’d be happy as a clam. He didn’t like domestics. Never had. Any man—or woman—beating on someone they were supposed to love was the scum of the earth in his opinion, and he had zero respect for them and their problems. Nothing justified that kind of behavior. Some murders he had an easier time understanding. Like the mob. You screw them, they cut you. Any idiot knew that.

Again, why in the world had Scotty played with the Kellys? If they caught him and killed him, Robbie wouldn’t be sad. The girls would be better off without a man who’d knowingly put his family in that kind of jeopardy.

He felt a presence at his back moments before something flashed by him. “Hey!” he shouted, unnerved that he hadn’t heard the person coming up on him, and so closely for that matter.

A woman with a blond ponytail bobbing and long, slender legs he would recognize in a police lineup. Hadn’t he been staring at them every time she and her friend appeared on the beach for suntanning or reading? Well, hello, Summer Sunshine. She was wearing a blue tank and matching short shorts as she looked over her shoulder and grinned at him.

Surprise rolled over him at her speed—the same way it had when she’d thrown that perfect spiral his way. She didn’t slow down, but that coy smile she was giving him over her shoulder suggested she was pleased with herself for catching him off guard. Then she was facing front again, her strides eating up the beach. He punched up his speed, but even a seasoned runner like him couldn’t keep up. She left him in her dust, and he was more than a little embarrassed by that.

How in the hell did a speech therapist run like that? She must have run track in high school, maybe college even. He watched as she continued a brisk pace up the stretch of beach that rolled out to the left. When she turned around, running back his way, he felt his muscles burn as he extended his pace. Part of him knew he was trying to impress her.

He watched her smile at him like the cat who’d gotten the cream—damn, he could never use that phrase again after Miss Purrfect’s assault on his shorts.

Summer was as pretty as a picture, all slender and sweet as she ran his way. Until she passed him again in a blur. A blur! Man, she was fast!

He thought about turning around and following her, but when he looked over his shoulder, she hadn’t slowed. If she had, she would have been signaling she was interested, right? God, he was clearly out of practice with women, but something told him she was amused by him. She might even be having fun with him. First the football, and now outrunning him…

She was a mystery. A challenge.

Surely, she had to know he was fighting his attraction for her. They stared at each other every time they were on the beach together. So far, she hadn’t pushed it. Clearly she’d decided to show off today.

“Okay, that’s kind of hot,” he acknowledged to himself.

She was stretching when he turned around to come back. He could see her in the distance on the beach, doing that whole lunging warrior thing and other seamless moves that suggested she was not only fast but flexible. Again, really hot. He thought about Billie’s near pleas about going out for a drink and music with adult conversation. Last night, he’d nearly succumbed to temptation when Tim and the girls had started singing along with that Jamaican-talking animated crab.

Would it be such a bad idea? he’d thought.

Then he’d dismissed it, the same way he’d fought the urge to pick up the burner phone and check in with Danny. Call him cautious, but he didn’t want to leave Tim alone with the girls while he and Billie went off on dates. If something bad happened, Timmy couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t live with himself if his brother and the girls were hurt because he’d let his guard down.

Robbie had to assume they were in danger—every day.

Staying home—where he’d beefed up security—was the best plan. The saying among cops who lived to old ages was simple and often repeated to stupid cadets like he’d been, full of bravery, bravado, and balls: stick to the plan; going off half-cocked will get you killed.

He had a plan, a damn good one, even if it wasn’t his usual.

So as he returned to the house, all he did was flash Summer a friendly smile before heading toward the patio door. But as he got closer to their rental, he decided he could have a little fun of his own if she were still watching. She was. Hot damn.

He slowly tugged off his shirt.