through the checkout. “We’ll go get the ice for your mum, because that’s a man job.” He winked at Hannah, who smiled back at him. Doing her best, like always.
He pulled two heavy bags from the bin near the doors, turned to find that Jack had run to the ice cream freezer despite everything he’d told him, was standing on the edge, trying to hoist himself up on his sturdy legs to peer inside.
“Let’s go,” he told his son.
“Ice cream’s here, Dad,” Jack insisted. “It’s in here.”
“I know it is,” Drew said. He shoved one bag under an arm, ignoring the freezing cold against his body, transferred the other bag so he had a hand free, and reached for Jack’s. “But we’re going.”
“I
want
it,” Jack insisted, clinging to the freezer like a limpet. “I’m
empty!”
This time, Drew didn’t smile. “No,” he said flatly. “Your mum’s tired, and so’s your sister. They both need a nap. And so do you,” he added recklessly, knowing how much Jack hated to be reminded of nap time and not caring one bit. He’d placate his wife any day of the week. Damned if he was going to placate his four-year-old son.
Jack clung obstinately to the side of the freezer, and Drew didn’t have enough hands to pry him loose, didn’t want to risk hurting him by yanking him off. “I don’t need a nap!” Jack insisted. “I’m not a baby. And why does Mum need a nap? Mum’s not a baby either.”
“No, she’s not a baby. She’s a tired woman,” Drew snapped.
Entire newspaper columns had been written about his legendary patience. Patient and controlled, that was Drew Callahan. Always had been.
Well, he wasn’t feeling patient now. One four-year-old boy, it was clear, had more power to test him than the dirtiest-playing opponent, the most incompetent ref known to world rugby. “She’s about to have a baby,” he told Jack, “and pregnant women get tired. Which means my job right now, and yours too, is to help her.”
“Why does she have to have a baby?” Jack demanded, not letting go of his beloved freezer. “She
has
a baby. She has Gracie. She doesn’t need another baby. If she didn’t have a baby, she wouldn’t be tired, and I could have ice cream. I don’t think she should have one.”
“You don’t get a vote.” Drew bit the words out. “And this discussion is over. We are taking this ice to your mum. We are paying. We are going home. And everyone is having a nap. Now.”
His son looked at him, his expression mulish, the very salt-stiffened tufts of brown hair sticking up from his head exuding defiance. He’d come down from the freezer case at last, was all but stomping in his little blue jandals. “I don’t
want
to,” he said. “I don’t want a nap, and I don’t want a baby brother! You keep saying it’s nice, but it
isn’t
. It
isn’t
nice, and I don’t
want
it!” He started to cry, and that was just wonderful. That took the cake. “I want
ice cream!”
“Right.” Drew squatted, still holding his ice, the entire side of his body numb with cold by now, and grabbed Jack under the bum. He slung him over one big shoulder, edged his way around the queue of shoppers, dumped the bags into Hannah’s trolley without a word, and carried his kicking, screaming son out of the store, knowing that everyone there was watching him go. He’d had better moments.
When Hannah pushed the trolley out to the car, Drew was crouched down next to it, one hand on Jack’s shoulder, having what was clearly a man-to-man talk.
He stood at her approach. “One sec.” He opened the door for Jack, made sure he was buckled into his booster seat. Her son was still sobbing a bit, and Hannah couldn’t bring herself to care. Drew was right, he was
their
son, not just hers. Drew was going to have to handle this, because she couldn’t. Not right now.
She was about to lift Grace out of the trolley, but Drew was there again. “What are you thinking?” he asked her, the impatience evident.
He pulled two heavy bags from the bin near the doors, turned to find that Jack had run to the ice cream freezer despite everything he’d told him, was standing on the edge, trying to hoist himself up on his sturdy legs to peer inside.
“Let’s go,” he told his son.
“Ice cream’s here, Dad,” Jack insisted. “It’s in here.”
“I know it is,” Drew said. He shoved one bag under an arm, ignoring the freezing cold against his body, transferred the other bag so he had a hand free, and reached for Jack’s. “But we’re going.”
“I
want
it,” Jack insisted, clinging to the freezer like a limpet. “I’m
empty!”
This time, Drew didn’t smile. “No,” he said flatly. “Your mum’s tired, and so’s your sister. They both need a nap. And so do you,” he added recklessly, knowing how much Jack hated to be reminded of nap time and not caring one bit. He’d placate his wife any day of the week. Damned if he was going to placate his four-year-old son.
Jack clung obstinately to the side of the freezer, and Drew didn’t have enough hands to pry him loose, didn’t want to risk hurting him by yanking him off. “I don’t need a nap!” Jack insisted. “I’m not a baby. And why does Mum need a nap? Mum’s not a baby either.”
“No, she’s not a baby. She’s a tired woman,” Drew snapped.
Entire newspaper columns had been written about his legendary patience. Patient and controlled, that was Drew Callahan. Always had been.
Well, he wasn’t feeling patient now. One four-year-old boy, it was clear, had more power to test him than the dirtiest-playing opponent, the most incompetent ref known to world rugby. “She’s about to have a baby,” he told Jack, “and pregnant women get tired. Which means my job right now, and yours too, is to help her.”
“Why does she have to have a baby?” Jack demanded, not letting go of his beloved freezer. “She
has
a baby. She has Gracie. She doesn’t need another baby. If she didn’t have a baby, she wouldn’t be tired, and I could have ice cream. I don’t think she should have one.”
“You don’t get a vote.” Drew bit the words out. “And this discussion is over. We are taking this ice to your mum. We are paying. We are going home. And everyone is having a nap. Now.”
His son looked at him, his expression mulish, the very salt-stiffened tufts of brown hair sticking up from his head exuding defiance. He’d come down from the freezer case at last, was all but stomping in his little blue jandals. “I don’t
want
to,” he said. “I don’t want a nap, and I don’t want a baby brother! You keep saying it’s nice, but it
isn’t
. It
isn’t
nice, and I don’t
want
it!” He started to cry, and that was just wonderful. That took the cake. “I want
ice cream!”
“Right.” Drew squatted, still holding his ice, the entire side of his body numb with cold by now, and grabbed Jack under the bum. He slung him over one big shoulder, edged his way around the queue of shoppers, dumped the bags into Hannah’s trolley without a word, and carried his kicking, screaming son out of the store, knowing that everyone there was watching him go. He’d had better moments.
When Hannah pushed the trolley out to the car, Drew was crouched down next to it, one hand on Jack’s shoulder, having what was clearly a man-to-man talk.
He stood at her approach. “One sec.” He opened the door for Jack, made sure he was buckled into his booster seat. Her son was still sobbing a bit, and Hannah couldn’t bring herself to care. Drew was right, he was
their
son, not just hers. Drew was going to have to handle this, because she couldn’t. Not right now.
She was about to lift Grace out of the trolley, but Drew was there again. “What are you thinking?” he asked her, the impatience evident.
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