When I Need You Page 2

  No wonder Jensen Lund had knocked on my door looking so pissed off. “Did you apologize?”

  Calder lowered his chin. “I forgot.”

  “Did you happen to see where he lives?”

  “Right across the hall.”

  “First thing after supper you’re going to apologize to him.”

  “Okay.”

  “Second thing: Is being bored an excuse to break my house rules?”

  His head dipped again. “No.”

  “We’ve lived in this apartment building a week, Calder. Everyone is a stranger. You know better than to go anywhere by yourself.”

  He glanced up at me, his pale brown eyes full of remorse. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “We’ll figure out your consequences after we eat. The last question . . .” I paused. “Since when do you call your penis a pee-shooter?”

  “Uncle Martin said to call it a pee-shooter when I’m a little dude because all it’s good for is shooting pee. He said when I’m a big dude, I can call it a love gun.”

  Jesus, Martin, really? You had to break it down that much for your nephew? “In our house, it is not called a pee-shooter.”

  Calder’s eyes took on a defiant glint. “Uncle Martin said you’d say that. He told me that since I have one—and you don’t—I should get to call it whatever I want.”

  Seriously. Martin had to have been high during that conversation. But now wasn’t the time to argue terminology with a hungry six-year-old. “We’ll talk later.” I pointed at the hallway. “Wash your hands.”

  Sagging against the counter, I considered my options with the Alicia situation. Did I call her now or wait until I’d calmed down? Would I be calmer before or after I marched my son across the hall to face Jensen Lund?

  I wasn’t looking forward to that.

  • • •

  Calder and I both dragged our feet until we reached Jensen’s door. I knocked briskly four times.

  A minute later the door swung open.

  He seemed as shocked to see us as I was to see him. Half-naked. He’d answered the door bare-chested, in just a pair of athletic shorts.

  Holy crap.

  Every day I worked with athletes and their honed physiques, but this man’s upper body was on a whole different level of perfection. Every inch smoothly sculpted from hours of repetition to get the maximum benefit of those massive muscles.

  Thankfully he hadn’t noticed me staring slack-jawed at his killer chest. He was too busy eyeing Calder and placing one knee over the other as protection from another groin shot.

  Calder blurted out, “I’m sorry that I ran into your pee-shooter and ran away.”

  Jensen’s focus moved to me and his eyes narrowed. “Slamming shit without explanation or apology must be a family trait.”

  I raised my chin. “I tend to get annoyed when a stranger knocks on my door demanding to know who I am.”

  “Your door?” His gaze flicked to our apartment then back to me. “When I left a little over two weeks ago, Martin and Verily lived across from me.”

  “I’m subleasing their place.”

  “Does Bob know?”

  “Bob the apartment complex manager? Yes, he knows.”

  He frowned. “Why didn’t Martin tell me he planned to move out?”

  “Martin hates saying good-bye. It’s a thing with him. He’s always been like that.”

  “How do you know Martin so well?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  “Seems there’s a lot I didn’t know about Martin.” He took his hands off his hips and scrubbed them over his face before running a hand through his hair.

  I watched the flex of his biceps and triceps. Talk about arm porn.

  Knock it off, Rowan.

  But my gaze dipped to that gorgeous eight-pack. I swallowed a sigh and a tiny puddle of drool that’d formed in my mouth.

  “Can we come in?” my snoopy son asked.

  Jensen absentmindedly stepped back to allow us access.

  A small entryway funneled into the living area, which was completely filled with the biggest couch I’d ever seen.

  “This is totally cool,” Calder exclaimed. “Do you ever jump on it like a trampoline?”

  I’d bet Jensen has tested the bounce factor of every piece of this couch multiple times, but not in the same way Calder was thinking, I thought snarkily.

  When I glanced up and caught Jensen looking at me, I swore he’d just read my mind.

  The damn man smirked at me. He snatched a wadded-up T-shirt off the back of the couch and slipped it on—shame, that—then spoke to Calder. “A tall guy like me would hit the ceiling on the first bounce, so no jumping. You can hop over, though.”

  “Cool!” Calder whooped and scaled over the back of the couch like the little monkey he was.

  I’d have no problem getting a leg over . . . if I hadn’t been wearing a dress.

  Right after Calder had performed a couple of exuberant bounces, Jensen pulled the back section out, creating a crack wide enough that I could slip through.

  “Thanks.” As soon as my butt connected with the cushions, the couch sucked me in like I was being swallowed by a marshmallow.

  Jensen flopped closer to me than I expected. He thrust out his hand. “Let’s start over, okay? Jensen Lund.”

  Did I tell him I knew who he was because he’d walked past me every Sunday during football season for the past four years?

  I shook his hand. “Rowan Michaels. That’s my son, Calder Michaels.”

  Calder had already stretched out on his belly, facing away from the gigantic TV, set on a sports channel.

  “So what’s going on with Martin?” he asked. “He and Verily didn’t break up, did they?”

  “No. They had a chance to go backpacking through Europe with friends, so they took off.”

  “How long will they be gone?”

  “Four months, maybe more. My lease was up on my apartment, so we’re subletting. It gives them a place to come back to and me more time in the housing search.”

  “It’s just you and Calder living over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not to be a dick, but it sucks that Martin is gone. I’m gonna miss him. We hung out all the time.”

  I frowned. “You did?”

  “Yeah. Why? He didn’t mention me?”

  I shook my head. “Did Martin ever talk about me?”

  Jensen was quiet for a moment. “Actually, no. I wonder why that is?”

  I knew exactly why—it was my little brother’s (misguided) way of protecting me. “Martin keeps his life compartmentalized. Keeping his clients separate from his time spent snowboarding. Keeping his family separate from his friends. He hangs out with Calder at least every other week and we get together with our folks probably once a month—more if they’re not in season.”

  “Wait.” Jensen held up his hand. “This is going a little fast for me. First of all . . . Martin has a job? Besides snowboarding?”

  “Of course he has a job. He’s a freelance website designer.” I paused. “See what I mean about him keeping things compartmentalized? You didn’t even know what he does to earn a living.”

  “Makes me wonder what compartment he put me in.”

  “It depends on what you do when you’re with him.”

  “We play video games, watch TV, play cards, drink beer.” He looked at Calder and dropped his voice. “That’s all I can get buzzed on because of . . . testing for my job.”

  Martin was a pothead. He never hid it from me or our parents. It didn’t make me naive to call him a “responsible” stoner, but he’d finished college. He had a job and supported himself. He didn’t cause problems. He lived his life the way he wanted. He was a good person, and that said more to me about who he was than what vice he chose to indulge in. “My life is so hectic that not even . . . herbs mellow me out.”

  Jensen laughed.

  Damn. He had a great laugh.

  I scooted to the edge of the couch. “Sorry your
gaming buddy won’t be around.”

  His gaze intently roamed my face. “You look really familiar to me. I thought you did earlier before you slammed the door in my face, but it’s probably the family resemblance.”

  Or maybe I look familiar because we have met . . . oh, at least six times.

  Yeah, my self-esteem took a knee. Not that I had the ego some of the cheerleaders on the squad did, but I knew I rocked this thirty-year-old body. I glanced over at my son, who was practicing his break dancing arm movements as he stared at the ceiling. I nudged his foot. “Time to go.” I gave Jensen a totally fake smile. “It’s a school night.”

  Calder crawled over the edge of the couch. I propelled myself upright and moved to stand behind him.

  “Thanks for apologizing,” Jensen said to Calder. “Takes guts to admit you were wrong.”

  I smoothed the static from Calder’s long curls when he ducked his head.

  Jensen looked at me. “I’m glad to hear Martin’s off on an adventure and he’ll be back at some point.”

  “Since someone else had an adventure today”—I playfully tugged on Calder’s hair—“I still have to call my nanny and find out why she wasn’t aware that Calder had left the apartment and was running unattended in the halls.”

  “I’d wondered about that.”

  “She’s always been responsible and reliable even when I have to work late.” Had I said that to convince him? Or myself?

  He shrugged. “Everyone screws up sometimes. No harm, no foul. I’d give her another chance because I bet it won’t happen again.” He launched himself over the edge of the couch—one-handed like he was dismounting from a pommel horse.

  God. Why did jocks always have to show off their athletic prowess? I looked at Jensen, expecting to see smugness on his face because he knew he’d executed a hot and sexy move and he also knew I’d watched him do it.

  But he’d focused on Calder. “I have no problem tattling on you to your mom, ninja-boy, if I see you running amok in the hallway again.”

  Jensen was joking—and yet not—and he came across completely charming about it. “I’d appreciate it. My schedule is erratic so I’m not always home from work at decent hours.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “At the U of M.”

  “Hey. I went to school there.”

  I know. So did I. I even cheered for you.

  Calder yawned and nestled the side of his face against my stomach. “I’m tired.”

  Jensen sidestepped us and opened the door. “It was great meeting you, Rowan. And Calder.”

  I said, “Same. See you around, neighbor.”

  Three

  JENSEN

  I hauled my ass out of bed at four thirty the next morning.

  Since I hadn’t seen my older brothers for several weeks, they’d demanded workout time with me as soon as I returned. Mostly because they wanted to hear the doctor’s prognosis.

  As the youngest of four children I was used to being called the baby and treated like one. My siblings were high achievers: Brady—my oldest brother—was CFO of Lund Industries, the family business that grossed several billion dollars each year. My brother Walker had started his own construction company. My sister, Annika, was the VP of PR for Lund Industries. All of them, along with my parents and other assorted Lund family members, had supported me throughout my college football years and when I’d gotten drafted into the pros.

  I’d lived my dream. I’d made a name for myself by hard work and dedication to training and learning everything about the sport of football. But what other skills did I have?

  Yeah, that was another question I still didn’t have an answer to.

  This early in the Twin Cities, traffic wasn’t bad so I made it to Brady’s place in decent time. My brother lived in an old warehouse he’d had renovated several years ago before the area had become super trendy. He’d installed a gym that boasted every amenity, so I loved working out here, but I’ll admit since Brady had married Lennox, I didn’t just show up as often as I used to.

  I punched in the code at the gate and followed the driveway to the private parking lot. Walker’s big rig pulled in beside my ZR1 and he waited for me as I finished my energy drink.

  Walker grinned and yanked me into a back-slapping hug. “The prodigal son, home at last.”

  “Prodigal son, my ass.” I topped my brother by three inches and fifty pounds and he still managed to make me feel little. “You’re the son whose wife is carrying the first Lund grandchild. If anyone is golden, bro, it’s you.”

  “It’s a strange turn of events for me to be the first one to do something in this family.”

  “How’s Trinity feeling?”

  “Oddly calm. We’re four months in and she hasn’t freaked out once. Not even when she felt the baby move.”

  “Maybe she’s saving the freak-out for the delivery room.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Walker warned. “Any time women bring up delivery room horror stories, I bolt.”

  “No talking about babies,” Brady said as we reached him, leaning against the steel door, a mug in his hand. He drained the contents and pulled me into a hug. “Glad you’re here, Jens.”

  “You’d think since you’re both the big bosses at your respective jobs we could’ve waited until six A.M. to meet up.”

  Brady ruffled my hair. Like I was five. “Need extra beauty sleep, pretty boy?”

  “Piss off.”

  “Maybe he had a beauty in his bed and he didn’t want to leave,” Walker suggested slyly.

  I snorted. “I spent all day yesterday in airports. Only thing I wanted to do in my bed last night was sleep.”

  Brady’s was the only gym I’d been in that didn’t smell like a gym. I crossed over to throw my can in the trash. Then I took a mat off the stack and unfolded it on the floor. I grabbed a thick foam roller and a couple of leg bands and sat on the mat with my right foot pressed against the wall.

  Both Brady and Walker were silent, so I cranked my head around to look at them. “What?”

  “We’re not going to talk about it at all?” Brady said. “We’re just getting straight to the workout?”

  “That is why I’m here,” I pointed out. “Besides, I have specific stretching exercises I have to do first and it takes a while.”

  “Does it help?”

  “Yep.”

  I focused my weight training on my arms, chest and core. I’d been in therapy for a year and could perform the leg workout in my sleep. But I was superstitious enough not to get cocky and screw something up before my official meeting with the coaching staff later today.