Run with it macateer bro.., p.1
Run With It (MacAteer Brothers Book 1), page 1
Run With It
MacAteer Brothers #1
ML Nystrom
Run With It © 2020 by ML Nystrom
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Run With It is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.
www.hottreepublishing.com
Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Cover Designer: BookSmith Design
Formatting: Justine Littleton
Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-925853-88-9
Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-925853-89-6
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Gaelic terms and meanings
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by ML Nystrom
About the Publisher
This book is dedicated to all the single moms struggling to be the breadwinner-teacher-coach-counselor and all the other hats worn by a parent. You are super rockstars! Also, to those special men who come to love and support those single moms and are unafraid to take on an instant family.
One
His deep hazel eyes bored into mine as he handed me a perfect single red rose. Words weren’t necessary, as he easily swept me off my feet and carried me into the candlelit bedroom. I ran my hands through his shiny blond hair as he gently laid me down on the soft coverlet. He caressed my face before leaning over to straddle my hips with his muscular legs. I watched as he slowly undid the ties that held his billowing white shirt closed, and in one swift movement, he whipped the fabric over his head, revealing his gleaming rock-hard abs and perfectly formed pecs topped by copper-colored nipples. My breath left me at the intensity of his gaze, need and want reflected in those beautiful orbs. I gasped, and the scent of sex and male musk coated my tongue. He wanted me. He wanted me badly. Slowly he bared my beautiful, svelte body. Peeling the silvery gauze dress from me, he revealed my firm, lush breasts and smooth feminine curves. I was his and his alone. His hands moved to his black leather pants, and he popped the first button, revealing more of his glistening six-pack. He leaned back and his golden hair gleamed in the candlelight. I heard his moan when he traced his fingers over the lines of hard muscle around his navel. His eyes glowed with fervent want. My own want rose in me, and I grew breathless with anticipation of his heated touch. He popped the second button, revealing the paler skin of his groin and the outline of his mouth-watering package. He popped the third button and—.
“Mom! Abby won’t get outta the bathroom!”
The yell pierced through my dream like a hot knife through butter. I sighed as I opened my eyes to the pale early morning light. Gone was my beautiful sexy body and fantasy lover, and here I was, back as my thirty-eight-year-old self, short, round, and slightly overweight. Maybe a little more rounded than I should be.
Okay, I’ll say it. I’m fat. I’m just fat.
My bed squeaked as my feet hit the wood floor. It was old, and the mattress seriously needed replacement. I kept meaning to get a throw rug for my room, but that and several other wants had to go behind the needs and wants of my kids.
I have four—Abby is my oldest at fifteen, Jacob is twelve, Sarah is ten, and Matthew is my baby at eight.
Where is Dad? The short answer is he’s not here. Last year he traded me in for a younger model just before his fortieth birthday. What a twentysomething girl sees in an older married man with four kids I’ll never figure out. I was sure it was the money. My husband—ex-husband—has loads of it. He received the bulk of an inheritance from an uncle just over a year ago. Enough money that we could have paid the college costs for all four of our kids and still had a small fortune left over. Instead, my husband—sigh, ex-husband—decided he was done with his aging wife and kids and found himself a perky blonde trophy, a fancy new house in a fancy new neighborhood, fancy new friends at a fancy new golf club, and of course a fancy new Porsche convertible.
I get angry when I see that red car zipping around town. That one car could’ve paid for the entire four years of college for Abby and two or three years for Jacob. Meanwhile, I still have my old, falling-apart Ford minivan.
What did the kids and I get from this windfall? Nada. Nothing. Zip. I can’t prove it, but I’m 100 percent sure he knew about the money he would get and left us before he claimed it. Filed the separation papers one week and was collecting his bounty the next. My lawyer said it sucked, but the dates worked out that his newly found riches weren’t considered a marital asset. He did have to pay child support, but that was based on his previous yearly income, which didn’t amount to squat in comparison. I didn’t have the means for a long court battle, as every penny I made went to support myself and the kids, and getting free legal help would take years. Social services was backed up that far. He got a big fat bonus. The rest of us got the shaft.
I couldn’t pay the mortgage on only my salary and next-to-nothing child support, so I had to sell our nice big house and cram us all into a three-bedroom duplex. I barely broke even on the sale, despite my husband—dammit!—ex-husband not arguing for his portion. My bedroom looked like a converted closet, but the kids needed the bigger spaces more since they had to share. Bunk beds, shared closets, and the worst of all, one bathroom for everyone.
“MOM!” The yell was louder now, accompanied by the hollow stomping of feet to my bedroom and followed up with hard pounding against the door.
“All right, all right, I’m coming,” I grumbled, reaching for my robe and belting it around my waist. “Abby? Get a move on.”
The bathroom door muffled her teenage whine. “I’m doing my hair!”
“Yeah, well, the rest of us will flood the place soon. Finish primping in your room.”
She complained a bit more while she made a mad dash to her room before the curling iron cooled.
I made Jacob wait as I took a two-minute pee; I could hear him huff and puff at the door. Privacy was a luxury I no longer had. Sarah was up, dressed, and sitting in the kitchen, which was separated from the living room area only by a long breakfast bar that served as our dining table, school project desk, laundry folding station, utility spot, and anything else that needed a flat surface. I sighed and moved several backpacks—for the bazillionth time—off it to make room for the cereal bowls.
“Morning, Mom!”
Mattie ran in, barefoot, and grabbed spoons out of the drawer. He wasn’t born with an off switch, and he was always in motion. Climbing on everything, swinging from anything that held his small weight, and constantly running. I wasn’t sure that kid knew how to walk. I used to be critical of those mothers who put child leashes on their kids, but that was the only thing that kept my miniature tornado from getting hit by cars when he was younger. No fear, my little Mattie!
Jacob had finished up in the bathroom and slipped back to his room, which meant I had about three minutes to take a lukewarm shower. Between Abby and Jacob, most of the hot water got used up, and more than once I’d had to deal with cold. I rushed through my routine, staying mindful of the clock, quickly towel-drying my hair and pulling the dark mass back into a damp ponytail. I didn’t keep a style per se, just trimmed the ends occasionally. Long hair was easier to maintain, as all I needed to do when I was in a hurry was tie it back. Hurry was the norm these days. I threw on clothes and dashed a little moisturizer over my face. No time for makeup. Routine done.
Jacob had made coffee for me, and the two youngest were eating cereal as they gabbed about their upcoming day. I knew eggs, bacon, and sausage were better for a longer-lasting protein-filled breakfast than sugar-filled corn puffs and colored marshmallows, but time dictated the cooking while money dictated the weekly grocery list.
“Abby come down yet?” I poured a to-go cup of the precious caffeinated elixir of life.
“Nope.” Sarah crunched a spoonful of Lucky Charms. “She’s putting her face on.”
I yelled up the steps, “Abby! Get down here now! We're behind already, and you need to eat something!”
She yanked open the door and stuck her head out. Sculpted curls adorned one side of her head. “I’m still doing my hair.”
“Then hurry up. You still need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You're—”
She stomped back into the bedroom.
I growled under my breath and then yelled out loud, “Don't make me come up there.”
She yanked the door open and glared down at me.
“You are not leaving this house without breakfast.”
She flicked back a lock of hair that slid into her eyes. “I said, I’m not hungry.”
I glared. She glared. We could go on like this for days. The clock on the wall read quarter ’til eight. I moved back into the kitchen, then heard the bedroom door slam shut. A picture on the wall slid sideways on the nail with the force. I still needed to get through the morning schedule of “where’s-my-backpack-I-need-my-shoes-find-my-homework-I-need-lunch-money” and whatever else my kids forgot to get together last night.
Twenty minutes later, I herded the kids to the door relatively on time. I thought maybe, just maybe, we might make it to their various schools without any drama.
Too bad I lived in a fantasy world.
Mattie opened the door and grinned at Jacob. “Losers are last.”
“Wait a min—”
The screen door slammed shut behind Mattie, knocking the top hinge loose, again.
Jacob ran after him. “Hey, that’s not fair.”
I caught the screen door before it could slap shut and take the whole thing off the frame.
Sarah cut around me and followed her brothers.
Abby stopped beside me and rolled her eyes.
I looked at the mass of waves she had lacquered into place on her head and followed behind her as she walked out. “Don't be so smug. You were just like that a few years ago.”
“No I wasn’t.” She spoke the words over her shoulder. Her creative coiffure barely moved.
“I got here first.” Mattie had one foot pressed against the edge of the passenger door and a death grip on the armrest while Jacob yanked on his other foot.
“Because you cheated!”
Sarah opened the side door on the van and tossed in her bright pink backpack.
“Both of you, move. I sit in the front seat.” Abby crossed her arms, and both boys fell quiet. Then Mattie laughed.
Abby twisted up her mouth and looked at me. “Mom.”
“All of you in the back.”
“But I got here first!” Mattie kicked at his brother.
“Back, now. All of you. No one is sitting in the front.”
The boys moaned and clambered from the passenger seat into the back. Abby started to get in the front.
“All of you means all of you.” I put my purse in the passenger seat just in case she needed a hint.
“What? Why?”
“Don't argue. You used up all that time to do your hair. Now get in and buckle up.”
Abby huffed and slammed the door. She slid into the rear seat next to Sarah. Jacob had Mattie in a headlock in the third row.
“Hey, you two. Knock it off.”
“But he kicked me!” Jacob tightened his hold.
Mattie's cheeks turned redder. “No. I. Didn’t.”
“If you two don't stop, you'll be riding on the luggage rack.” I dug in my purse for the keys. “Now put your seat belts on.”
I glanced up to the mirror and spotted Mathew pulling at the side door. “What are you doing?”
“You said we could ride on the luggage rack.”
My hand automatically pinched the bridge of my nose. “Mattie, sit down and put on your seat belt.”
“But I want to—”
“Mattie!” I met his gaze in the rearview. His expression fell, and he threw himself back into the seat next to Jacob.
I started the van. At the end of the drive, I remembered the Pop-Tart I'd grabbed. I took it out of my purse and handed it to Abby. She opened her mouth.
“Do. Not. Argue. Just eat it.” It might not be the most nutritious breakfast, but it was portable. She rolled her eyes at me but opened the silvery foil and munched while I drove to the elementary school. Mattie and Sarah got out and bounced into the brick building. Jacob was next at the middle school, and Abby was last at the high school. The afternoon pickup route varied depending on who had soccer practice, science club, drama club, study group, etc.
“Still heading to the library after school with Phoebe? Don't forget to call me when you get there,” I directed as we parked behind the main campus building. The high school was old and looked more like a prison. Regardless, it was a good school with great teachers. The colorful homecoming banners looked out of place, but at least they attempted to take away some of the gloomy look.
“I know, Mom. I call you like every afternoon.” Abby rolled her eyes at me again. I supposed I should say something to her about being disrespectful, but right now, I needed her out of the car so I could get to work.
Where do I work? Right here. I was the chorus teacher and school pianist of Asheville High School, in the mountain city of Asheville, North Carolina. It wasn’t the glamourous job I thought I would have when I was in school. I had dreams of becoming a great jazz musician or getting my name in lights on Broadway as a famous headlining singer. Instead, I had Abby, and that dream turned into sleepless nights of diapers and baby vomit. I had no regrets. Being a mom was the best thing I’d ever done in my life, and I cherished every moment of it, even when I had a kid who was planning on me buying her a car next year. Did a Hot Wheels die-cast Mustang count?
Abby rushed ahead of me, trying not to be seen hanging with Mom. I didn’t mind. A lot. I knew most of the kids in these classes would rather not be with their parents. It stung, but I was used to it.
Thankfully, my first period was my planning hour, and I took a few minutes to finish getting myself together. I kept a stash of makeup in my desk drawer for just this reason. After a quick primp job, I ran to the teacher’s lounge for my second hit of caffeine for the day. Melanie Miser, one of the algebra teachers, was there with her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and immaculate clothes. She may have been my best friend, but sometimes I hated her.
“Morning, Beverly!” she trilled as she stirred fake sugar into her cup.
I growled at her as I filled my own cup with the strong dark brew. “You are way too perky to be a teacher at this school. You look like you walked off the cover of a fashion magazine.”
She laughed, showing off her perfect white teeth. “Life’s too short, baby. You never know when Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now will show up.”
“I’ll settle for Mr. Fix-it. My landlord doesn’t put maintenance high on his priority list.” I inhaled my much-needed caffeine fix.
Some people were addicted to drugs, drinking, money, and fame. I was addicted to coffee, and I didn’t plan on stopping.
“My kitchen sink is dripping and backs up constantly, the fan in the living room wobbles in circles like it’s unscrewing itself from the ceiling, my lawn mower is making this weird noise, and the toilet runs so much it flushes itself several times an hour. I’ll trade Mr. Right for a handyman any day.”
“A hot and hard man with the right tool for the job. Yum!” Melanie practically drooled.
“More likely a beer gut and butt crack man with serious bad breath and sweat stains, but it might be worth a date or two to get my plumbing fixed.” I swallowed the last of my coffee and got a mouthful of grounds. Bleh! “You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels you like so much. I hate to tell you, but hot vampire lovers and alien warriors are not going to suddenly appear and sweep you off to Neverland.”
Melanie pouted and pointed a French-manicured nail at me. “You’re such a spoilsport! It’s called fantasy for a reason. Don’t let that ex of yours keep you from dipping back in the pool. Not every man out there will be a Chris Hemsworth or a Jason Momoa, but there are plenty of good-looking men who would love to be with you.” She gasped. “I know what you need! I’ll make you a profile on Meet-n-Match. They have a six-month special price deal going on. Merry Christmas early!”
I rolled my eyes with such precision that even Abby would be proud. “Don’t you dare. I’ll worry about that later when my life doesn’t revolve around child drama and a falling-down duplex to hold together. Right now, I need to get my happy ass to my classroom and get ready for the kiddies to show up.”
