use our help? I promise Armand won’t be in charge of anything.”
That got a laugh out of Griffith. “I’ll take all the help I can get, so yes, I agree.”
“Good. I’m going to need your input. I don’t organize parties that often, and never for kids.”
“Well, they’re not kids. They’re teenagers.”
“Does that make a difference?”
Griffith laughed. “Oh, you have so much to learn when it comes to teens, and probably kids, too.”
“I should probably ask Payne to help, huh?”
“Probably.”
Roark groaned. This was going to be more complicated than he’d hoped, wasn’t it?
Hours later, he had his answer. Even though he wasn’t in charge, Armand had insisted on helping, and Griffith had stuck around, too. They had a list of things to do, but it had been hard-won. Roark had had to shoot down several of Armand’s ideas, including the one to rent a bouncy castle and the one to transform the shelter into a haunted house. Roark had been tempted by the last one, but the logistics to make it happen were too complicated, especially because Griffith had waited until the week before Halloween to come up with this. They were going to have to make do with what they had, which Roark hoped would be enough. Several of the assassins had volunteered to help, and that would make things easier on him. That didn’t change the fact that they didn’t have a lot of time, though.
“It’s going to be great,” Armand said.
“Let’s hope so.”
“Oh, come on. Beck is going to take care of the music and the light stuff, Graham will cook, and you’ll spend the evening glaring from a corner as you make sure everyone does what they have to do for the kids to have fun.”
“I don’t glare.”
“Yeah, you do. And that’s okay. It’s one of the reasons we love you. You care so much about us, yet you don’t want us to realize that you do. You’re a huge teddy bear, really.”
Roark growled, but instead of intimidating Armand, it only made him smile wider. “See? A big teddy bear. You’ll make a great father one day.”
That gave Roark pause. A father? Him?
That thought was as terrifying as the one to let Armand organize the party.
* * * *
The only thing Noel wanted to do when he got home was getting a shower and flopping into bed. He wasn’t supposed to come back this late, but one of his clients had been freaking out, and it had taken Noel a while to reassure him that he was doing everything he could to help him and that he shouldn’t try to run and leave the country. That would only make things worse for him, and God knew the situation was already dire enough.
He punched in the code to the garage and drove his car inside, parking next to his mate’s SUV. He waited until the garage door closed to turn off the car and lean back against the seat, closing his eyes for a moment. He had to go upstairs, but he needed a few minutes to gather the energy to do that.
He breathed in and out and relaxed. He was home. He’d eaten something on his way back, so he wouldn’t have to stop in the kitchen for leftovers. He could go directly up to the room he shared with Roark, and if he was lucky, Roark would still be awake. They’d talk a bit before going to bed, and they’d cuddle and spend time together. Then he’d fall asleep in his mate’s arms, and everything would be right in his world.
Everything was always right in Noel’s world when he was with Roark, and even when he wasn’t, because he knew that Roark was there to stay. They were bonded, linked for the rest of their lives. Roark would always be there for Noel to come home to.
Noel exited the car.
As he was stretching, his neck popped and cracked. He’d loosened his tie when he’d gotten into the car, and he took it off now, throwing it into his bag and closing the car. He wasn’t surprised to see the light filtering from under the kitchen door when he climbed the stairs—there was always someone awake in the warehouse. There were so many of them—too many some days—coming and going, resting, eating, relaxing, and whatnot. Noel knew who was a night owl and who woke up early in the morning by now. The assassins and their mates were a lot to take in, messy and noisy on