back on his plate. He got a knife, another meatball out of the take-out dish, then set to work cutting it up.
“Big Chief Murphy. You look like you’re wearing war paint.”
And the boy smiled at him, sweet as an angel. “I like pisgetti.”
“Me, too. Want yours cut up, Liam?”
“Okay.”
“Gut shot.” Beckett poked a finger on the red stain on Liam’s T-shirt. “And still up for the battle. Harry?”
“I like to twirl it.”
“Good plan.” Fairly exhausted, Beckett dropped into his chair. “Dig in, men.”
CHAPTER NINE
THEY ATE LIKE WOLVES, BECKETT INCLUDED. MAYBE virtual war followed by a minor meatball fight piqued the appetite. After the meal, the best solution he could come up with was to strip them down in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. As he tossed his spaghetti-tagged shirt in the machine for good measure, the boys did what naked boys have done throughout history.
They ran around the house yelling like heathens.
He wasn’t sure which was more of a mess, the kitchen or the kids, but opted to deal with the kids first. Since he doubted Clare’s standards stooped low enough to deck out three sticky, sauce-stained kids in their pajamas, he herded them into the bathroom.
“It’s a three-for-one,” he announced. “Everybody into the pool.”
“Can we have bubbles?” Murphy asked.
“I don’t know, can you?”
“We got Spider-Man.” Harry reached onto a shelf in the splinter-sized linen closet, took out a Spidey-shaped bottle.
“Very cool.” Beckett dumped a hefty dose in the water. “Okay, hop in, and I’ll—”
“We need our toys.” Liam got a plastic basket out of the closet, dumped in all contents. From the sneaky look he shot Beckett, Beckett figured that wasn’t how their mom handled it.
But, it was Man Night.
“Okay—”
“We need our soap stuff.” Harry got a pump bottle. “You can wash your hair and your skin with it.”
“Handy.”
“But you gotta wash our hair,” Murphy told him.
“Okay.” Beckett studied the bottle. “Let’s go for it.”
They climbed in. If he hadn’t been distracted by Spider-Man, toys, and soap stuff, he’d have considered water displacement.
He switched off the taps, tossed a towel on the floor where the water had lapped over. Because he was currently shirtless, he metaphorically rolled up his sleeves and got to it.
Realized inside of thirty seconds he’d need more towels.
It brought back dim memories of baths with his brothers, the water battles, the floods, the silly fun.
The wheedling protests when it was time to get out.
“Here’s the deal about Man Night. Women come back. If your mom comes home and sees this bathroom, the kitchen, men, we are toast. It’s better to get rid of the evidence.”
He pulled the plug. Between the floor, the walls, the kids, he used half a dozen towels. And now naked boys ran around yelling again, but at least they were clean.
“Everybody go suit up.” Beckett grabbed wet toys out of the tub, tossed them in the basket. “I’ve got to go deal with the kitchen.”
He carted the towels down, switched the wet clothes to the dryer, dumped the towels in the washer.
He glanced at his watch. Jesus, how the hell did it get to be quarter to eight? Moving fast now while running feet and shouts sounded from upstairs, he stuck dishes in the dishwasher. He scrubbed off the table, swiped the sauce off the floor, then tossed the dishrag in the washer with the towels.
“Hey, you need to come down and put away these games.”
“We’re putting on our pajamas!” Harry shouted back.
The hyena laughter followed.
“Yeah, I bet.”
But time was running out. He made a dive for the living room, gathering up games, controllers, then charged up the stairs.
They’d pulled on the bottoms, and wore the tops on their heads like war bonnets as they sat on the floor around a small mountain of action figures.
“I can fart with my arm,” Murphy told him. “Liam showed me.”
He demonstrated to his brothers’ hysterical laughter.
“An important life skill, well executed. Tops on, guys. Your mom’ll be home any minute.”
“She says it’s rude to fart in public, even with your arm.”
“Words to live by.” Taking matters in his own hands, Beckett tugged down Murphy’s shirt.
And got that angel smile again.
“Can it be Man Night tomorrow?”
The oddest sensation of pleasure glowed in Beckett’s belly. “Can’t tomorrow, but we’ll do it again.”
“We can do it when it’s not school, then have a sleepover.”
Here’s hoping. “I’d like that.”
“Mom’s home. Mom’s home.” Murphy raced off, followed by, then passed by, his brothers.
When he started down they surrounded her, Murphy holding his arms up to be lifted,