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“Breakfast?”
“Check.”
“Play area?”
“Check.”
“Nap room?”
“Check.”
“Check-in book? Spare key? Emergency contacts?”
“Check, check, and double check,” Ian reeled off, darting about the hallway as Debbie read from the list on her phone. “Chill, Debs, I think we’ve got it all sorted.”
Debbie shot him a dark look and scrolled down the rest of the list silently. “It’s not enough to think, we need to know.”
Ian held his hands up in a show of surrender, grinning as she set about straightening out their wall of photographs. He left her in the hovering hallway—she was eager to be as quick as possible once parents started arriving—and went to the kitchen to flip eggs, toast bread, and prepare himself for the day ahead. They’d had more kids than ever at Debbie Day Care this year, but with school starting up again, it was time to settle back into the lull of caring for toddlers and babies.
The Day Care had grown a lot from its younger days, as had its employees. Despite Lip’s brains and Ian’s ambitions, Debbie had been the one to really make something of herself. She’d worked tirelessly throughout school and community college, saved and scrounged every penny she could, and read every article and book on home businesses she could get her hands on. Armed with years of experience, an impressive customer base and various legal certificates, she’d approached her older brothers with a battle plan in mind.
“Debbie, I don’t have time for this shit,” Lip had said, typing away furiously at a beaten laptop.
“I can pay you. You’ve been doing Kev’s taxes and stuff for years, it won’t take long.”
“I don’t know, Debs, I don’t think I should right now,” Ian had said, staring at television screen, as he had been for hours on end.
“It’ll be good for you, I promise. It’s gotta be more interesting than the Kash ‘n Grab, right?”
They hadn’t put up much of a fight; they were far too wrapped around her little finger or that.
The building had been cheap; it was large and in an ideal location, but needed some serious TLC. It was in a nicer neighbourhood than their family home but South Side was still South Side, regardless of how fancy the brickwork was. They’d enlisted the help of the whole Gallagher clan to fix it up. The foundations were there, but the interior had needed sprucing up. It came with a spacious, if somewhat empty, apartment upstairs. Debbie had called dibs on the largest room, ignoring Ian’s protests that he was the oldest and should get priority. She’d only pointed out that she was the one with a boyfriend, thank you very much, and therefore in more need of a larger bedroom to accommodate a larger bed, and that Ian could feel free to dispute her claim once he ditched the alleyways and bathroom stalls for more comfortable night time shenanigans.
(“Night time shenanigans, Debbie? Really?”)
The Day Care had grown into a rather lucrative business—not too expensive for the kinds of folk in this neighbourhood, not too shabby for the richer people looking to save a few pennies. Debbie and Ian were adored by the children and trusted by the parents. It worked well for them. They had a good reputation, which garnered a wider customer base, and hence paid for their rent and needs. Debbie had been right. It was more interesting than sitting on his ass all day at the Kash ‘n Grab.
“Good morning, Miss Evans,” Ian heard Debbie call.
Here we go, Ian thought. He tied the strings of his powder blue apron around his waist and straightened it out so the bubbly logo remained unblemished.
Tyler and Tristan, the Devil Twins as he’d dubbed them, came running into the kitchen in a blur of babbling and bumbling. The jumped up to grab at the plates on the counter, arms stretched above their heads.
“Hey, guys, down!” Ian swatted their hands away and herded them to the large wooden table. They argued briefly over who got to sit at the dinosaur placemat, but Ian just switched the mats so the two dinosaur places were adjacent. He served up two plates of toast and eggs, each with a cup of orange juice. More children joined them in a steady stream up until most parents were needed at work. Debbie joined him soon after, swiping the last slice of toast as she sat at the table with the kids. She asked them all what they did at the weekend and nodded as nine different yet equally enthusiastic replies were thrown at her.
The doorbell rang through the room but Ian gestured for Debbie to stay as she made to stand up. He wiped his hands on his apron and walked to the front door.
“Ian!” A small body clung to his legs as soon as the gap in the doorway was wide enough to squeeze through.
“Hey, Yev,” Ian greeted, subtly trying to pry the child off him. “Have you eaten yet? Why don’t you get Debbie to cook you something?”
“I was at Daddy’s. He made me poptarts,” Yevgeny replied, shedding his coat and dropping his bag.
“What about a drink, then?” Ian prompted.
“Okay. Not beer, though. I don’t like beer.” He turned back to his mother and stretched his arms up, beckoning her closer. Svetlana crouched before her son, who planted a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Пока, mama!” He scarpered away down the hall to join the gaggle of children who’d already arrived.
“Beer?” Ian repeated, arching an eyebrow at Yevgeny’s mother.
Svetlana merely shrugged. “Yevgeny asked for beer. Piece of shit husband gave it to him. Said he wouldn’t like it and he didn’t. He won’t want it again for years now.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Ian reached for the shelf with the check-in book and flipped it open. “You mind signing in?”
Svetlana took the offered pen and signed her name and the time. “Yevgeny’s father will pick him up. I am busy with client in evening.”
Ian managed not to smirk or snort at that. He and Debbie had a theory about the massage parlour above the Alibi. Well, it wasn’t as much of a theory as it was general knowledge, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out the kind of clientele Svetlana dealt with.
“But he’ll be here normal time, right?” Ian asked. Svetlana nodded and drew her coat closer around herself. “Great. Well, we’ll see you soon, Svet.”
He closed the door as she strutted away in her towering heels.
“Debs, Svetlana said Yevgeny’s dad is picking him up,” he said, meeting Debbie as she followed the children out of the kitchen.
“Yeah, he’s done that a couple times before.” Debbie had her hair thrown into a messy bun and was toting a drooling toddler on her hip. The child, Amy, was one of their quieter ones. She tended to enjoy simply trailing behind Debbie all day and chewing on the nearest inanimate object.
“Never met him,” Ian commented offhandedly. “Am I on reading duty today?”
“Uh huh. Story time until half ten and then it’s snacks all around.” She shifted her grip on Amy and settled her on the ground. “Let them run off some steam for a few minutes and then round ‘em up. It’s Amy’s day to choose the book.”
Years of army experience and combat training paled in comparison to Ian’s current job. He constantly found himself weary and fatigued each evening, limbs sore from running after practically delirious children all day. Debbie made it look so easy and assured him that managing and caring for all these children would come naturally in time.
“Okay, monsters, who’s ready for some Fairyland Fables?”
“Ian, get the door!”
“Can’t, got my hands full of diapers!”
“Ian, get the door!”
“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled under his breath. He yanked the baby’s shorts back up and secured them around his hips. “Okay, li’l man, you are ready to rock ‘n roll.”
During the time it took for Ian to place the baby back in the play pen and sanitise his hands, the knocking at the door grew in insistency and Debbie’s yells grew in irritation.
“’Bout fuckin’ time,” the man outside grumbled as Ian swung the door open. With his stained tank top, leather jacket, and dark hair gelled back with a few stray pieces falling free to frame his face, the man almost looked as if he’d stepped out of a fifty’s movie. He raised his eyebrows expressively, piercing blue eyes darting over Ian’s form. Ian’s trained eye immediately picked up the well-hidden heat in the man’s gaze. “I’m here for Yev.”
Ian opened his mouth wordlessly for a moment before his brain kicked back into gear. “Right, yeah. Yev!” he called over his shoulder. “Your dad’s here.”
There was a faint reply of confirmation from within the house and a sudden rush of quiet footsteps.
“I’m Ian.” He extended his hand to the man, who eyed it somewhat warily before taking it in his own. His touched lingered after the greeting had passed.
“Mickey.”
Before Ian could progress the conversation, Yevgeny ran up next to him, jumping at the coat hooks to retrieve his jacket and backpack. Ian easily reached past him to unhook his belongings and hand them to him. Yevgeny smiled gratefully at him as he shrugged his coat on.
“Ey, where’s your truck?” Mickey asked. Yevgeny frowned at him. “The blue one? With the silver wheels? You wouldn’t leave the apartment without it this mornin’.”
“Oh, yeah! I left it in the Butterfly Room!” Yev was off before either of them could as much as blink.
“Butterfly Room?” Mickey repeated quietly, huffing. “Sounds gay as shit.”
“That’s not the only thing,” Ian smirked. Mickey glanced up quickly, mouth slightly agape.
“I got it!”
Yev reappeared by Ian’s side with his toy secured tightly in his arms. Mickey jolted into action, seemingly shaken from his train of thought. He took Yevgeny’s backpack and slung it over his shoulder; it looked hilariously undersized in comparison to the fully-grown man. He signed the check-in sheet Ian offered him and gave him a nod as they left. Ian stayed by the door, waving back to Yev as the boy walked backwards down the path. He waited until they were out of sight to return to the house.
“That Mickey?” Debbie asked from the stove when Ian entered the kitchen. He plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and peeked over her shoulder to see what was for dinner.
“Yeah,” he replied once he’d swallowed his bite. “Hey, Debs, we got a policy on, uh… fraternising with customers?”
Debbie arched a brow, a smile curving at her lips. “You think that stopped me and Chris? Why d’ya wanna know?”
“No reason.”
“Right, sure. It obviously has nothing to do with the muscular mechanic who was just at our doorstep.”
Ian tried his best to school his features into an innocent expression. “Not a clue what you’re talking about.”
“He’s married, Ian.”
“Thought him and Svet were divorced, or separated, at least.”
Debbie paused, her spatula freezing above the sizzling vegetables. “I don’t actually know. Svetlana calls him her husband, though.”
“But they don’t live together,” Ian pointed out. “Y’know, someone should’ve warned me that Yev’s dad was so hot. I mean, really, you brought this on yourself.”
Debbie turned to him with an eyeroll, spatula aimed at his chest. “No sleeping with married men.”
“Not like I ain’t done it before,” Ian quipped, grinning at Debbie’s shocking gaze.
“Seriously?”
Ian raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Just a couple times.”
“I’m not sure I wanted to know that.”
Ian’s grin widened as he sauntered off.
“Billy, if you keep eating so quickly you’re gonna make yourself sick,” Ian scolded. Billy scowled at him and continued to stuff his mouth with dry toast. Ian sighed as he made his way through his own breakfast. Younger kids he could handle, but the older, more rebellious ones were a nightmare to deal with. They were a breeze compared to Carl’s younger days, but repeating yourself could grow very tiring very quickly.
He pushed his chair back at the sound of the doorbell, wiping crumbs from his front. Debbie poked her head out from the Caterpillar Cave but retreated when she saw Ian approaching the front door.
“Oh, hey, Mickey.” Mickey jerked a nod to him in response, his hand gripped tightly on Yevgeny’s shoulder. Yev pulled at his father’s sleeve gently, then more harshly when Mickey remained stationary. Mickey rolled his eyes and bent down to Yev’s level. Yevgeny kissed his cheek and Mickey ruffled the boy’s hair, pushing him forwards. Yevgeny darted into the house, hardly sparing a moment to haphazardly throw his coat and bag onto the coat hooks. Ian held back the smile he could feel blossoming from the charming, albeit reluctant, display of affection.
“I gotta sign in or some shit, right?” Mickey prompted, standing upright again.
“Right, yeah.” Ian flipped the book to the right day and scribbled a bit with the pen to check it worked. “You should probably leave your number too. You know, in case of emergencies.”
Mickey’s lips quivered, the corners tilting upwards slightly. “Emergencies, huh? What exactly counts as an emergency?”
Ian quirked his mouth into a lopsided smile. “Lonely evenings?”
“Yeah, bet you get loads of them, wise guy.” Mickey snapped the book shut and held it out to Ian. “I’m picking him up again today.”
With Mickey on his way to work and the door locked behind him, Ian fingered through the book’s thin pages until he reached the latest entry. A series on numbers were scrawled along the edge of the page.