The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Twenty-Six

B efore the sun came up , movement in the kitchen woke me. A second later the fridge light spilled into the darkness as Mercy looked inside. Leaving the door open, she grabbed a glass from the open shelving and poured some milk. Putting the carton back, using the light from the still open door, she grabbed a banana off the counter. Closing the door, she turned in my direction, but I couldn’t tell if she saw I was awake or not.

Tiptoeing past me, she went back to my bed and handed the banana to her son, who was sitting up.

Eagerly taking the fruit, he peeled it and wolfed it down.

Seeing him so hungry made my chest tighten with guilt.

His mother handed him the milk.

After drinking half the glass, he handed it back and lay down.

Mercy set the glass on the nightstand, then lay down facing him.

They signed to each other.

The angle of my view, the predawn darkness in the warehouse, I watched, but was unable to decipher what they were talking about.

Then it hit me.

So obvious and simplistic, I was angry at myself for missing it.

Words weren’t the only form of communication.

In the bathroom, in the shower, she’d given me her choice. But then for the second time, she hadn’t waited for me.

Replaying her every word, her every action from earlier, I watched them each sign once more, then she pulled the covers up around her son.

An idea formed.

They settled back into sleep, and the idea grew.

I assessed, I calculated, and I considered contingencies.

The sun rose.

I sent a text.

Not cutting losses, not walking away, I had a plan.

Inhaling, I closed my eyes.

I did not realize I’d fallen back asleep until a small hand touched my arm.

Noticing the light was on in the bathroom and water was running, I turned my head, and wide brown eyes in a cherubic face met my gaze.

Squatting next to the couch in his pajamas, the boy looked at me as his hands moved. My daddy is in Heaven.

Instinctually, I reached out and brushed my hand over his soft hair. Then I signed, I know. I’m sorry .

Not moving away from my touch, he signed back. My mommy told me. He was brave. He was like you.

I raised an eyebrow. Like me?

The boy nodded. A Marine. He was strong and tall. But Mommy says I don’t look like him because he had blond hair and blue eyes. He pointed at his eyes. I have brown eyes. His face, his expression, both innocent, he stared at me for a moment without guile. You have some brown in your eyes.

I nodded, then signed, I do.

I have brown hair like you.

My shoulders muscles tensed. I was a biological fatherless kid. I knew where he was going with this. Yes, you do, I signed back.

You could be my alive daddy.

A forty-two pound, forty-seven inch human being with brown eyes and brown hair who could not hear but listened better than any adult I knew wanted me to be his father. Pressure constricting my chest, I was not prepared with a response.

He dropped his head. I was only kidding.

I sat up. Then I did something I’d never done. I picked him up and set him on my lap. “May I speak?”

His gaze cut to my mouth and he nodded.

I gave him the truth. “I would be honored to be your father.”

Just like his mother when she got embarrassed, color tinted his cheeks. He lifted his hands to say something.

I covered his small fingers with my own. “But I am not married to your mother.” I would not lie to him.

He dropped his head again.

I tipped his chin. “Would you like to know a secret?” Unfamiliar and rarely used, I smiled.

He shrugged.

I told him. “I would like to be married to your mother.”

His own smile, shy and understated, hit the corners of his mouth, and he pulled his hands out from under mine. If you married Mommy, then I could sleep here every night.

I chuckled.

He grinned.

I signed. If I married your mother, you both could sleep at my house.

He frowned. You have a real house?

I nodded.

Where? he signed.

“On the intracoastal. The river,” I amended, not knowing if he knew the word intracoastal.

Is it on that river between the ocean and the mainland? Does it have a dock I can fish off? His face got animated as he fired off questions. Do you have a boat?

My heart swelled. “Yes to all three.”

His eyes got wide as his hands flew through a response. But adults have houses like that.

“I’m not an adult?”

He shook his head. Mommy says people who live in warehouses aren’t grownups.

I fought a smile and signed. Did she now?

His eyes crinkled with laughter, but he didn’t make a sound. She did. She said that.

What else did she say? I asked.

He was so quick at signing, and he used some gestures I was unfamiliar with, that I had to pay close attention.

Mommy said you live in a warehouse because you don’t want to grow up and have a family and when you don’t have a home, you don’t have to be down tied and pay bills. You can fly to other countries and frog lick to your heart’s content.

Down tied? I raised an eyebrow. “Frog lick?”

He shrugged. That’s what Mommy said.

I fought amusement. “Was she speaking or signing when she said that?”

Oh, speaking. Nash nodded. And saying it really fast, how she does when she gets mad. Then she brushed her teeth real hard. He leaned forward as if our conversation was a conspiracy. She’s still in the bathroom, but her teeth are clean.

I fought another smile. “I think she meant frolic.” I signed out the last word letter by letter as I spoke it.

He watched my hands then repeated the word. Frolic. What does that mean?

I signed the answer. It means to play around and have fun.

He gave me a grave nod. I like to frolic.

I gave him a smile. What is your favorite way to have fun?

Looking over my shoulder, a mischievous glint hit his eyes before he held a finger to his lips. Then he signed, Eat candy.

I laughed.

He gave me an open-mouth smile as he held his stomach. His version of laughing.

Still smiling, not thinking about my actions, not counting seconds or objects or steps, I hugged him.

His small arms went around my neck, and he hugged me back with the strength of a child who gave love unconditionally.

Inhaling, I was embracing every second of the moment when Mercy walked to the kitchen.

Her son still in my arms, I stood.

Her gaze cut to us.

Stopping short, her hand went to her chest and her mouth opened but she said nothing.

Nash squirmed, turning in my arms to bring his hands in front of him so he could sign. Hi, Mommy!

Her mouth closed, but she fought to wipe the shocked expression off her face. Hi, sweet boy. Did you brush your teeth?

Nodding, he replied. Yes, and I made my side of the bed. So can I have ice cream for breakfast?

She shook her head but she smiled. Nice try.

No protest, he hugged me one more time before leaning back and signing, I can’t wait to visit your house with the dock on the river .

Without thought, I smiled and kissed his forehead. “I would like that.” Sooner rather than later.

Color tinted his cheeks, and he smiled shyly as his hands moved. Can I ride my bike to your house?

Taken off guard, the calculations I lived and breathed that had been absent for the past few minutes came rushing back. Eight miles, seventeen traffic lights, three major intersections on four different busy streets and five side streets—consuming protectiveness surged. I would never let him bike on any of those streets.

I shook my head. “No, you can’t bike to my house. It’s too dangerous.”

He frowned. What about the warehouse?

Opposite side of town, industrial, high crime, homeless encampments nearby, junkies, spillover traffic from the docks. No way in hell. “Not here either.”

Watching my lips, his hands were moving before I finished speaking. Then how do I come visit?

Acutely aware of his mother watching, I choose my response. “That is up to your mother.”

He whipped around in my arms and signed to the woman who had taught him how to communicate better than adults. When can we go to Preston’s house? He has a real, adult house on the river with a dock and a boat, and you can fish there. He looked back at me. Do you have a pool?

Watching his mother, I nodded.

Nash looked back at his mother. He has a pool. He clapped excitedly. Swim, swim, swim. Can we go, Mommy? Please, please, please?

Not looking at me, she laughed nervously. “Not today. Come on, let’s find some clothes for you.” She held her hand out.

Nash squirmed in my arms, and I set him down. His feet touched the ground, but his arms went around my leg and he hugged me again before darting off toward his mother.

She took his hand but looked at me over her shoulder, and her voice turned quiet. “What are you doing?”

Trying. Because she was my every other thought. Because she was real. And because maybe I’d misread everything. “Why did you look surprised when you came into the kitchen?”

“Jesus Christ, Preston.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. Without another word, she walked her son to the bedroom.