Chapter Two #3
My parents lived like vagabonds, going from town to town, panhandling our way through life until the police or child services would start snooping around, then it was on to the next.
No roots, no morals, just bouncing from one city to the next until we stayed long enough for people to catch on to my parents' hustle, and then we’d be gone again.
And then high school came, but it wasn’t about dating girls or partying with classmates.
For me, high school was all about hockey and finding a way out of my parents' claws. That's where the Army came in.
And Vivi? She’s basically royalty. Not just because of her name or her clothes or the way she carries herself, but because she’s built of something rare. She has this…poise. Like the world bent to make room for her and she hates it, but still plays the part better than anyone.
Vivi grew up in a world I’d only seen from the outside looking in, but never close enough to get my fingerprints on the glass.
And now here she is.
In my car.
In a wedding dress.
Her posture finally eases as if she isn’t worried someone’s about to catch her and rip her out of my vehicle. As if I’d let them get close enough to her anyway. Not a chance.
I steal one more glance in the mirror.
She’s still looking at me.
And for a man who’s spent fifteen years surviving off instinct, I know one thing for certain:
I’m already in trouble.
I hear her voice in the back. “I left my purse and phone at the venue. Do you mind texting Kaenan to ask Isla to grab them?”
“Yeah sure,” he says. “Do you want me to tell them where you are?”
She thinks about it for a second. “They’re probably worried sick. Yes, tell them I’ll be at the house but not to tell anyone else except Yvanne.”
I nod as we stop at a red light. I send off a voice-to-text message and just after I send it, the light to turn into the gated community turns green.
The rain has mostly stopped by the time we reach our neighborhood, the same one in which Isla and Kaenan own a home.
Big gates, pristine landscaping, a whole security team on rotation—not exactly the kind of neighborhood where threats linger in the shadows.
It’s one of the reasons I bought a house here too.
Being close to Isla and Kaenan is the other reason.
It gives Adeline a better sense of community here.
But it doesn’t matter what the safety precautions are here. My brain doesn’t register “safe” just because the HOA’s tight.
I drive down the same streets I drive every day, but instead of going to our house, I hang a left just before—down a different street. Soon, we’re pulling into Kaenan and Isla Altman’s driveway, engine still rumbling low as I glance back at Vivi.
She hasn’t said much since the joke about keeping her like a stray cat except for asking me to text Kaenan. She just sat there, quiet, hands in her lap like they don’t know what to do anymore.
She looks so damn small right now, and my instinct to put the car in reverse and take her to my house instead is strong, but this isn’t my decision, it’s hers.
I shove open my door and circle around to hers before she can even reach for the handle. “Let me help you,” I say.
She blinks up at me. “You don’t have to—”
“Yeah,” I cut in gently. “I do. You’ll trip and face-plant in that dress trying to get out of here.”
I reach in, careful not to touch her more than necessary, and ease her out.
The dress is heavier than I remember but then again, adrenaline was pumping when I grabbed Vivi and lifted her into my SUV like she was a mission target I was shoving into my MH-60 Black Hawk helicopter to get to neutral ground and out of a war zone.
Layers and layers of fabric like she’s carrying the weight of every expectation that’s ever been shoved onto her.
She stumbles a bit on the uneven path, and I steady her with one hand on her elbow.
“I’ve got it,” she says, voice soft but obviously trying to maintain her independence.
“I know,” I say. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to help.”
I gather the train of her dress in both hands like it’s a damn parachute and follow her up the walkway.
I notice the way her hair is up in curls, perfectly pinned in place, that I can only imagine would get her security checked through the airport at TSA.
We’re halfway up the path when a voice calls out from the yard next door.
“Well, I’ll be!” A familiar silver-haired woman in an aggressively floral rain jacket straightens up from her bare rose bush, pruning shears still in hand.
Vivi freezes, then offers a shaky smile. “Hi, Mrs. Fraiser.”
Miriam Frasier. Miriam to me—but Mrs. Frasier to everyone else.
I guess we made it to a first name basis at this point.
“I didn’t know you two kids were getting married.
I thought you were marrying into that rich Seattle family.
What were they called again? The Holidays?
” The woman beams. “Well, good for you, sweetheart. Much better match, if you ask me. Did you know Trey came over and mowed my lawn most of last summer when Gerald was in the hospital for hip surgery?” she says.
Vivi glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes searching, “No, I didn’t.”
“Trey’s a sweetheart,” she winks. “And that little girl of his is the sweetest. Go Hawkeyes.”
Vivi and I both repeat the sentiment in unison. “Go Hawkeyes.”
“Always good to see you, Miriam,” I say and then nod to Vivi to keep moving, my jaw tightening. The less we say, the better. "Your rose bushes are going to be the envy of the neighborhood this coming summer."
I hear Miriam give me an audible "aww, how sweet" and then stares down with pride at the bare sticks that will start sprouting leaves in a couple of months when spring hits. I keep walking with the time I just bought us.
Better match?
I shouldn’t care, but something about that hits me in a place I haven’t let people reach in years.
When we’re finally out of earshot, Vivi glances over her shoulder.
“Miriam? How did you manage to get on a first-name basis? I’ve known her for five years—ever since Isla moved in with Kaenan and Berkeley—and I’m still stuck at ‘Mrs. Frasier.’ Tell me your secret.”
I shrug. “She says I remind her of her husband. He was a combat fighter pilot in the war.”
“Really? Because I think it’s more than that.” Her brow arches. “I think she’s got a crush. Do I need to warn her off now that she thinks we’re married?”
I chuckle. “Why would you need to do that, Vivi? Afraid I’m going to run off with Isla’s seventy-five-year-old neighbor?”
“Can you blame a girl?” She smirks. “We’re practically newlyweds, and I already have to fight her off you. And no more cutting her lawn—it makes me insecure. Next thing I know, she’ll have you in a speedo cleaning her pool this summer while she watches.”
My eyes soften. She’s teasing, but after the day we’ve had, I’ll take it. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I only have eyes for you, darling.” I gesture to the impossible yards of fabric she’s wrangling. “Now, let’s just worry about fitting this dress through Isla’s front door.”
She punches in the key code, but before the door can swing open, I lift a hand. “Hang on.”
I slip inside first, scanning the entryway like muscle memory. I don’t even know what I expect to find—Jameson lurking in the shadows? That mother-in-law Isla’s been warning me about, ready to pounce?
Nothing. Just quiet.
I step back out and hold the door for her. “You’ll be safe here,” I tell her, voice sharp, controlled. The kind of tone I used overseas when I needed to keep a clean break.
Because if I let it soften—if I let her hear what I’m really feeling—I won’t leave.
My fingers twitch with the urge to sweep the entire house before she goes inside. Top to bottom. Clear corners. Check locks. It’s not rational. Not here in this neighborhood. I can at least say that no one was waiting in the front rooms or kitchen to ambush her.
Some things are hard to untrain. Years of military protocol is one of them.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she says.
“You don’t have to. Right time, right place, that’s all.”
I should go.
But I don’t move.
Not until she walks into the house, her dress smashing in against the side of the doorway, but she fits. The last foot of her train passes through the threshold.
“Goodnight, Vivi.”
“Goodnight, Trey.”
Then I close the door behind her and hit the lock button on the keypad.
Only then do I force myself back down the steps, jaw clenched like it’ll keep everything else from unraveling.
I don't even turn the engine on right away. Adeline is lost in a book she got from the library downtown, and I just sit there in the driver's seat, rain beginning to tap against the windshield again, wondering what the hell just happened.
And why the idea of leaving her there alone feels like I’m breaking a rule that’s written into the marrow of my bones.
“Ready to go? I’m starving after ballet.” Adeline says, shutting her book. “What’s for dinner?”
“How about we order in tonight?” I ask because trying to pull something edible together for her tonight might be a challenge with my mind somewhere else.
“Oh, thank God,” she says under her breath. I’m not exactly the best cook. “What can we order?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Yes…” she says, throwing her hands into the air.
At least someone's content with how this night is going.