5. Sparks and Suspicions
5
SPARKS AND SUSPICIONS
EVERETT
Crash!
The sound reverberates through the house, ripping me from my concentration.
"Hazel! Harper! Is everything okay out there?"
"Yes, Daddy!" They chorus back a little too quickly for my liking.
“Y'all promised a solid hour to review this contract.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling, praying for a solution before I lose my mind.
My regular support system—my parents—left for their annual road trip. They’re official snowbirds heading to warmer states in the south.
"Sorry, Daddy," is lost in their high-pitched giggles.
"You girls are pushing it." My tone lacks the depth of authority I’m striving for. They know it, too—all too well—as the giggles only grow louder .
I steal a glance at the clock. It's almost lunchtime. I only have a few more minutes before I need to shift gears from tech specialist to single dad.
We just lost another nanny.
Mrs. Jenkins, a sweet older lady with the patience of Job, had barely made it through the front door before she let out a scream that still echoes in my mind.
The twins, in their infinite creativity, had put worms—real, squishy, muddy worms—into her bed as a welcome gift. God knows how they even managed to catch them, but the moment she discovered their ‘surprise,’ she bolted out of the house like a firecracker.
We haven’t seen her since, and I can’t say I blame her.
At this rate, I'll have to find an agency to help me because I can't work with a clear head without support. And my folks aren't expected back in town for another six months.
With the chaos ringing in my ears and a throbbing headache creeping in, I turn back to my desk, searching for focus. The light from my phone flickers in the corner of my eye, drawing my gaze. It buzzes the caller ID, revealing Specter's coded number.
“Ugh, what am I going to do with you two?” I mutter under my breath, gritting my teeth.
There's a fine line between letting the girls enjoy life and driving me insane. I just haven't quite figured out where the line is.
I ignore the ripple of anxiety. I know I owe him a call. But despite the importance of my existing contracts, the twins' antics have consumed my time, making it easy to forget he's awaiting my response.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for the conversation ahead. I reach for the phone, but just as my fingers brush the screen, another crash booms from the living room, followed by a fresh chorus of gut-wrenching laughter, as if the twins are conspiring to make me lose my shit.
But I have to handle this call. Because being a single parent doesn't thwart my responsibilities.
I swipe to answer, covering the receiver to block out their laughter.
"Logan," I answer, keeping my voice low and steady.
"Ghost," Specter's distorted voice comes through. "Do you have an answer for me?"
Specter’s voice is always calm and calculating, managing to make even the most critical news feel like a strategic game with high stakes.
I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. "No, sir. I'm giving it some thought and even have some names in mind, but I need more time to?—"
Another crash interrupts me, louder this time.
Dammit .
"Is this a bad time?" Specter asks, a hint of amusement in their voice.
"No, sir," I reply, gritting my teeth. "Domestic issues."
"Ah, the joys of fatherhood," Specter muses. " You've got two weeks to assemble your team. Which means I need an answer like yesterday. After that, we move forward with or without you."
My stomach clenches. Two weeks. Christ .
"Understood," I say, my mind already racing. "I'll have an answer for you by the end of the week."
"Good," Specter says. "Oh, and Ghost? Make sure you've got your house in order before you commit. We can't afford any... distractions ."
The line goes dead before I can respond. I set the phone down, my head spinning. Two weeks to put together a team of elite operatives, all while juggling twin six-year-olds and a mountain of unresolved personal shit.
No fucking pressure.
I grab a pen and pad, jotting down names.
Axton's a given—my oldest friend and the best demolitions expert I know. Then there's Owen. His on-the-ground strategy and close-quarters combat skills are unmatched, and he's local. His kid brother might be a spoiled ass, but Owen would be an asset to the team.
I tap the end of the pen against the pad and lean back. And the team rounds out—Callum and Jace.
Callum's got the sniper and reconnaissance specialty we need. His keen instincts and precision marksmanship would make him invaluable on the field. And Jace... well, there's no one I'd trust more behind the stick of any aircraft, capable of weaving through the tightest situations with a grin that belies the danger.
The thought of assembling such a formidable team sends a thrill through me, but it quickly spirals back into the knot of concern, tightening in my stomach.
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from Axton. Glancing at the screen, I see a simple check-in.
Axton: So? Got an update?
His straightforward question is almost mocking in its simplicity. I can’t avoid the truth any longer. The weight of my escalating responsibilities presses down on me.
Everett: No. But I will by the end of the week.
I let out a sigh. I'm halfway there. I have my candidates. That much is clear. But now comes the daunting decision.
Am I ready to take on this new mission?
The prospect of returning to a role where I can serve my country is like receiving my dream twice. Since I was a kid, I have wanted to fight for something greater than myself.
The idea of stepping back into a role that allows me to serve my country feels like living my dream all over again. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to fight for something bigger than myself.
But I had walked away from the military, choosing my daughters over the Marines, yet here it is, an unexpected opportunity unfolding right before me.
The excitement is intoxicating, but my heart sinks at the thought of the logistics.
Can I really juggle these covert operations while also being a present father to Hazel and Harper?
The thought of possibly abandoning my girls, who have already lost their mother, fills me with dread. I can't bear the thought of becoming an absentee father, too.
Jillian has already left, and I'm the only one they have left.
There are days when I barely keep my head above water, managing their needs, emotions, and the turmoil left in the wake of their mother’s departure. The girls thrive on my attention, and I refuse to let them feel abandoned again.
As I lean back in my chair, the stacks of documents around me and the glow of open windows in front of me serve as a harsh reminder of the work piling up.
Sitting in my office, I let myself admit how much I crave the thrill of working alongside my fellow soldiers. The adrenaline rush of suiting up and taking down the bad guys.
But can I afford the risk? Would this new mission mean more nights away and more uncertainty in my girls’ lives?
I want to accept this assignment, to feel the pull of my former life while knowing full well that it could jeopardize everything I’ve built with the girls. It's why I moved back to Silver Ridge in the first place.
The hesitation gnaws at me, unrelenting. It’s not just about what I want anymore. It’s about balancing my duty to my country with my promise to my daughters.
I close my eyes, allowing the silence to fill the spaces between my thoughts.
"Can I do this? Can I have them both?"
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from Axton.
Axton: Two heads are better than one. Meet me at Millie's for a late lunch. You in?
I glance at the clock. It's later than I thought. But the girls need to eat, and I could use a change of scenery to clear my head.
Everett: Meet you there.
I stand, stretching out the kinks in my back. Time to see what hurricane the twins have unleashed in the living room.
As I step out of my office, I walk past the kitchen, and I'm met with a scene of cheerful chaos. Couch cushions are strewn across the floor, forming a makeshift fort. Hazel peeks out from behind a pillow, her curly hair a wild halo around her face.
"Daddy!" she exclaims. "We built a castle!"
Harper emerges from the other side, her eyes wide with excitement. "Yeah, and we're the princesses!"
I survey the mess with a smile. "I see that. But princesses need to eat, don't they? How about we head to Millie's for some lunch?"
Their squeals of delight are answer enough. As I help them put on their shoes, Specter's words echo in my head.
Two weeks to decide the course of my future—and, by extension, theirs.
The drive to Millie's is filled with the girls' chatter, their excitement about lunch a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head. As we pull into the parking lot, I spot Axton's truck.
Inside, the diner is quiet. We missed the lunch crowd. Axton waves us over from a booth near the back. The girls rush ahead, eager to greet their "Uncle Ax."
"Well, if it isn't my favorite troublemakers," Axton grins, scooping them up in a bear hug.
I slide into the booth across from him, nodding my thanks as Betty sets down a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. She wears her signature apron, which is bright pink with the words "Kiss the Cook" boldly embroidered across the front.
"Here you go, sugar! Fresh brew, just the way you like it," she beams, her eyes sparkling with warmth as she leans in slightly. "The usual for you boys?"
"Yes, ma'am," I reply. "And chocolate chip pancakes for the girls."
As Betty bustles off to put in our order, Axton leans forward, his expression turning serious.
"So," he says, keeping his voice low. "What's the word from our mutual friend?"
I take a sip of coffee, buying myself a moment. "I told him I'd have an answer by the end of the week," I mutter. "But we've got two weeks to put together the team."
Axton lets out a low whistle. "Shit, that's not much time. You got names in mind?"
I nod, glancing around to make sure no one's within earshot. "You, obviously. Then Owen, Callum, and Jace."
"Good calls," Axton nods in thought. "Owen's the best to oversee the on-the-ground strategy. Callum’s a master sniper with reconnaissance expertise, so we need to stay one step ahead. And as for Jace, there’s no better pilot out there—he’s a damn ace in the cockpit. Nobody handles a bird like he does."
"My thoughts exactly," I agree, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Axton's confidence in the team selection eases some of my doubts.
Our food arrives, momentarily pausing the conversation. The girls dig into their pancakes with gusto, chocolate smearing their cheeks.
As we eat, Axton and I discuss logistics in hushed tones. How to contact the others, where to meet, and what cover stories to use. It feels good to be planning again to have a clear objective.
But as I watch the twins, their faces alight with joy over something as simple as pancakes, a familiar ache settles in my chest. How can I balance this new mission with being the father they need?
"You okay, Everett?" Axton's voice breaks through my thoughts.
I blink, realizing I've been staring into space. "Yeah, just... thinking about the logistics of it all."
Axton's eyes soften with understanding. "We'll figure it out, man. We always do. "
I nod, grateful for his support. As we finish up our meal, the girls start fidgeting in their seats.
"Daddy," Harper tugs on my sleeve. "Can we go see Miss Steph at the shop? Please?"
I check my watch. We've got time before we need to head home. "All right," I concede. "But you hold hands until you get there. And stay put until I come and get you. Deal?"
"Yes, sir." They nod eagerly, already scrambling out of the booth.
I turn back to Axton.
"I'll reach out to the others and set up a meeting. Let you know when and where."
"Sounds good," he says, clapping me on the shoulder and leans in. "We've got your back, Ghost. Don't forget that."
I stand up, tossing a few bills on the table to cover our meal.
"Thanks, man. I'll be in touch."
He stands back and gives me a knowing look. "Say hi to Kenzie for me."
I won’t dignify that with a response. But as I turn to leave, I can't deny the little flutter in my stomach at the thought of seeing her again.
The walk to Steph's shop is nice with the lowering temperatures now that the summer is almost behind us. I slow my pace, giving myself a moment to think. But I keep my eyes peeled, half-expecting to spot Kenzie around every corner.
Ghost .
That’s what they called me in the Marines. It was a name earned in the shadows, a reminder of my ability to slip in and out unnoticed. Even now, the moniker seems to cling to my identity, a weight of expectations wrapped tightly around me.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts, focusing on the present. But that's what Specter expects.
He wants Ghost and my team. Because he knows once I accept, I'll deliver.
My thoughts shift to Kenzie. It’s been almost three weeks since she arrived in town, and I can't help but wonder how she’s faring.
Has she settled in? Is she finding her place in this community?
As I round the final bend, there it is—Steph's Consignment Shop, adorned with cheerful window displays and a weathered sign. I pause at the door, taking a deep breath.
Fuck, what is wrong with me . You'd think I've never seen a beautiful woman before. But Kenzie's beauty is a rare gem .
But as I push open the door, and the little bell jingles overhead, I stop just inside at the sight of her.
Kenzie stands in the middle of the shop, surrounded by piles of clothes, her figure framed by the soft light filtering through the windows.
Her curly hair is pulled up in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils cascading down to frame her face, softening the determined look in her hazel eyes. She’s wearing a fitted, cream-colored sweater that hugs her curves just right, highlighting the graceful lines of her body.
On either side of her, my girls are fully engaged, their little hands carefully folding shirts and placing them in neat stacks. The trio looks like a picture of domestic bliss, and the sight warms my chest in a way I’m not prepared for.
As I lean against the doorframe, I take a moment to really look at Kenzie. She’s focused on the task at hand, but there’s a spark in her movements—a quiet confidence that draws me in. The way she interacts with Hazel and Harper is fluid and natural, as if she’s always belonged there, in this moment, with my family.
Our eyes meet, and a jolt surges through me, igniting something deep within. It’s a raw, undeniable attraction, and I can feel its weight hanging in the air between us, electric and charged. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of us locked in time.
Her lips curve into a soft smile, and I return it, my heart racing at the warmth in her gaze. There’s a softness to her expression, a flicker of something deeper that I can’t quite put my finger on. The connection between us is growing—layered and complex.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to break the gaze, but the pull is persistent. It feels as if the distance between us shrinks with every second. Heat pools in my gut.
Kenzie bends down to pick up a shirt, her movements fluid, and I catch a glimpse of her figure in motion, every curve accentuated by the soft fabric. My breath catches, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the air around us, thick with lust.
“Hey, Dad!” Harper’s voice cuts through the haze, pulling me back to reality. “Look at what we’re doing!”
I glance at the girls, their innocent enthusiasm grounding me, but my attention drifts back to Kenzie. Her eyes widen before she turns her expression into something more neutral.
“Looks great, girls,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady, even as my heart races. “You’re doing an awesome job.”
“They really are. I think we’ve got a little fashion show in the making here. Now, remember what I said about matching the colors?"
"Yes, Miss Kenzie!" they chorus, beaming up at her like she's hung the moon.
I'm unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. It's so...normal. Everything my life hasn't been since their mother left.
"Mr. Logan," Kenzie says, her tone clipped as she eyes me with a hint of wariness. "Can I help you with something?"
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how intently I've been staring. "I, uh... I'm here to pick up the girls." My gaze drifts to Harper and Hazel, still engrossed in their task. "What are you doing?"
Kenzie arches an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry smile. "What does it look like? I'm sunbathing."
The sarcasm catches me off guard, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. This woman has a way of keeping me on my toes. "I meant..." I gesture vaguely at the piles of clothes. "What are you doing here?"
"Working," she says simply, turning her attention back to folding a shirt. "Miss Steph was kind enough to offer me a job."
I nod, unsure of how to respond. Small talk has never been my strong suit, but something about Kenzie makes me want to try.
"How are you doing?" The words feel clumsy on my tongue.
She pauses, studying me for a moment as if weighing her response. "I'm... hanging in there." There's a guarded quality to her voice, a hint of vulnerability.
Sensing her hesitation, I take another step closer, my boots scuffing against the worn floorboards. The sound seems to echo in the quiet shop.
"How are you settling in?"