Chapter 3
3
C alista rarely canceled on her patients, but she needed a few days to collect herself. Between Brad trying to kill himself and her, and the cleanup in her office, she deserved a break.
Not to mention seeing Hawke. She had no idea he’d been living in Florida, although, it shouldn’t have surprised her because he loved the ocean. He loved being in the sun. It was his kind of place. However, she might have picked Texas to relocate if she had known. That was even farther from the great maple state of Vermont. Speaking of syrup, she slathered her son’s pancakes in the sticky stuff. Deep down, she knew that marriage wouldn’t last, but she did it anyway. She wanted a family for her son. Stability. Dumb reason to get married.
Doug was nice enough. Attentive enough.
But he wasn’t Hawke.
And she couldn’t give herself to Doug completely when her heart was still with the man who ripped it from her chest and tossed it aside like rotten eggs.
“Wilson. Let’s hurry up. The school bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Coming, Mom!”
Five seconds later, her son skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen table. She’d rented a small house in Ocean Side Village. It was a nice community with lots of families. There were plenty of kids Wilson’s age to play with and she loved that for her son.
It would be good for a year while she looked for a place to buy.
She ruffled Wilson’s soft hair. It was a little lighter than Hawke’s, but other than that, there was no mistaking who Wilson’s father was. She glanced over her shoulder to the picture of Hawke she always kept on the fridge. It was one of her favorite images. He wore loose-fitting jeans and a black V-neck shirt. He leaned against his truck, arms folded across his chest. He sported a huge smile. The one that made her knees go weak every time she dared to stare at the picture for more than a second. It was taken right before Courtney had killed herself. Hawke had just come home from having been deployed for three weeks and Calista had been so happy to see him. He’d presented his dilemma to her regarding the rest of the team wanting to leave the Air Force, a career he loved, and he was so torn. He had no idea what to do, until the day Courtney died.
That changed everything.
“Eat up, kiddo.” She sat across from Wilson with a hot cup of coffee. The steam rose up to her nostrils, and she inhaled the rich scent of mocha, cream, and splash of cinnamon.
“What will you do today since you’re not working?” Wilson asked.
“I thought I’d catch up on some of my shows and maybe read a book.” She palmed the mug and took a small sip. Relaxing would be out of the question, even though she planned on trying.
Only, she’d be pacing with her cell in her hand, waiting for Hawke to call.
If he called.
“That sounds so boring. You should play some video games or maybe go outside and kick a ball around.” Wilson raised a forkful of pancakes and stuffed it in his mouth. Syrup dribbled down his cheek. He swiped at it with the back of his hand.
Snagging a napkin, she reached across the table.
“Mom!” He took it from her hand and cleaned off his face. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m almost in double digits.” He sat a little taller and smiled.
Just like his father.
“Yes, you are, but you’ll always be my little boy.”
Wilson rolled his eyes.
She watched her precious child devour his breakfast. The last ten years had gone by too fast.
“Go brush your teeth. We’ve got five minutes.” She tapped her Apple Watch.
“Yes, ma’am.” Wilson pushed back from the table, taking his plate with him. He paused in front of the fridge. “Are you still looking for my dad?”
“Every day.” She swallowed. If Hawke wanted nothing to do with his son, then she’d bite the bullet and lie to her kid that his father had been killed. He was a firefighter, and now she knew he worked for a private security firm that did missions similar to the military. He could have died any number of ways. What other choice did she have? She knew the truth would probably come out, but not until Wilson was an adult and had the skill set to understand that his father’s decision had nothing to do with him.
“Why is it so hard to find him? Can’t we ask the Air Force where he went after he left? Or do searches in fire departments in each state?” Wilson dumped his plate in the sink and faced her with tears welling in his eyes.
Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She’d had this conversation a million times with Wilson. When she’d given birth, she ran on the assumption that Hawke just hadn’t gotten her letters yet. She let that thought rule her for the next two years when reality had sunk in, and Hawke hadn’t returned a single letter, and she knew for damn sure he’d gotten them.
Telling Wilson about his father’s identity had been a mistake. It didn’t matter that her only intention had been to make sure Wilson didn’t go through life thinking he was a bastard. That if his father knew about his existence, he’d be in his life.
“Sweetheart. We’ve been over this. The Air Force doesn’t keep track of where people go after they leave the military, and there is no national database for firefighters. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack. I’m doing the best I can, kiddo.”
“Why didn’t you tell him about me before he left the military?” Wilson’s lower lip quivered. “Before he left Dover.”
She knew from experience that this line of questioning wasn’t going to end in the next few minutes, so she reconciled that she’d be driving her son to school today. And that was okay. He could be late.
Hell, he was in the fourth grade. He could take the day off. It’s not like he missed much school. Perhaps it would be good for them to spend the day together. It would certainly get her mind off of waiting for Hawke to read her letters. And if he did open them, he’d need some time to digest the information.
“Come here.” She patted her leg.
Wilson didn’t sit on her lap often anymore, but he didn’t hesitate this time.
“I didn’t know about you until after your father decided to leave the Air Force. Our relationship had ended and he was deployed. I never saw him again. But as soon as I learned I was having you, I started searching for him.” That wasn’t a lie. “I wish I could tell you I knew where he was or what he was doing, but I can’t.”
“Do you think he died on that mission?” Wilson had asked this question many times, and she’d always given him the same answer.
Before she could answer, her cell phone rang. She raised her arm, glancing at the number flashing on her Apple Watch. She had no idea who it was, so she’d let it go to voicemail.
“It’s possible.”
Ding-dong.
“I hope he’s okay.” Wilson wiped his face and leaped from her lap. “I’ll get it.”
“I love you, kiddo. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Wilson flashed that great big smile. “I love you too, Mom.” He skipped off toward the front of the house.
She let out a long breath. It was close to nine in the morning. She wasn’t exactly sure what time Hawke got off work this morning, but he should be home by now. Reading one letter shouldn’t take very long, and it would only take one letter for him to figure out he was a father.
“Mom! Mom! It’s Dad! We found Daddy!”
Hawke hated it when people showed up at his house unannounced, so he decided to call Calista first, but she let it go to voicemail. He glanced over his shoulder. Duncan remained in the passenger seat of the truck with the window rolled down. He pulled his ball cap over his head, and Hawke suspected Duncan was about to take a little snooze.
He raised his hand three times before his finger finally connected with the doorbell. Not wanting to seem too impatient, he turned his back to the door and stared at the school bus rolling to a stop down the street. He squinted, looking for his kid.
His kid.
He couldn’t put words to how he felt about being a father. Surreal didn’t do it justice. Maybe it was because he hadn’t met him yet.
Butterflies filled his stomach as the door rattled.
“Can I help you?” a squeaky voice asked.
Hawke turned. He had to lower his gaze. Standing before him was a pint-size version of himself.
“Dad?” the boy whispered.
“Huh?”
“Mom! Mom! It’s Dad! We found Daddy!” The kid jumped at Hawke, wrapping his arms and legs around Hawke’s body so tight that he couldn’t catch a breath.
He stumbled backward, lifting the boy higher. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the boy’s head. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Your name is Wilson, right?”
“Yes! After you.” Wilson snuggled his face into the side of Hawke’s neck.
His legs wobbled, so he sat on the steps, blinking. A couple of tears rolled down his cheeks. Through the blinding sun, Hawke stared at Duncan, who had snatched his hat from his head and sat up taller, shock registering on his face.
“How do you know who I am?”
“Mom keeps a picture of you on the fridge, and she’s told me all about you.”
“She has?”
Wilson lifted his head and nodded wildly. “We were just talking about you over breakfast. We’ve been trying to find you, but she said the Air Force doesn’t keep records of people who leave. We even looked on Twitter and Facebook and Googled you. Nothing.”
“Well, I’m not on social media, and my real name isn’t Hawke.”
“It’s not?” Wilson’s sky-blue eyes went wide. “Does Mom know that?”
Hawke laughed. It had been the best-kept secret his entire life. When he’d been about the same age as Wilson, he’d been given the nickname Hawke by his older brother because Hawke had always had the eyes of a hawk. He liked it so much that shortly after, he begged his parents to stop calling him by his given name. As time went on, he dropped it. Only, he never changed it legally. His driver’s license, social security card, and paycheck all said something else.
But still, very few people knew. Or dared to comment on it.
“I stopped going by it before I met your mom, but she knows it.” Hawke adjusted his son, so he was on his right knee. He wanted to soak in the kid’s face and memorize every crinkle and expression.
“You were in the seventh grade, and some boy was picking on Mom. You punched him right on the nose.” Wilson raised his little hand, fisting and smacking it into his other hand.
“She told you that, huh?”
“Mom’s told me lots of things about you, but not that you had a different first name.” Wilson’s smile quickly turned into a frown. “Where have you been? Mom has been searching for you.”
“After I left the Air Force, I came here. I’m not sure why the letters didn’t catch me until now.” Hawke didn’t think he should say anything else on the subject. “Where’s your mom?”
“Right behind you.” Calista’s sweet voice tickled his eardrums like palm trees in the breeze. “You hate your real name. It’s why I never mentioned it.” Leave it to her to get fixated on that.
“Yeah. What is it? My full name is Wilson Hawke Alba. Mom’s is?—”
“Calista Nights Alba. Nights because she slept all day and was awake all night. And Calista was her mother’s maiden name.” Hawke turned his attention back to Wilson as anger and resentment rolled across his skin from his toes to his head. She said she hadn’t kept his son from him, but that is exactly what she’d done. But now was not the time to confront her.
And never in front of the boy.
“If Hawke isn’t your real name, then what is?” Wilson asked.
“If I tell you, you have to promise me never to tell people. My friends at work know, but they’d never dare use it. No one does.” He pointed to Duncan, still sitting in the front of the truck. “That guy once thought it would be funny to start calling me that because he didn’t like that my name was cooler than his. Then he started doing it to our friend Buddy.”
“Who’s Buddy?” Wilson asked.
“Another guy I work with. His parents gave him that nickname when he was born because he was named after his father, and they didn’t want people calling him Junior.” Hawke chuckled. “Duncan over there can be a bit of a jokester. It’s all in good fun.”
“I can meet the people you work with?”
“Of course.” Hawke nodded, shocked at how at ease he felt with a kid on his knee, like it was an everyday occurrence.
“So, what’s your real first name?” Wilson asked.
Calista sat on the stoop. “Oh, he almost never tells anyone unless he’s forced to give his driver’s license.” She laughed. “I always thought you were going to change that.”
Immediately, Hawke tensed and shifted a few inches away. “Never got around to it.”
Calista’s smile faded, and Wilson cocked his head, giving Hawke a puzzled expression.
“All right, Wilson, but you can’t laugh.” Hawke did his best to relax. His son didn’t need to be dragged into a past that only brought pain and misery. “The name my parents gave me when I was born is David Donald Wilson. At one point, I was called Double D.”
Wilson burst out laughing. “That’s a bra size!”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Out of the mouths of babes. “I haven’t been called that since I was ten.”
“I’m almost ten.” Wilson puffed out his chest. “Mom said when we found you, that if you wanted, I could change my last name to Wilson, but that would be weird to be Wilson Wilson.” The boy rolled his eyes. “But maybe we could change it to David Hawke Wilson.” He nodded his head. “Yeah. That has a nice ring to it. I like it. And you changed your name and it stuck. So, I could do the same.”
The air in Hawke’s lungs escaped, and he couldn’t suck in a deep enough breath.
“Will you all call me David from now on?” the boy asked, his excitement laced with every syllable.
“Perhaps. But right now, you’re late for school. So go back inside, brush those teeth, and get your backpack.”
“Mommmm,” Wilson—David—whined. “I’ve waited my whole life to meet my dad and?—”
“I think you should do as you're told. I don’t live far from here, so we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
“You mean it?” Wilson—or maybe now David—jumped to his feet.
“Let me talk to your mom, and we can make some plans to go fishing this weekend or something.”
“I love fishing!”
“Me too. Now go do as your mother said.”
“Yes, sir!” David raced up the steps, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Hawke stood at the bottom of the porch with his hands on his hips, staring at the screen door as it slammed shut. “He missed the bus.”
“I’ll drive him,” Calista said.
“I want to do that,” he said behind a clenched jaw. “I want to pick him up tonight and take him to dinner. As a matter of fact, I want to spend as much time as I can with him. I’m off all week, and this weekend I have no plans.”
“We don’t have much going on this weekend, so we can make some arrangements. He has soccer practice on Wednesday and a doctor appointment on Thursday.”
“I can take him.” The longer he stood in her front yard, staring at her, the more his blood heated.
“Let’s start with dinner tonight and go from there.” She took a hunk of her hair and pushed it behind her shoulder. “I won’t keep you from your son, but we do need to?—”
“You’ve kept him from me for almost ten years.”
She opened her mouth and let out a gasp. “How dare you? I did no such thing.”
“Really? Because in one of your letters, you specifically stated you didn’t tell my brother, yet you spoke to him. Sent him the letters but chose not to tell him about David.”
“His name is still Wilson and I didn’t think?—”
“If he wants to be called David, then that’s what I will call him. And I want to give him my last name. He deserves that. Also, you could have told Colt about David when I didn't answer your letters. He would have delivered the message to me, and I would have come running.”
“Once again, my son’s name is Wilson.” Calista’s blue eyes turned ice-cold. Much like the day he walked out of her life. “Because you didn’t respond, I assumed you didn’t want him or want?—”
“Why wouldn’t I?—”
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m answering your question. I tried to tell your brother, but he said whatever was in the letters was between us. He didn’t want to know, nor did he want to get involved. Besides, I only saw your brother once. Only spoke to him twice and the second time, he all but hung up on me, stating you made your position clear, but if I wanted to keep sending letters, he’d keep delivering them. I assumed you didn’t…” She glanced over her shoulder. “…want him.”
“You know what they say about making assumptions.”
“All you had to do was open one damn letter. But you didn’t care enough about me to do that.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts. Her tanned, muscular thighs flexed as she shifted her stance. “He goes to School 18 on?—”
“I know where it is.”
“As long as the bell hasn’t rung, you can just drop him off at the side door in the circle. You’ll see a line of cars. Do you want to pick him up?”
“I would. Thank you.” He swallowed the shame that smacked his tonsils with a sour taste. She was right. He should have opened the letters. Had he taken his head out of his ass, he might not have lost ten years.
But he was too stubborn and wanted to blame her a bit longer. It was easier to stay mad at her since that’s the only emotion he allowed himself when it came to the woman he had once loved.
Oh, fuck. He had always loved her, but admitting that didn’t change anything.
“I’ll call the school. You’ll need to bring your ID, and pickup is at four, right after the buses leave the loop.”
“Does he have any allergies or anything I should know about?” He would have known that if he had been a better father.
A better man.
“Just don’t let him eat a ton of junk, and I’d like to know where you plan on taking him.”
“I’ll text you the itinerary.”
“I want him home by nine. He’s really easygoing, and he’s been dreaming about this moment his entire life. I doubt he’ll give you a hard time about anything. But if you have any problems, I’ll be around,” she said. “And we need to have a conversation about how visitation will go moving forward. We should probably put it in writing. Of course, you’d need to actually read the documents when we?—”
He raised his hand. “Okay. I deserved that. But I want to be in his life. I want to be his father.”
“You are his father.”