Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Mercer
It took a moment for Darby’s statement to register. Really, it was less his words and more the way he was looking at me that got my brain engaged. My gaze tracked back to the photo pinned on the fridge. Last year’s school picture.
“You mean Molly?”
He brightened, and his tail gave a swish. “Yeah! That’s what her mom said. Is she…?” He shifted, picking for words as he considered the photograph. “She looks like you.”
“You think?”
His head bobbed, white curls bouncing. “Definitely.”
I blinked at the picture again, at the tilted smile and dark eyes that mirrored mine more than I wanted to admit. “She’s my daughter.”
Darby’s cheer faded. He glanced around the house, searching for I wasn’t sure what until he replied in a rush, “You’re a father? That’s wonderful. I love kids. And you have a…” He cringed as he asked, “Wife?”
“Ex-wife.”
Relief flashed across his face. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” he repeated. This time, he meant it.
I arched a brow, scolding what could have been a celebration of my misfortune. But it wasn’t. He was glad I was single, and that made me happier than it should have.
He huffed a laugh and cast his gaze aside. “No offense, but she was kind of a bitch.”
That didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was the way my chest ached thinking of Molly—knowing Darby met her and that she was close enough for such a chance encounter.
My stomach churned, and I had to swallow before I could ask, “But you… you saw Molly? Did she look okay? Was she happy?”
“Seemed like it. She was just bored waiting on her brother to pick a toy at the store.” He hesitated then asked carefully, “Is he yours too?”
“No.” I shook my head. “He’s her stepbrother.”
“Ah.”
The conversation had loosened a knot in me, and I began to fear it might unravel. It also raised questions I didn’t dare ask and thoughts I’d rather not entertain. So I turned away and busied myself at the counter.
I pulled a loaf from the breadbox then grabbed the knife. “You like lettuce, tomato, mayo?”
“All of the above,” Darby answered.
“There’s chips in the cabinet.” I jerked my chin toward it. “Can you grab them?”
He padded over, stretching onto his toes to reach the bag on the top shelf. Even in heels, he had to strain, his fingers barely snagging the edge of the bag to pull it down.
I laid out plates, then assembled the sandwiches with mindless ease, keeping my hands steady while my head was anything but.
Darby drifted closer with the chip bag crinkled in his hands. The knife rasped against the bread as I cut the sandwiches down the middle, then set the halves on plates. Darby added a handful of kettle chips to each before I took them and nodded toward the breakfast nook.
We went to the table where I set both plates down then sat. Darby slid in across from me, immediately kicking off his heels and settling in.
The sight tugged a smile out of me before my gaze drifted back to the fridge. I couldn’t quite see the photo from this angle, but I didn’t need to. Molly’s smile was burned into me. Her face.
My throat tightened, and I dragged my eyes back down to find Darby staring.
He peeled the crust off his sandwich then gave it a nibble.
“Does this dinner come with a show?” he asked.
“I thought it was breakfast,” I countered.
His grin spread wide, and just like that, he stole the room—along with my attention and thoughts—the same way he did every night at the Dollhouse.
It struck me then that he was the first guest I’d welcomed into this house.
The only person besides the guys at the VFW who’d made the effort to sit across from me and see me since my discharge.
I wanted to see him too.
“How about two truths and a lie?” I suggested.
Darby’s nose wrinkled. “We already played that game.”
I shrugged. “I don’t think I was as honest as I could have been.”
Amusement set his orange eyes aglow. “As I recall, you were too honest.”
“Maybe.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly. “So, do I go first this time?”
I nodded and leaned back in my chair.
Darby tapped a finger against his plate, letting his gaze circle the room as he considered.
He was animated even in stillness, every part of him humming with life. Fascinating. And more beautiful than any man ought to be. More beautiful than most women I’d known.
“Let’s see… One.” He lifted a finger. “I can quote the entirety of Cinderella from memory.”
“Cinderella? The Disney movie?”
“Don’t interrupt.” He tsked then raised another finger. “Two, I can juggle.” He paused then, and his lips pursed in a smile that held more hurt than humor. “And three, I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”
“Is that the lie?” I asked.
Darby’s cheeks puffed, and he folded his arms beneath the ruffled collar of his dress. “Anyone can be a mother, Mercy. It’s a matter of mindset. I think I’d be good at it.”
His certainty left no room for doubt.
“Oops, all truths?” I asked, trying to sever the thread of tension that had drawn taut between us.
“Looks like.” He scooped up a chip and stabbed it at me. “Your turn.”
I’d had things in mind when I proposed this game, parts of my story I wanted to share, but one fact crowded out the others. “I have a daughter.”
Darby crunched the chip then went back for another. “That’s not news. Tell me something I don’t know.”
I swallowed. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year.”
The light in his eyes dimmed, and his pale brows pinched together. “Why not?”
A loaded question if ever there was one.
After my stint with the wounded warriors at Camp Pendleton, I’d had a less-than-glorious homecoming. Truth was, I felt like a dog slinking back across state lines with my tail between my legs. Nervous to face my parents. Nervous to face my ex. And most of all, Molly.
I didn’t want her seeing me like that. Didn’t want to scare her with what still scared me. Didn’t want her to realize I was broken.
“My ex thought I needed time after I came back. To adjust,” I said.
Rachel met me at LAS, but she came alone. I hadn’t expected a banner or balloons, but I’d wanted… something. A smile? A hug? Instead, I got wide eyes and a slack jaw as I hobbled off the plane.
“Jesus, Mercer,” she’d whispered.
Like she couldn’t believe what she was looking at.
That memory had weight, and I had to slither out from under it to catch a breath.
“She has a room here,” I said, then clarified. “Molly does.”
Darby’s voice gentled. “Will you show it to me?”
My first instinct was to say no. That room was private and sacred in a way I didn’t let myself linger on. But something in the way he asked made refusal impossible. Like I’d told Zephyr, Darby always seemed to get what he wanted.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat again then slid my chair back. “Sure.”
The house only had a master suite and a guest room off a single hallway, so the path to our destination was direct.
I opened the door, the one that was nearly always shut, and Darby leaned in to peek around the frame.
The room was simply outfitted with a twin bed blanketed by a pink and white quilt.
When I’d moved in, I hadn’t known what Molly would like—girls her age outgrew things fast—so I stuck to safe choices.
The dresser and matched nightstands were plain but solid, and a rocking chair rested in the corner beside a standing lamp, a piece of the past I couldn’t quite let go.
Between deployments, I’d spent hours in a similar chair with Molly curled in my lap. I read picture books in ridiculous voices, pausing to tickle her until she squealed. She was too big for that now, but the memories clung to me.
On the bed, a few plush toys sat in a neat row with their tags still attached. Cats, mostly. Molly used to beg for one when she was little, but Rachel was allergic. Despite those small touches, the space still looked spartan, much like the rest of the house.
Someday, I told myself, when Molly came to stay, I’d take her shopping. Let her pick clothes to fill the closet and books to crowd the shelves. Until then, this room waited for her, and so did I.
After a cursory glance around, Darby stepped inside. I stayed rooted at the threshold with my palm braced against the wooden frame, watching him circle the room. His fingers brushed the bed’s footboard, then lingered on the ribbon tying back the sheer curtains.
There wasn’t much to see, but he made a study of it anyway.
I couldn’t help but wonder what his place looked like.
Given the frills and flourishes of his wardrobe, I imagined his home would be extravagant, theatrical, and overflowing with personality.
Compared to that, everything here must seem paltry.
But when he finally turned, he didn’t look disappointed. His gaze was thoughtful and warm as it softened with his smile. “It’s lovely, Mercy. She’s a lucky little girl.”
It was an approval I hadn’t known I’d needed.
Darby bent to straighten one of the plush kittens on the quilt, a simple gesture that tugged my memory back to his earlier confession about wanting to be a mother. I shouldn’t have questioned him.
With a final pat on the quilt, Darby exited the bedroom, and I pulled the door shut, sealing the space back into waiting.
“C’mon.” I tipped my head toward the kitchen. “Our sandwiches will go stale if we let them sit much longer.”
He brushed by me, plenty small enough to make close passes without body contact, but he seemed to do it on purpose. With a graze of his hand, hip, and tail, he moved ahead of me, sashaying down the hall on bare feet.
It was a view I could get used to.
I started after him, but halfway down the corridor a nerve twinged in my thigh, sharp enough to make me slow. I ground my palm against the muscle, willing it to settle. Sometimes it was the leg. Sometimes it was the missing foot, a phantom reminder that never quite let me forget what I’d lost.
Darby glanced back, tail flicking and curled horns catching the light.
Accessories, he’d called them.
I rubbed my thigh again then exhaled through the ache.
Or maybe they were battle scars.