Chapter 33
A few days after bringing Lauren back to the cabin, Mac had semi-settled into his regular off-season routine. Except, it took him a little longer to get out of bed in the mornings because the warm body wrapped around him was harder than hell to leave.
He lifted the axe and brought it down, splitting the dry piece of cedar. Picking up a chunk, he cut it into kindling when Beckett walked behind the house with a cardboard box tucked under one arm.
"This came for you yesterday. You seemed a little busy, so I didn't bring it over." Beckett handed the box over to him.
Mac frowned at the label. There was no return address.
"Cord went into town and picked up our mail and all the deliveries they held for us." Cord looked around. "Did Lauren realize what an asshole you are and leave already?"
"Funny." He swung the axe, leaving it stuck in the upturned log, and stepped toward the house. "She's in the shower. Want a coffee?"
"Nah." Beckett hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to start wrapping the pipe coming off the spring. We can't have it freezing up on us."
He carried the box inside, set it on the table, and cut the tape with his pocketknife.
The flaps opened. He dug out a piece of bubble wrap. There was something inside. Peeling the packing material away, he stopped. It was a picture of Jetter fishing in the early morning sun. The air left his lungs. He rubbed his thumb across the glass. That was his boy.
He lifted another item out and pulled back the bubble wrap. It was he and Jetter, standing on the dock, the boy's head tipped back in laughter. He dug through the box. Another picture showed them side by side, working on the old canoe.
He looked in the box, finding more pictures. Only one person could've taken these photos. Lauren had caught it all.
Not just the moments, but the truth in them. The way he looked at his son. The way Jetter looked at him.
His throat tightened, and for a long moment, he stood there, the weight of such a gift pressing onto his chest. The photos let him see what he had, what he'd built. It made his heart ache in the best way.
He wasn't the best at expressing his feelings. But looking at the pictures, he hoped Jetter knew he was loved.
He didn't have any pictures of his son like this. Happy. Comfortable. Thriving. Loved.
Sure, Tara gave him a school picture of Jetter with his hair slicked to the side every year, looking nothing like the boy who spends the summer with him. He cherished those pictures, and because they were the only ones he had, he kept them in a drawer so that nothing could ruin them.
The bathroom door opened. He lifted his head and watched Lauren step out, toweling her hair. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat. She'd learned to take quick showers and enjoy the heat from the propane water heater over using the bathhouse.
He crossed the space in three strides and pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she gave a surprised laugh.
"What's this for?" she asked against his chest.
He tipped his head toward the table. She followed his gaze, saw the open box, and smiled. "You finally got my package. I was wondering how long it would take. Do you like them?"
Emotions clogged his throat. He swallowed hard. "Will you help me hang them up?"
Her smile grew. "Yeah. I'd love to."
Mac dug through the drawer for a hammer and nails. The cabin was still warm from the fire, the faint scent of her shampoo drifting toward him every time she came close.
They started with the wall above the small bookshelf. Mac held up a photo of Jetter sitting cross-legged on the dock, grinning at something just out of frame. He remembered that day. His son had tried teaching him a card trick and kept messing it up, laughing harder each time.
Lauren handed him a nail, and he tapped it into the wood. He hung the frame and stepped back. His chest warmed.
One by one, they worked their way around the room. Jetter with a fishing pole, his face lit with pride. The two of them side by side in the canoe, water rippling behind them. A candid shot of Mac kneeling to tie his son's boot because his hands were full of sticks, sunlight catching in their hair.
Lauren studied each picture before passing it to him, her fingers brushing his as if she knew how much they meant to him.
When they reached the last one, a close-up of Jetter asleep in the camp chair, Mac's jacket draped over him, he hesitated. This one reminded him of Jetter as a baby. The times he held his son to his shoulder and paced the floor, trying to get him to sleep. He was growing too big. Time was a thief.
"This one goes where I can see it every day," he said.
Lauren smiled softly. "Above your desk?"
He nodded.
When he finished, they stood in the center of the room, surrounded by what he could only describe as his proof of his life. The love of his family.
The only person who was missing in the pictures was Lauren.
Mac slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," he said quietly. "Do you think Jetter will be able to see how much I love him?"
She leaned into him. "He knows. Now, you'll have a reminder of the love you both have for each other."
The cabin grew warmer. Lauren was making it feel more like a home than a cabin.