Chapter 12
Twelve
Colt
Despite how exhausted I am, sleep is a long time coming.
I toss, turn, and doze, getting up to go to the bathroom like I’ve suddenly got the bladder of a ninety-year-old.
My dreams are riddled with a kaleidoscope of images: the prison, Igor showing up to rescue me, the night Briar and I spent together, Briar kissing West.
It’s frustrating, and the physical pain isn’t doing anything to help my state of mind.
I’m with West now.
Those words play over and over in my head, until I want to punch something. Mostly West. But this isn’t his fault.
I’m with West now.
So close to kissing her, touching her, having her in my arms—her words hit me like a slap in the face.
Regret slices through me.
If you break it down to the very basics, I chose a job over the woman I love. My friends. In my defense, I truly thought I could have it all. I’d have to keep some secrets, but it’s no different than being in the military. That’s what I told myself.
Now I know better.
And it’s too late.
I’m with West now.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep, and when I wake up, I hear that same breathing next to my bed that I heard yesterday morning.
Frankie.
I smile to myself before turning over and prying my lids open.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Good morning to you too.” I smile at the grumpy look on her face.
“Well?”
“What question, kiddo?”
“Are you my daddy?”
There’s no way I’m having a conversation like this without Briar, and that means getting my ass in gear.
“I’m going to need you to turn around,” I say.
“How come?”
“Because I need to put pants on.”
“This again?” she huffs. “Why do you never wear pants?”
Out of the mouths of babes…
“You and I are going to have to set some boundaries,” I murmur.
“Frankie!” Briar comes in, hands on her hips. “What have I told you about opening closed doors?”
“But this is our house!” Frankie protests. “And you said he’s your friend.”
“It is and he is—but he still gets to have some privacy when he’s sleeping.”
“Fine.” Frankie huffs more dramatically this time, flouncing out of the room.
Briar and I exchange a look and then chuckle.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “She’s really curious about you. But I’ll leave you to rest.”
“No, I’m up,” I say quickly. “I just need a few minutes to get dressed.”
“All right. See you when you’re ready.” She leaves the room, gently closing the door behind her.
After our almost-kiss last night, we both made excuses, going to our separate bedrooms, but she seems normal this morning, no hint of annoyance in her demeanor.
I make short work of washing up and pulling on clean clothes.
Then I pad out to the kitchen, where Frankie and Briar are side-by-side at the counter.
I’m not sure what they’re making, but there’s batter involved and Frankie is giggling.
They’re kind of adorable in matching pink and white ruffled aprons, Frankie standing on a stool that’s the perfect height for her to help.
Watching them, I feel the strangest blend of sadness and joy. This was supposed to be my life, and I walked away to be some kind of hero. What the hell was I thinking?
Some kind of caramel mixture gets on Frankie’s nose and Briar playfully wipes it away, licking it off her fingers.
They laugh together, and in that moment—faces close together, hair in similar ponytails—there is no doubt they’re mother and daughter.
Frankie looks like me, but she has her mother’s smile and mannerisms.
“Good morning again.” Briar turns with a smile. “I hope you like French toast.”
“Love it,” I say, walking over to inspect what they’re doing. “Although, I can’t remember the last time I had it.”
“Well, this is stuffed with a cream cheese mixture and topped with my special caramel-cream.”
My mouth waters.
“Sounds like heaven.”
“It’s my favorite!” Frankie announces.
“Her current favorite,” Briar corrects, laughing.
“It used to be blueberry pancakes but that’s when I was little. I’m big now.” She dips her finger in the caramel mixture and holds it out to me.
Yup, this child is going to wrap me around her finger in no time.
I lick her fingers and moan dramatically. “Holy fu—er, crap, that’s good. I’m going to get fat if I stay here much longer.”
“You have to exercise,” Frankie says, nodding. “Uncle Banks makes all the uncles work out. Mommy doesn’t like getting sweaty, though.”
Briar gives her the side eye. “Hey, you’re not supposed to tell all my secrets!”
A timer goes off, and Briar pulls a pan out of the oven.
My stomach growls.
When was the last time someone cooked for me?
Never? Certainly not my mother. Dash’s parents invited me over a handful of times, but those were big events, not something specifically for me. And none of us cooked in college.
A sudden wave of emotion I can’t identify fills my chest and I turn away. I’m not big on feelings—but Briar is the exception to that. Hell, she’s the exception to every rule, every decision, everything I thought I knew about myself.
“You can make yourself a cup of coffee,” she calls over her shoulder to me, “while the French toast cools a little. And Frankie will set the table.”
“Okay.” Frankie jumps down and reaches for dishes that were already out.
She meticulously sets three place settings—a dish, napkin, fork, and butter knife—and then climbs up on a stool.
I make coffee, Briar serves up the French toast, and then the three of us gather round one side of the island.
The three of us.
My kid and the woman I love.
This was supposed to be my life, and I just walked away. Almost died before I could tell her how I felt.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“So. Is anyone going to answer my question?” Frankie asks after inhaling the first piece of French toast.
“What question?” Briar asks in confusion.
I cough lightly, because I know what’s coming even if she doesn’t.
“Is. He. My. Daddy?”
Briar and I exchange a look, and I give her a barely perceptible nod. It’s time. Frankie already knows. And there’s no use hiding it anymore because regardless of what happens with Briar and me, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be as much a part of Frankie’s life as Briar allows.
“He is,” Briar says after a long moment.
“I knew it.” Frankie’s lips tighten and she puts her fork down with a little thud. “So where were you? Did you not want to be my daddy?”
Oh, hell.
I’d definitely rather get another prison beating than let her think I didn’t want to be her father. It’s all I’ve thought about since yesterday morning.
“No, sweetie. That’s not it at all. Not even close.”
“Then why?” The look she gives me reminds me of Briar when she’s really upset. Cheeks a little flushed, eyes wide, lips pressed together tightly.
It would be adorable if it didn’t break my heart into a million pieces.
“It was work,” I say slowly, scrambling to figure out how to explain being a spy to a four-year-old. “I have a very special kind of job and—”
“Work? For four and three-quarter years?”
Technically, more than that, but I’m not going to point that out.
“Sweetie, it’s complicated,” I begin.
“Grown-ups always say that when they don’t want to tell me the truth,” she says, staring me down. “And Mommy always says that work is never more important than family. Never ever. So, I don’t believe you.”
With that, she climbs down off the stool and walks out of the kitchen.
“Briar, what do we do?” I ask quietly.
“Let her cool off. She has my temper,” she admits, resting her elbows on the counter.
“Normally, I wouldn’t let her get away with being rude to a guest or getting up in the middle of breakfast, but I think she gets a pass today.
This is a lot for her to take in. She’s incredibly bright, and very mature for her age, but this turns her life upside down. ”
“Has she…asked about me? I mean, in general?”
Briar nods. “Not a lot, but once she started Pre-K this year, and she saw all the other daddies, she asked me about hers.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That he loved her very much, but he died.”
That explains how she knew.
Neither of us say anything for a while.
“Should I go after her?” I ask finally.
“I don't know if she’s ready for that. She’s processing a lot of emotions.”
“What should I do?”
“The thing with kids is consistency. Showing up. Letting her know you’re not going to leave her. They have to feel safe, wanted, and secure. And security is something that takes time. You’re going to have to earn her trust.”
The way she looks at me when she says the last part is telling—she’s letting me know that I’m going to have to earn her trust too.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, reaching out to lay one of my hands on hers. “I swear it, Briar. I’m back for good, done with the spy game. I can’t explain that part to her, though.”
“No.” Briar is thoughtful. “When the time is right, and she’s a little more open to listening, we’ll talk about the marines. She knows Uncle Dash is super proud to have been a marine, and we can give her a watered down version of being in prison.”
“Okay. You’ll have to guide me, Briar. I’ve been a dad for a day and I’m a little lost.”
“Well, the first thing you’re going to have to learn is that you can’t sleep naked.” Her eyes twinkle with mirth and I chuckle.
“Normally, I don’t do that when I’m a guest at someone’s home. It’s just been tough to bend and twist in the middle of the night. I’ll make the effort, though.”
“Good.” She puts the last bite of breakfast in her mouth, wipes her lips, and then pushes her plate away. “I’m going to go talk to her.”
“You don’t want me to come?”
She hesitates. “No. I think I need to take this one. Maybe we can try again at dinner.”
“All right.”
I watch her go thoughtfully.
The one part of this that I’m holding on to is that she hasn’t said a word about me finding somewhere else to stay, and she didn’t seem at all upset about my intention to be part of Frankie’s life.
If only I knew what she was thinking—about me and about the future.