Chapter Eighty-Nine
Phoenix
A month later, on a date I was sure I’d hidden from the two most important people in my life, I woke to an empty bed and complete silence.
Alarm hit, and I was on my feet.
Throwing on my jeans, grabbing my Sig, I was Oscar Mike, heading down the hall in six seconds.
Isla never got up before me, and Lincoln was never quiet.
I cleared the main hall, stepped into the open-plan kitchen, and froze.
Two heads instantly looked up at me from their perched positions on the counter stools.
Lincoln’s eyes were wide with alarm. Isla erupted with a giggle.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“Um….” Lincoln looked at my Sig.
Isla grinned. “Sleep well?”
Fuck me. I shoved my 9mm into my back waistband. “You two never get up early.”
They looked at each other conspiratorially, then looked back at me.
“Happy birthday!” Isla shouted, getting off her stool.
“Happy birthday.” Lincoln smiled, standing up.
Isla came at me first, launching herself into my arms as she grabbed me around my neck. “Happy, happy birthday!”
“How did you know?” I hugged her back.
She squeezed me tight, then disentangled herself and stepped back to give Lincoln room. “We have our ways. And, oh, Tauk says hi.”
I side-eyed her before Lincoln gave me a quick, one-armed hug.
“Happy birthday. We, ah, got you something.” He nodded toward the kitchen counter where they’d been sitting. “And Isla made cake. She said we could have it for breakfast?”
“It’s tradition,” she agreed, like they hadn’t ambushed me and this was normal. “You get cake for breakfast on your birthday. But first? Prezzies!” She pulled out a stool for me. The one under the skylight that was her favorite. “Okay, one present. We thought you’d freak out if there were more.”
Lincoln tried to hide a smile, then gave up. “He kinda would.”
“I do not freak out.”
They looked at each other. Then both of them busted out laughing.
Isla held me to task. “Says the SEAL who rushed the kitchen, weapon drawn, on his birthday.”
“It was a valid reaction,” I argued. “You two never get up early, and neither of you are quiet.” The two of them in the house was like a full battle assault every day—Lincoln on piano or drums, Isla banging around the kitchen, them chattering. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Today we did,” my little intruse sing-songed.
“Totally,” Lincoln agreed, holding out his fist to Isla.
I shook my head.
Isla fist-bumped Lincoln, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the stool. “Come on. Linc needs cake. He’s been asking for the past hour if we could cut into it without you,” she hazed.
Lincoln’s eyes went wide. “I did not!”
“Okay, I’m just teasing. But he helped me ‘frost the cake.” She made quotation marks when she said frost. “I had to make a second batch of the vegan buttercream.” She headed to the fridge and pulled out what looked like a triple-layer chocolate cake.
“I was, like, taste testing it.” Lincoln shrugged. “Then you didn’t have enough.”
Isla laughed. “Next time, I’ll make a double batch of frosting and just hand you the bowl.” She set the cake on the counter in front of me.
Not knowing she was still teasing him, Lincoln took the stool next to mine and answered seriously. “Okay.”
Isla smiled at me and winked. “Prezzie time.”
I didn’t like presents. In fact, I hated them.
But this was different.
Much fucking different.
“Open it,” Lincoln urged, pushing the small box toward me. “I, ah, wrapped it. So it’s kinda… yeah.”
The paper, looking like a piece of printed sheet music, was carefully folded around the box and tucked in at the corners. No tape was used. I looked up at my son. “It’s perfect.”
His face flushed. “Well, not perfect. But, ah, Mom taught me?” He quickly glanced at Isla, but she was smiling. Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck. “She knew how to do cool stuff like this. Like, not using tape or anything.”
“That’s so cool,” Isla interjected. “You’ll have to teach me.”
“Um, okay.” Lincoln shoved a hand into his pocket. While seated.
Isla glanced fondly at my son. “What Linc isn’t telling you is that the paper is part of his music.” She leaned forward and beamed at him. “It’s one of his songs.” She looked at me as she pointed at the box. “That’s music he wrote.”
“Isla,” Lincoln reproved, both affectionately and embarrassed. “It’s just paper.”
“No, it’s not. Creativity is intelligence having fun. But talent? That’s pure art, Linc, and your creative talent is amazing.”
“It’s not like your journal or anything.” Looking flustered, Lincoln shoved his second hand into his shorts pocket.
“Right?” Isla laughed, either missing his point or purposely misconstruing it. “I didn’t even write my journal.”
I looked at my son. “You know about her journal?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I kinda wrote in it?”
My gaze cut to my little intruse.
She nodded. “He did.”
Then they looked at each other, but neither said anything.
I made a mental note to search her journal the second the two of them were asleep tonight.
Isla recovered first. She nudged the box closer toward me. “Open it!”
“It’s okay if you rip the paper,” Lincoln added.
I picked up the box and carefully undid the perfectly folded corners. Preserving the integrity of the music, which was more of a gift than I could possibly express, I refolded the single sheet and tucked it into my pocket.
Then I opened the box.
Two dog tags glinted on a chain in the morning light.
I stared for a beat.
Lincoln rushed through an explanation. “We thought you’d like these.”
“I do.” Picking up the tags, I fingered the first one with a single engraved word.
Lincoln
Rubbing my thumb over the letters, I inhaled through the emotion. “I love it.”
“They’re titanium. Check out the second one,” Lincoln urged.
Switching to the second tag, I read the engraved name.
Isla
Her voice quiet, nervous, she softly gave an order. “Flip it.”
I turned the metal over.
Ma petite intruse
I looked at her.
Expression serious but nervous, she bit her bottom lip. “You’re not nameless anymore,” she quickly explained before her entire demeanor settled. Then happiness spread across her gorgeous face. “You have us.”
My chest swelled with so much gratitude and rightness that the pressure was borderline painful. “Yes, I do.” And only my little intruse could turn me into a damn masochist for her affections.
Her hand gently covered mine. “Turn Linc’s over.” She did it for me.
I looked down.
My son’s birth date was etched across the titanium horizontally, then directly below was a second date. The day I’d taken him from Virginia.
I looked at my son.
Color flushed his cheeks. “I thought, you know, it’s kinda like I have two birthdays?”
I stood and grabbed my son, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you.” I fucking choked on emotion. “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.” That first date was my greatest gift. The second was absolution.
My son hugged me back, but he didn’t say anything.
Gripping his shoulders, I drew back enough to pin his gaze. “I mean it. Thank you, Lincoln.”
His throat moved with a hard swallow. Then he gave me an even greater gift. “You’re welcome, Dad.”
I pulled my son into a second hug and looked down at ma petite intruse.
With tears in her eyes, she smiled up at me.
She was right that night in the cabin. Lincoln was my greatest gift. He was my zinc spark. But her? After ten years in exile, she was my prize.
And I was never going to let her forget it.
I love you, I mouthed.