Chapter 53 #2
Here it comes. My chest locks up before I can stop it. Every time a man with authority says sit down, it's never good news. Not in the Corps. Not anywhere.
It's not a question. Not a command either. Just — steady. The way everything about David Mitchell is steady. If he weren't Laine's dad, I probably would have spent more time with him. Fuck. That sounds bad. He seems like a really good guy.
Being on his shit list fucking sucks.
Reid glances at me. I give him nothing because I've don't have a fucking clue what we're walking into. Is he going to warn us off, tell us to stay away from his daughter? Seems likely.
We follow David to the shaded side of the addition and some folding chairs. David sits. Opens his water. Takes a long drink.
We sit.
The silence stretches. Reid's leg is bouncing. I can feel him loading up — some joke, some disarming comment, something to break the tension. I press my boot against his foot. Don't. Sometimes, the smartest thing to do is nothing.
He stops bouncing. I doubt it'll last long, but for now I'll take it.
David sets his water down and looks out at the empty field for a long time. The plastic chairs. The scuffed-up dirt.
"I've been doing this work for thirty-four years," he says. "Building things in places that are in…upheaval. You learn to read people fast because sometimes that's the only thing keeping your family safe."
He's not in a hurry. The words come out measured, deliberate. Nothing wasted.
"I've been watching you two all week. How you work. How you talk to each other. How you are with the kids." He rolls the water bottle between his palms. "I wanted to see it for myself. Not what Laine told us. Not what Mary thinks. What I think."
Watching. Of course he has. Every cut I've made, every word between me and Reid. Cataloging it. Building a case. I would too, if someone like me showed up wanting to love my daughter.
"Reid." David turns to him. "You're good with people. Genuine. You always seem to have time for them."
Reid's jaw works. He nods but doesn't speak. Might be the first time I've ever seen that happen.
"Blake." The eyes shift to me. Heavier. Longer. "You're careful. Skilled. You don't waste words or material or movement." A beat. "I watched you with that boy today."
I look at my hands. Don't. Don't make it into something. It was just a kid who needed someone to stand next to. That's not — that doesn't prove anything about what kind of man I am.
David takes another drink. Sets the bottle down carefully.
"I'll be honest with you both. I've been turning this over since Laine told us.
Praying on it. Losing sleep on it. Talking Mary's ear off about it, and she's been talking mine right back.
" The corner of his mouth moves — not quite a smile.
Something tired. "We don't agree on everything.
But we usually agree on the important things. "
He looks out at the field again. A bird lands on one of the plastic chairs. Takes off. My stomach is churning. I spin the cap off my bottle and take a swig.
Fuck. That didn't help at all.
Laine chose us. I know that. But it still feels like this man holds our future in his hands. Like one word from him can break everything we've built.
Finally, he looks at us. "I believe the Lord is the only judge of men's hearts. I believe that. I've built my life on it." A pause. The steadiness in his face shifts — not cracking, but showing the weight underneath. "But I'm also her father. And this is not what I pictured for her life."
The honesty of it sits there. Plain. No malice in it. No judgment. Just a man telling the truth.
"I'm not going to tell you it's wrong. That's not my place. I know that." His voice drops. Quieter. "But I need you both to hear me. The world is not kind to things it doesn't understand. I've seen it. I've lived in places where being different gets people killed. And my daughter —"
His voice catches. Barely. He clears his throat and takes his time.
"My daughter is choosing a life that is going to cost her. Professionally. Socially. In ways she probably hasn't even thought about yet. Ways you probably haven't thought about yet."
Reid's breathing has gone shallow beside me.
Every word lands like a nail driven flush.
Because I've thought about it. Every fucking day.
The looks she'll get. The explanations she'll have to give.
The doors that'll close. And the part that eats me alive — she'll carry it anyway.
She'll carry it and smile and tell us she's fine, because that's who she is.
And we'll let her, because we're selfish enough to stay.
"I'm not asking you to explain it to me.
I don't need to understand it. That's between you three and God.
" David leans forward, elbows on his knees, and looks at us — really looks, like he's stripping away the surface to the heart of us.
"What I need to know — what I need to hear — is that you understand what you're asking her to carry.
And that you're going to be there when it gets heavy. "
The question hangs.
And it's the right fucking question.
Reid shifts beside me. I feel him wanting to answer, wanting to fill the space the way he always does. I keep my boot against his foot.
Not yet. This question deserves space. Time.
David waits. He's good at waiting. Is that a dad thing, or a missionary thing?
The sun is lower now. The shade has stretched across the field. Somewhere inside the building Mary is singing something I can't make out through the walls.
I open my mouth. Close it.
Say something real, Moore. For once in your miserable life, say something real.
"I can't promise I won't screw it up." My voice sounds like gravel. "I've already screwed it up. Badly. She knows that. Reid knows that."
Reid's hand finds my knee. Squeezes once.
"But I —" The words jam up. I breathe through it. "I'm not going anywhere. And I don't say that lightly. I know what it costs and I know what she's risking and I —" I look at my hands again. Scarred. Stained. Steady. "I will be there when it gets heavy. That's all I've got."
David's eyes stay on me. Reading. Measuring.
Reid leans forward. When he speaks, his voice is different — not the life of the party Reid, the one that would wear Tigger out in a hopping contest. The other one. The one who shows up when it matters.
"Mr. Mitchell, I love your daughter. Blake loves your daughter.
And we —" He stops. Starts again. "I know how it looks.
I know how it sounds. I can't make it make sense to anyone else because honestly, some days it doesn't make sense to me either.
" A breath. "But she's not confused and she's not settling and she's not being taken advantage of.
She chose this. She chose us. And if you know Laine at all, you know nobody makes her do a damn thing she doesn't want to do. "
Something moves across David's face. Recognition. He knows his daughter.
"What I can tell you," Reid says, slower now, "is that I will spend the rest of my life making sure that choice was worth it. Both of us will. And when the world isn't kind about it — because you're right, it won't be — she's not going to be standing there alone."
David sits with it. Doesn't rush. Doesn't nod or shake his head. Just sits.
It's fucking agonizing. Say no. Just say it so I can stop hoping. Because hope is the thing that kills you. Not the rejection — the waiting. The silence where you build a whole future and then watch someone take a breath and dismantle it with one fucking word.
Then he picks up his water bottle. Takes a long drink. Looks at both of us.
"Okay," he says.
My heart's beating so loud, it takes a second for the words to register.
My lungs unlock. I didn't realize I'd stopped breathing. Okay. Not yes. Not welcome to the family. Just — okay. And somehow that's better. Because okay is honest. Okay is a man leaving the door open instead of slamming it or throwing it wide before he's ready.
Not approval. Not blessing. It's more honest than that. We haven't really fixed anything. We've made promises, but the only thing that's going to reassure him is time.
Which is lucky, because I'm not going anywhere. He can take all the time he needs.
He stands. Folds his chair. Pauses.
"You're both coming to dinner. Mary's making grilled cheese."
"Yes sir," Reid says. Immediate.
David looks at me.
"Yes sir."
He nods once and walks inside.
Reid exhales like he's been holding his breath for a week. His hand is still on my knee. I don't move it.
"Do you think she'll burn them?" Reid finally asks.
"Doesn't matter if she burns them or not. We're going to sit there and eat every bit with a smile on our fucking faces, agreed?"
Reid snorts. "Fine. I'm not getting on her bad side." He presses his lips together. "That went…okay. Right? I mean he didn't tell us we were going to hell and try and run us out of town, so…?"
"That's a low fucking bar."
"Yeah. But hey, there's nowhere to go from here but up. Right?"