Chapter 10
Rhodes
My entire life had been as a soldier; even after leaving the military, I turned my training into an advantage.
Redhawk was built to use all the skills I developed in Delta Force.
The extractions in cities where the air smelled of smoke and adrenaline, or situations where I wondered whether the man across from me might reach for a weapon before I could get to mine.
But nothing ...
Nothing.
Had prepared me for the dead fucking ass slow crawl of the Wildwood Meadows Elementary drop-off line.
I gripped the steering wheel of my truck and looked at Opal in the rearview mirror, watching her bounce in her booster seat as if she’d had a cup of coffee or three Twinkies. (Neither of which I’d ever allow.)
“I think Mrs. Maverick is going to be old,” she announced, adjusting the straps of her glittery backpack next to her for the fifth time. “Old teachers are nicer because they’ve already yelled at enough kids.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re basing that on what, exactly?”
“I just know,” she said with absolute confidence, pushing her dark hair behind her ears.
She’d inherited her hair color from me, but hers was prettier with richer browns. Beautiful just like her. Who knew that my DNA could even make something so cute? “And if she’s not old, then I’ll make her like me anyway.”
My daughter was a riot. In the months since the divorce and emptying out the penthouse, we’d grown closer than ever, and I’d learned how much I’d been giving up in the precious hours of my commutes and work.
I’d known she was funny as fuck, but she said something outrageous at least every half hour.
“I’m pretty sure that whoever it is, and however old they are, they’ll like you. ”
“I am amazing.” She wiggled happily in her booster.
I shifted the truck into park as the line inched forward so slowly I wanted to scream.
The school was brick with white trim and a flag snapping in the breeze near the entrance, the kind of building that looked like it had been there for generations.
A wooden sign out front read WILDCATS in blue-painted letters.
Original, I snorted. The school was cheery, with flower beds along the walkway, which made me think of the sexy little redhead.
I had driven past Wildwood Meadows Elementary twice last weekend, memorizing entrances and exits out of a habit I couldn’t seem to shake. This particular school was small and far safer than the one in Seattle, so it had eased my anxiety when I’d gone over the floor plans.
Opal craned her neck to look out the window. “There are lots of kids,” she breathed, awed rather than intimidated. “I hope at least one of them likes unicorns.”
“I’m sure someone does,” I replied, scanning the cluster of parents gathered near the front steps.
“And cats,” she added.
“Who doesn’t?” I answered automatically.
Opal had been asking constantly about a pet since she was old enough to talk.
Catherine had shut her down, and I hadn’t been home enough to have an opinion, but I sure as shit did now.
We were getting a pet. I wasn’t sure about cats, but Opal loved them, so if that was what she wanted, we’d get one.
The drop-off looked like a whole ordeal.
Everything could be organized far more efficiently than this cluster.
It was chaos, with SUVs whose doors were flung open and minivans idling at the curb, mothers in leggings and oversized sweaters, a couple of dads with travel mugs in hand.
Heads turned as my truck rolled forward, curiosity moving through the crowd like a ripple as a spot finally opened at the curb.
Parents’ heads pivoted at the unfamiliar vehicle, and that at least made me feel better. They weren’t completely hopeless.
“I’m going to sit in the middle so I can see everyone.” My daughter was practically vibrating with excitement as she narrated her plan. “And if someone looks lonely, I’ll sit by them. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re new, because then you’re both new together.”
My daughter, the social butterfly. My guess was that there wouldn’t be any other new kids because it wasn’t the start of the school year.
In fact, it was just a regular week in a regular year in the middle of the month.
We’d moved at kind of the worst time for a kid, but Opal was running with it.
It’d be fine. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “That sounds like a solid plan.”
She beamed at me in the mirror. “Are you nervous, Daddy? I’m not nervous,” she declared quickly. “You don’t have to worry. We already talked about this, and you showed me where my classroom was. I’ll line up with the other kids, and I won’t punch anyone unless they deserve it.”
I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. “You should not be punching anyone.” She was right. We’d done a whole tour. Parents weren’t supposed to hang around. It was a drop-and-go situation.
“I’ll just use my words.” There was a little pout to her voice, as if she was disappointed, and she shifted uneasily in her seat.
I pulled up to the curb and shifted into park, turning off the engine, and tried to remind myself that she’d be fine.
Outside the truck, the chatter of other students filled the air, but my heartbeat pounded harder than it should.
I unbuckled her seatbelt even though she could do it herself.
She hopped down, sparkly sneakers hitting the pavement, and immediately adjusted the straps of her backpack over her shoulders.
“Remember,” I said, crouching so I was eye level with her. “If you need anything—anything—you tell your teacher or the front office to call me. Are you sure I can’t walk you in?”
We’d already gone over this, and she rolled her eyes with exaggerated patience. “We gots to follow the rules. You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“Fine. I’ll be here at three.” Frowning at her and then back at the small brick building.
Maybe I’d just hang out here until the bell rang.
She was young for first grade. Too young, probably, but she was whip smart, and half-day kinder wasn’t even close to enough for her last year.
She’d been sailing through first grade, but I was worried about her making friends when she was one of the youngest in the class.
“You promised after school we could go to the bakery and get a treat.” Her mouth curved up, and she gave me her best puppy dog eyes.
“We’ll get one.” I exhaled through my nose and tried to ease the anxiety I was feeling at leaving her with a stranger. “I want you to have a good day.”
“I will,” she replied without hesitation. “Seattle was fine, but this feels… greener.” She flung her little arms wide and took in a big breath, expanding her lungs, her eyes closed for a second. “I can smell everything.”
Oregon wasn’t exactly greener, but I knew what Opal meant as I glanced at the trees lining the edge of the playground and the distant hills rising beyond the school. “It is greener,” I agreed anyway. There were a lot of smells that was for sure.
“I like it,” she frowned. “Catherine wouldn’t. She’d hate it here.”
The words settled between us, heavier than the backpack on her shoulders. Keeping my expression steady, I tried to find the right response. “She likes different things. That’s okay. Remember?”
Catherine had always insisted that Opal call her by her first name.
It had pissed me off at first, but honestly, it had been for the best. She didn’t want the role of a mother, and that was fine by me.
Honestly, the whole thing could have been handled differently if she hadn’t insisted on the marriage component.
That was fucked. It messed with my head and made Opal confused about what healthy relationships looked like.
“She likes sparkly things,” Opal said, scrunching her nose. “I like sparkly things.” Her tone grew a little mournful, and my heart ached for her as she looked at her glitter straps. “And she likes restaurants where the plates are tiny.”
I fought a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with tiny plates.”
“I don’t like tiny plates,” she shot back, a flash of anger in her eyes. That was better.
I brushed a thumb over her cheek, trying to convey so many things. Firstly, that it didn’t matter what Catherine thought. Instead, I smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Grown-ups are complicated.”
Opal tilted her head in curiosity. “I guess,” she said after a beat. She shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not. I love you. And unicorns. And cats. And … ” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “Cupcakes with sprinkles.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. It was good that I had boundaries for her in other areas, or she’d be the most spoiled little girl on the planet. Still, she had my number. “That makes things easy because I love you and unicorns.”
“What about cats? And cupcakes?” She leaned forward until I caught her up in my arms, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the faint sweetness of the cereal she’d insisted on eating this morning instead of a solid eggs and bacon breakfast.
“Those, too,” I murmured into her hair. “But you the mostest.”
“Bye, Daddy,” she replied, pulling back with a grin. “Put me down.”
She skipped toward the building with an easy confidence, weaving between taller kids without hesitation, toward the front doors. She paused at the base of the steps and glanced back, lifting her hand in an easy wave.
I lifted mine in return, forcing myself not to follow her inside. For some reason, this was harder than last year when I had taken her to kindergarten with the nanny. The moment the doors closed behind her, the weight settled fully in my chest.
“She’s adorable.” A voice said from my left, warm and curious.
I straightened slowly and turned. A woman stood there holding one of those oversized mugs so popular these days, with a toddler balanced on her hip, her eyes openly assessing me. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and she wore leggings that probably cost more than my boots.
“Thanks,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
“You must be the new guy that bought Castleton,” she continued, shifting the toddler to her other hip. “I’m Linda.”
“Rhodes Collins,” I offered, giving her a brief nod instead of my hand.
Her gaze flicked over me, lingering in a way that I didn’t like. “You moved here from Seattle, right?”
“That’s right.” Shifting on my feet towards my truck, I wondered if it’d be rude just to cut this little chat short.
“I’ve always liked that house,” she said wistfully. She glanced off into the distance a little, like she could see it from here. “It’s been empty for so long. Well,” she said, her smile turning suggestive, “if you ever need help settling in, a few of us do wine nights on Thursdays.”
I resisted the urge to bolt. “I’ll keep that in mind. That’s nice of you to offer.”
Another woman joined us, blond and perfectly styled despite the early hour. “Is this him?” she asked Linda in a not-at-all-quiet whisper.
Linda grinned. “This is Rhodes. He bought Castleton.”
The blond woman’s gaze swept over me like I was a new car on a showroom floor. “Single?”
My jaw tightened. “Divorced.” Not that it was her business, but I made myself be polite since I would probably be seeing this woman every day.
If she had kids in Opal’s class, the last thing I needed was to alienate the parents.
We were going to be in this town for the foreseeable future, so I might as well be … pleasant.
Her smile didn’t falter. “That’s practically the same thing.”
I forced my expression into something polite. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping back toward my truck. “I’ve got to get to work.”
“See you at pickup,” Linda called after me, hopefully.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door, the solid thunk of metal and glass offering a thin barrier between me and the swirl of interest outside.