11. Amos
AMOS
M y fingers drum on the kitchen counter as I wait for Alana to arrive. She agreed to stop by today to check over my place and tell me if it's okay for a kid to live in.
From what Alana told me, as long as it's dry and clean, it will be adequate. But I want more than adequate for Jake's son.
The intercom buzzes, and I let her up and meet her outside the elevator. She's wearing a knee-length skirt that hugs her hips then flares out, and I try not to stare at her ass as I follow her into my apartment.
Avery has worked her magic in the living room.
I gave her and Paige my credit card, and there was much discussion about color schemes and shit I don't care about, but seeing the effect on Alana as she nods in appreciation, I'm glad they decided on duck-egg green for a feature wall and curtains.
Whatever the fuck color that is, but Avery assured me it would go with my gray couch, and she was right.
The gym equipment is gone; I donated it to Joel's veteran's center. Now that I'm back permanently, I can join a gym and I won't need to work out at home.
The couch has bright cushions and a yellow throw over the back. The curtains have been replaced, and there's a shaggy rug on the floor making the place cozy.
In one corner there's a shelving unit with colorful woven storage boxes ready to fill with toys. Avery picked up a car track and some books, but I'll take Sam toy shopping when he gets here so he can choose what he wants.
A peace lily sits on top of the unit, another addition from Avery. She's got a thing for those plants.
On the walls are framed photos from Mom's collection and a colorful artwork that looks like paint squiggles that a kid did, but that Avery assures me are works from a local artist.
I have to admit they brighten the place up.
"This is not what I was expecting." Alana turns around slowly, taking in the space. "It's homey."
I smile to myself, making a mental note to buy Avery a large bunch of flowers or something extra nice for the baby when she officially tells me she’s pregnant.
"You sure a woman doesn't live here? Or at least visit often?"
Her voice wavers when she says it, and I cock my head. "Are you jealous?"
"No." She says too quickly and looks away.
I chuckle and lean forward so my elbows rest on the bench. "You sure about that?"
She folds her arms over her chest. "It looks like there's a woman's touch. I don't believe a big-ass military guy like you would bother to decorate their home in matching duck-egg green."
I raise my eyebrows at her. "Until three days ago, I had no idea duck-egg was a color." I shrug. "My sister decorated."
"Thought so." Relief flashes across Alana's face, and I store that information for later. She's relived it was Avery who helped and not some other woman.
Alana takes a clipboard out of her oversized purse.
"You've got a checklist?"
"I do." She pulls out a pen and marks something off on the paper.
My right eyebrow shoots up. I thought this was a friendly inspection, but she's taking it seriously. "What are you marking me on?"
She holds out the clipboard. "We use this to assess foster homes. We've got to be sure basic standards are met, that there's electricity, running water, no guns."
"I've turned over all my military gear, and I'm storing my hunting gun with my parents."
"Your parents have guns?" She frowns and looks down at her paper.
"There's a locked gun cabinet in the attic that can only be reached by the pull downstairs. The military teaches you respect for firearms."
She looks at me appraisingly. "Good to know."
She peers down at her clipboard and the crease on her brow, just visible above her glasses, makes her look like a schoolteacher.
"If you want to hear more about the military, I can tell you over a drink sometime?"
She glances up, and her eyes meet mine. There's a flicker of something before she schools her features into a blank expression.
"I'm not going for a drink with you, Amos."
"But you want to." I take a step closer, and she doesn't back away. Her breathing gets heavy, and her eyes go wide.
"Admit it, Alana. There's an attraction between us.
In my experience, that doesn't happen often.
Why wouldn't you want to explore it? And don't give me the crap that it’s because you're Sam's caseworker.
In another few days, Sam will be settled here, and we'll have nothing to do with each other.
So why not make a date a week from now?"
I lean toward her with my gaze on her lips. She brings a hand up between us, and her fingertips rest on my chest. She hesitates. Her lips part, and one finger presses into my hard chest. Then she closes her eyes and brings the clipboard up between us.
"In a week's time, you'll understand."
She steps back, and the moment is gone. Any rapport I'd built up is knocked down as her tone turns clipped and professional. "Is this the bedroom?"
I run a hand through my hair. I've never had difficulty picking up women, but then I've never felt like this about a woman before, which means I can be patient.
Perhaps she's right; I should be focused on Sam. But the military taught me to take action and never to miss an opportunity. Although maybe you can't apply military tactics to dating.
"Yeah. Avery helped decorate this one too."
I flick a switch by the door, and the fairy lights flash on.
They give off a soft light that reflects against the freshly painted white walls.
A nightlight by the bed spins slowly, making light patterns dance on the walls.
A decal racetrack takes up one wall with the cars stuck on as if they're racing.
A large squishy toy that I can't identify as any animal sits on the bed on top of the racing car comforter.
"She did a great job."
I grin at the delight on Alana's face. I'm glad she likes it, but there's only one person whose opinion really matters.
"Do you think Sam will like it?"
Alana turns her smile on me. "I'm sure he will."
I sag against the doorframe in relief.
"But there's a lot more to parenting than a nicely decorated room. Kids need love and discipline and boundaries, and most of all they want someone to spend time with them."
I nod slowly, trying not to let her words overwhelm me. "That's fine. I can do all that."
"Because I'm wondering if you even know what boundaries are."
She looks at me pointedly, and I turn sheepish. "I'm sorry if I come on strong, Alana. In my line of work, I'm used to action and going after what you want."
She leans against the doorframe. "What will you do for work now?"
"I've got contacts on the outside. A buddy of mine is opening a veterans’ center. There might be work for me there."
She nods and makes some notes on her clipboard. "If this was a proper inspection, I'd need to see your bedroom."
"I thought you'd never ask."
She rolls her eyes, and I'm struck by how pretty she is.
I raise my hands. "I know you've told me you're not interested, even though I think that's a lie, but why? Really why?"
She pauses and turns to me. "I have a no dating policy. It's not you, Amos. It's dating in general. While I'm doing this job, I don't date."
"I don't understand. Why deny yourself?"
She takes a long breath as if deciding to tell me something or not.
"I'm not just a caseworker; I take in foster kids."
"Oh." She's a fucking saint as well as gorgeous. "If you're trying to put me off, it's not working, because I just fell for you a little bit more. A lot more, actually."
She smiles. "You're sweet, Amos. But I have to put the kids first. Always. And if that means not dating, then that's what I'll do. I can't have strange men hanging around the house, and I can't get into anything. There are too many kids that need me."
"I get it, but don't deny yourself your needs as well, Alana."
She shakes her head. "You'll understand when you have Sam. When you have a little person relying on you, when you're the only person in the world that they've got, it doesn't feel like a sacrifice."
She folds her arms over her clipboard and pushes open the door at the end of the hall. "This your room?"
I nod numbly, realizing again how ill-equipped I am for this gig.
I know about sacrifice; I was ready to lay down my life for my country.
But I also loved my job. I loved going on missions and the adrenaline burst of facing danger.
But parenting seems like something else.
It's not taking action; it's putting someone else first. It's a different type of sacrifice.
"This room seems a little cramped."
She eyes the large PC on the desk that I've pushed into the corner. With my comfy gaming chair, there's just enough room to squeeze between it and the bed.
"I'm not giving up my gaming PC." I fold my arms over my chest.
Gaming is my escape, and it got me through dark times in the military. I'm pretty sure I'll need to unwind once I become a pseudo-parent.
"You don't need to," she assures me. "You're going to need something to escape to."
I frown at her words. "You make it sound like a jail sentence. I've been in the military; I've been in some dangerous situations up against some of the most dangerous men in the world. Don't you think I can handle it?"
She gives me a pitying smile and pats my shoulder. "Amos, this is parenting. There's no mission in the world that can prepare you."
I swallow hard, pushing down the fear. I've faced enemies on every continent. Why the fuck am I freaking out about this?
"Don't worry. I've booked you for parenting classes starting tonight. You got the registration, right?"
"Yeah." I scratch my hand over my stubble. "It may be the most important training I've ever done."
She smiles softly. "Now you're getting the idea."