Chapter Eleven
Dinner wound down not long after, and as the last few bites were finished and conversation faded into that comfortable post-meal quiet, Jay Bird automatically took over the cleanup while Willow gathered Lily up for her bath, guiding her down the hall as the evening shifted into the softer rhythm of bedtime.
He listened to Lily’s familiar protests carry down the hallway.
“No shampoo!”
Jay Bird smiled to himself while loading the dishwasher.
Ten minutes later, another dramatic protest about pajamas followed, then a brief stretch of silence that told him everything he needed to know. Bedtime had, once again, won the battle.
Once the kitchen was clean, Jay Bird opened the refrigerator and stared inside.
He rarely drank at home, and even when he did with the guys, he never really pushed it.
Somewhere along the way, after years of needing to stay in control of everything, getting drunk had stopped appealing to him altogether.
Tonight, though, he grabbed a beer. He walked out the back door and crossed the yard toward the creek. His dock was one of the main reasons he had bought the house.
When things got too loud in his head, this was where he came, leaving behind the television, his phone if he could manage it, and everything else, just for the water and the quiet.
Jay Bird lowered himself into one of the two weathered Adirondack chairs. The creek reflected the fading evening light, small ripples breaking the surface every now and then.
Normally, sitting here would clear his head, the quiet of the water usually doing its job of settling everything inside him. But tonight, no matter how long he stared out at the creek, his thoughts wouldn’t fall into place. They just kept circling, refusing to let him find any peace.
Jay Bird stared at the bottle in his hand as thoughts of Willow and Lily raced around his mind. Could he really do this again? Could he let someone matter that much?
For the past twelve years, the answer had been a simple no because he had already done it once.
He had known what it felt like to plan a future around someone else.
To think in terms of we instead of me. To walk through a house and picture what would fill the empty spaces one day.
He had known exactly what it felt like to believe he had forever.
And he had learned just how quickly forever could disappear.
Twelve years hadn’t changed that lesson. It had just made him better at living around it.
Jay Bird closed his eyes. An image of the past tried to surface, but he shut it before it could fully form.
He opened his eyes and stared hard at the creek. That life was gone, and he’d accepted it. At least, that was what he kept telling himself whenever the memories tried to surface.
So why now? Why Willow, and why Lily of all people? Why did a two-year-old wrapping herself around his leg make something inside him ache in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years? Why did seeing Willow smile at him make him want things he had stopped believing belonged in his future?
Jay Bird took another drink of beer.
Maybe Bear was right. Maybe he needed to stop trying to figure everything out and just let things happen.
That sounded simple when it came from someone who wasn’t sitting alone on a dock wondering whether opening his heart again would eventually rip it apart a second time.
A soft creak sounded behind him, and he grinned, knowing it was Willow. He had heard her close the door.
He turned and saw her walking down the dock toward him.
And just like that, every thought he had been trying desperately not to have became impossible to avoid.
Willow stepped carefully onto the dock, the baby monitor tucked beneath one arm and a bottle of water in the other.
The sun had almost disappeared completely, leaving behind only a faint orange glow along the horizon while the moon climbed higher over the creek. The water below reflected both, catching slivers of light every time the surface moved.
Everything was quiet, calm, the kind of stillness that didn’t feel empty but instead felt like the world had finally taken a breath and decided not to rush into anything.
Jay Bird sat in one of the chairs at the end of the dock with a beer resting loosely in one hand.
He looked over when she approached.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
Willow smiled and held up the monitor. “Just in case Sleeping Beauty wakes up.”
Jay Bird’s mouth twitched.
Willow lowered herself into the chair beside him and placed the monitor on the small table between them.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke, and Willow found that she didn’t mind it at all. In fact, she was starting to love this part of being around Jay Bird, that easy, unforced quiet that settled between them like something natural rather than awkward.
There was no pressure to fill the silence. No expectation that she entertain him or explain what she was thinking. They could just sit beside each other while crickets chirped in the distance and water lapped softly against the dock.
She glanced toward him. “Thanks for cleaning up after dinner.”
Jay Bird slowly turned his head and then chuckled. “I should be thanking you for dinner.”
Willow smiled. “Oh, should I start counting now?”
Jay Bird laughed. “You’ve corrupted me. Plus, that wasn’t a thank-you-worthy offense.”
“Neither were half the things you counted.”
“I disagree.”
Willow laughed softly and looked back toward the creek.
After a moment, Jay Bird said, “Dinner was good.”
“Thank you.”
“Twenty-four,” Jay Bird chuckled.
Willow groaned. “I walked right into that.”
“You really did,” he said, looking quite pleased with himself.
The easy humor lingered for another second before something in Jay Bird’s expression changed.
He leaned back in the chair and stared across the water.
“I had forgotten what it was like coming home and having someone here, and having a home-cooked meal.” His mouth curved faintly. “Having flowers showing up in places they weren’t yesterday.”
Willow smiled. “Your house needed help.”
But the humor faded quickly.
Jay Bird took a drink of beer. “I’ve lived alone a long time.”
Willow studied him. “What about your family?”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any. My team and their families are my family.”
Something in his tone made her chest ache.
“My parents died when I was pretty young. Different times. Different circumstances.” He shrugged slightly. “I was an only child, so after that there wasn’t really anybody left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
That didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. Willow understood that better than most.
“Is that why you joined the Navy?” she asked.
“Part of it.” Jay Bird nodded. “I didn’t have much keeping me in one place. Figured I might as well do something useful.”
“Apparently, you picked the least dangerous option available.”
He huffed out a laugh. Then he went quiet, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence they were used to. This one felt heavier.
She could practically see him debating something with himself, his thumb slowly moving over the label on his beer bottle while he stared at the creek.
Finally, he exhaled. “There was someone once.”
Willow’s heart gave a small, unexpected squeeze.
“Her name was Amanda.”
The way he said the name told Willow everything before he explained anything else.
Jay Bird swallowed. “We met before I got really established in the teams. We dated for a couple of years.” A faint smile appeared.
“She put up with a lot of shit from me. Eventually we got engaged. At the time, I thought that was it. Everything was settled. I had my career, and a woman I was ready to marry.” He gave a humorless laugh.
“All the stuff you assume is going to happen because you make plans.”
Willow already knew something terrible was coming.
“She was driving home one night. Another driver crossed the center line. She died at the scene.”
Pain sliced through Willow’s chest. “Jay, I’m sorry.”
Jay Bird didn’t look at her. He kept staring at the water.
“I was at a training. I didn’t even know until hours later.”
Willow covered her mouth for a moment, her breath catching as the weight of his words settled over her. She wanted to reach for him, to offer some kind of comfort, but she hesitated, unsure if he needed space more than he needed her touch.
Then continued. “After I got back, her parents gave me some of her things. That’s when I found out she had been pregnant. According to her parents, she was planning on telling me when I got home.”
Willow’s eyes filled instantly.
The beer bottle remained untouched in his hand now.
“So I lost both of them without ever knowing there were two people to lose.”
Willow couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, without any careful plan or hesitation, she stood, stepped between his knees, and lowered herself onto his lap, wrapping both arms around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jay Bird went rigid for only a second before instinct took over and his arms closed around her, holding her tight.
Willow buried her face against his neck.
“I’m so sorry.”
Jay Bird didn’t answer; instead, he pulled her closer, one hand settling firmly against the center of her back while his other arm stayed wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Willow could feel the tension in him, like it had been building for years and settled deep in his body, refusing to let go. Grief he had learned to live beside rather than through.
She held him without hesitation, not because she had the right words, but because she knew there weren’t any.
Nothing she could say would ease the kind of loss he carried.
So instead of trying to fix it or fill the silence, she just stayed with him, letting her presence be the only comfort she could offer.
Eventually his grip loosened slightly, and when Willow lifted her head, she found Jay Bird already looking at her.