Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
DALTON
After Hudson dropped me off at my truck that was left at South Beach this morning, I contemplated driving the two blocks to Savanna’s, but then second-guessed myself.
Instead, I drove straight to Mom’s, throwing myself into what’s left of the house projects, hoping to come up with a game plan.
Like, how the hell I plan on convincing Savanna to put a label on us.
Because, sure, boyfriend would be great.
But I think I'm well past that stage.
I’m thinking more along the lines of a label that involves a ring on her finger—I just hope she feels the same way after last night.
While I was lying on Hudson’s shitty mattress in the pitch-black last night, images of my future kept me awake. The kind of life I now envision for myself plays like a movie reel, with two ladies playing the main parts.
Savanna and Drew.
After my conversation with Hudson, it didn’t take long for my anger to subside, as much as I hate to admit it when Hudson’s right—I'm just in the wrong as Savanna.
Now, the overwhelming sensation that I need her as much as the air I breathe consumes me. Even with thousands of miles and oceans apart, my heart was always where I left it—with Savanna under that pier six years ago.
And now that night holds a whole new special meaning—Drew.
I move around the front yard, cleaning up tools and putting unused material away from tonight’s expected rainfall.
I glance over my shoulder when I hear Hudson’s truck idling up the driveway.
Setting down the lumber I’m carrying, I take my gloves off, stuffing them into the back pocket of my jeans as I make my way to him.
As I get closer, I stop dead in my tracks when I see Drew smiling at me in the backseat. My heart stammers in my chest when her little hand gives me a wave.
Hopping out of his truck, Hudson jogs up the driveway, meeting me halfway. “Hey, man. Sorry to just come over,” he says, glancing back at Drew. “But you left your wallet in my truck this morning,” he says, handing it to me.
I take the wallet from him gingerly, my hands shaking when I slip it into my back pocket. This is the first time I've seen Drew since painting with her and pushing her on the tire swing.
The first time I’ve seen her since finding out she’s my daughter.
“Uh...” I stammer. “Thanks, man. You have Drew today?” I ask, jutting my chin toward his truck.
Hudson rubs the back of his neck, glancing behind him. “Yeah, Savanna’s working today.”
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. Savanna doesn’t work Saturdays at Salty’s. That means she picked up a shift because of what happened last night—because of me.
“Oh.” My voice strains. Just as I’m about to ask about Savanna, Drew hops out of Hudson’s truck, barreling toward us.
“Drew, I thought I told you to wait in the truck!” Hudson yells out.
“Why?” Drew calls out, her blonde hair flowing behind her as she runs faster.
Hudson shakes his head. “Damnit,” he mumbles. “Because we’re not staying!”
“Says who?” Drew shrieks.
“Says me!” Hudson yells back. Dragging a hand down his face, he releases a heavy sigh. “Jesus Christ, it all makes sense now. Fifty percent of my sister’s stubbornness mixed with yours created that,” he says, pointing at Drew.
I draw in a sharp breath when Drew stops at our feet. I look at her, taking her in just like I did the first time I met her on Savanna’s porch.
Warmth spreads thick across my chest that this little girl is mine.
“Dalton, can you push me on the tire swing?” she asks, clasping her hands together under her chin. “Please?”
Hudson glances at me from the corner of his eye, waiting for me to react. My knee hits the dirt when I kneel at her level, mirrored blue eyes staring back at me. My mouth ticks up into a grin. “Absolutely,” I say, pausing. “But only for a minute because I don’t trust that swing.”
Drew squeals, throwing her arms around my neck before running to the old oak tree in the front yard. Standing up, I’m met with Hudson’s crooked grin as I brush the dirt off my jeans.
“What?”
Hudson rubs his chin, eyes flickering with amusement. “Nothing, daddy,” he chuckles.
I snort, socking Hudson’s shoulder. “Only your sister is allowed to call me that.”
Hudson’s face pales, eyes narrowing. “Too soon, Dalton.”
I chuckle, making my way to the oak tree, with Hudson following behind me. Drew hops through the tire hole, leaning back as she waits for me.
“Hey man, I’m going to run in and say hi to your mom,” Hudson says, already jogging up the steps and opening the screen door, leaving me alone with Drew.
My stomach suddenly flips with nerves.
Shit, what if I'm bad at this?
What if I’m not the kind of dad Drew wants?
“Hurry, Dalton,” she says, kicking her polka-dot rain boots impatiently.
I chuckle, palms landing on her back as I give her a gentle push. She giggles, her body gliding through the air as her head tips back.
This is the childhood I want Drew to have.
A childhood where her dad pushes her on the swing.
“Dalton?” Drew calls out. “Do you know how to make chicken noodle soup?”
“I do,” I say, my forehead creasing. “Why?”
Drew swings back to me, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. “I think my mom’s sick. And chicken noodle soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”
My body stiffens, heart traveling into my throat. “Sick?” My voice falters. Hudson didn’t say anything about Savanna being sick.
“Yup! I woke up last night and heard her sad. So, I think that means she’s sick.”
My stomach hits the ground. Fuck. I should have gone to her this morning. Jesus, I should have gone to her last night—ran after her once I saw her body disappear behind the dunes.
Swallowing hard, I paste on a fake smile for Drew. “I do,” I say. Her eyes light up, grinning. Well, I guess I know what I’m making later.
Apology chicken noodle soup.
Swinging back to me, Drew grips the rope tighter. “Higher, Dalton!” she demands.
“Alright, fine. Only one big push,” I cave. My hands land on her back, giving her a forceful shove. “Hang on tight!”
Drew shrieks, flying through the air—higher than she’s ever been.
Before I have a chance to react, I hear a sudden whiplike sound, followed by a pop, followed by a crack. My heart is beating out of my chest, legs moving faster than I ever thought possible.
But I’m too late.
The now-severed rope has thrown Drew in the air, and she’s come crashing down to the ground in front of me.
And, fuck, if her scream wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life…
My legs come to a sudden halt in front of a hysterically crying Drew.
I observe her lying on her side in the fetal position—her overall-clad legs tucked into her chest. I kneel before her, jeans sinking into the damp grass.
Brushing back her light blonde hair from her face, I notice a few lacerations that are already beginning to bleed.
A crimson red—against milky white skin.
Shit.
From my peripheral, I see Hudson fly off the porch, running like a bat out of hell to where Drew is screaming in pain—my mom frantically on his heels.
“Drew. Don’t move. Okay? Let me check you over.” Panic seeps from my voice, eyes frantically assessing her little body.
Drew continues to cry, unable to speak since the wind just got knocked out of her during the fall. Thank God I have medical training from the military.
I’ve been trained for this.
But right now? Seeing my daughter crumpled up like a wrapper?
It’s like all that training goes to shit.
Because even though I’ve spent the last six years of my life learning how to treat wounds and check for injuries, I don’t even know what to check Drew for first.
It’s like I’m choking up.
Hudson hits the dirt beside me. “Drew!” he shrieks in horror. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, sweetie, take a breath,” Mom says, panicked. Crouching down, she brushes Drew’s hair behind her ear, trying to soothe her.
“What hurts, Drew?” I ask, voice shaking. Drew clutches her arm to her chest. “Your arm, Drew?”
She gives her head a brief nod between sobs.
Fuck.
I touch her arm tenderly, checking it over, when she lets out a wail of pain.
Double fuck.
A broken arm.
Hudson’s eyes widen, fear etched across his face.
“I think she has a broken arm,” I say, already digging my keys out of my pocket and tossing them at him.
“Let’s get her to the hospital to get her checked out.
Hopefully, there’s nothing else serious.
” My voice comes out stern, my military training of delegating in stressful situations swiftly coming back to me.
Hudson nods, darting up to sprint toward my truck.
Scooping Drew into my arms to wait for Hudson, I clutch her to my chest. “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Drew,” I say, laying a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And I mean it.
I’m never leaving my daughter again.