Chapter Seven
Pope waited in Summer’s living room while she got Ben ready for school, and the whole damn situation made him feel off-balance in ways he couldn’t explain.
The little duplex felt so homey with the scent of coffee filling the air and Ben’s books lined up neatly on a bottom shelf. Morning light spilled through the curtains and cartoons played low on the television Ben forgot to shut off before thundering down the hall to his room to get dressed.
Part of Pope felt wildly out of place sitting in the middle of a routine he wasn’t part of. Another part of him felt like maybe he’d been searching for exactly this without ever realizing he needed it.
That thought settled heavily in his chest, and he sat forward with his forearms braced on his knees to try to loosen it.
His gaze drifted toward the corner as he remembered lying on the couch bed that morning with the distinct feeling someone was watching him.
His eyes snapped open and he found Ben sitting on a little stool three feet from the couch.
Just staring at him.
The kid didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
He simply sat there studying Pope with complete concentration. It was honestly a little unnerving.
Pope pushed upright against the couch cushions and ran a knuckle beneath his eye to wipe away the sleep. “How long have you been sitting there?”
Ben shrugged. “A while.”
“That’s concerning.”
“You snore a little.”
Pope scrubbed a hand down his face. “Good to know.”
Ben tilted his head and continued to stare at him without pause.
“Have you ever thought about joining the military?” With that unreadable expression and apparent stealth, the kid would be a shoo-in.
His eyes widened, big and blue like Summer’s. “Is that like a ninja?”
A laugh almost escaped before he caught it. Pope offered him an encouraging smile instead. “Pretty much.”
Then, with the kind of abrupt mood swing only kids could manage, Ben announced, “I’m hungry.”
Pope pushed himself off the couch. “Let’s fix that.”
He’d spent years surviving on military chow halls and MREs, but somehow feeding one seven-year-old felt more intimidating than dropping into enemy territory.
He stood in Summer’s kitchen staring into the pantry, trying to determine what counted as acceptable breakfast food while Ben sat swinging his legs from a chair nearby.
Still watching him. New location.
Eventually the kid settled on toast and a banana as Pope figured out the coffee machine.
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” Ben asked casually through bites of banana.
“Because you were right—the truck was cold.”
Ben accepted the explanation like it made perfect sense.
As Summer stepped into the living room, the memory of the morning exchange faded, along with every coherent thought in Pope’s head.
Hell.
She wore leggings, boots and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair pulled into a ponytail that swung every time she moved. No makeup, eyes soft and alluring. Somehow prettier than she’d ever looked walking across the Stockyard floor at midnight.
She took another step toward him, and he fixed his focus on her ponytail, wondering how hair even bounced like that.
Now he was staring at her the way Ben had watched him.
He stood and shuffled toward the door, unsure how to act like a bodyguard when he wanted to act like a boyfriend.
She grabbed Ben’s backpack from a row of hooks by the door. By the time Ben came rushing out of his room—did the kid ever walk?—she had his coat held out for him to slip his arms into, clearly their morning ritual.
She turned her head toward Pope. “I’m taking Ben to school.”
“We’re taking Ben to school.”
Her chest inflated as she drew a full breath but she simply nodded and didn’t fight the amended plan.
She herded her son to her car, reaching back to close and lock the door, but he already had it covered.
“I got it.”
“Thanks.”
He checked the street up and down before she even took a step toward her car. Ben jumped in the back seat and Summer reminded him to buckle up.
After his door was closed, she met Pope’s gaze across the top of the car. “You don’t have to escort us to school like we’re VIPs.”
“It’s my job.”
She smiled faintly as she slipped behind the wheel.
The drive to school passed quietly except for Ben explaining playground politics from the back seat, and Pope kept half his attention outside the vehicle, watching for strange cars making all the same turns they made and ensuring pedestrians didn’t rush the car.
By the time they pulled into the school drop-off line, Pope already disliked the setup of the school. The entry was too exposed. Too easy to approach. Too many distracted adults stood around talking instead of paying attention to what was happening around them.
He climbed out with Summer and Ben and scanned the building. As they approached the entrance, the poor security had all his instincts screaming.
Pope stood in front of the door, blocking Ben’s path. A crowd streamed around them.
“Vander?”
He didn’t glance away from the door when he spoke to Summer. “I don’t like the way the school door locks look.”
“What?” She pitched her voice low.
“That security keypad can be hacked in thirteen seconds.”
He felt her stare on him and turned his head. “Summer, do you realize that? Thirteen seconds.”
A few nearby parents glanced at them. One mother subtly steered her child farther away from Pope like he might breach the school himself.
Summer’s touch on his arm was gentle. “Okay.”
“No, not okay.”
“Vander.”
“The system’s outdated.”
At that moment, a tall, thin man appeared in the entrance. He looked Pope over. “Can I direct you someplace?”
Summer gave Ben a little nudge toward the door while Pope sidled up to the man.
“And you are?”
“Uh…” A flush crawled up from the collar of the man’s dress shirt. “I’m Principal Aldman.”
“Good morning, Principal Aldman,” Summer hurried to say. Then to Ben, she said, “Go inside, buddy. I’ll pick you up after school. Have a good day!”
She latched on to Pope’s arm before he could grill the guy about security and steered him through the sea of people flooding toward the door.
After they were inside her car, she turned to him, gripping the wheel. “I appreciate you taking this seriously.”
“I do.” He stared at the front of the school but he was seeing her face the way it looked that night she told him they had nothing to offer each other.
“This matters for my future in Black Heart Security,” he gritted out.
She didn’t move to turn on the engine. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“The Malones approached me to join the security agency.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose hard enough to burn. “I’m trying to prove I can do this.”
“You already are.”
“No, I mean…” He exhaled slowly. “I’m not as damaged as you think.”
Summer’s gaze caught on him for half a second too long.
He saw the question in her eyes. Not judgment. Not fear.
Just that careful hesitation people got when they knew what went on at the Black Heart Ranch’s therapy program. Maybe she’d heard stories about veterans and PTSD and wondered things she didn’t know how to ask out loud.
Pope rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“I’m cleared, Summer.”
Her brows knit slightly. “What?”
“For the job.” He nodded toward the school. “Black Heart doesn’t hand out security work unless you can handle it.”
Guilt crossed her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” His voice stayed calm. “I’m just telling you I fulfilled all the requirements before they offered me a position. I’m okay.”
Kids funneled through the school entrance nearby, and neither of them spoke.
Summer’s throat clicked as she swallowed. “Did you think I didn’t want to be with you because I thought you were too damaged?” Her voice was a pained rasp.
He rubbed a fingertip down his nose again. “Yeah.” What else was he supposed to think?
She looked at the school and then back at him. “I didn’t see a future because…I couldn’t even get the father of my son to stick around.” Her laugh came out thin and bitter. “Honestly, though, I’m glad he didn’t. I didn’t need to carry around a man-child too.”
Pope reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. He scrolled briefly before handing it over.
Summer looked down at an old photo of four painfully young men standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of a bus headed for bootcamp, chests puffed out to look intimidating.
He pointed at himself in the photo. “I was the scrawniest one in the group.”
The corner of her lips twitched upward.
“Still, I was the only one who made it through.”
Her gaze lifted to his.
Sitting this close, he ached to cup her beautiful face and claim her perfect lips.
“A lot of guys got married young, right outta boot camp,” Pope said quietly. “They thought they were building perfect lives for their futures. I watched marriages fail over and over. Watched divorces rip through families.”
He remembered all of it too clearly. Young wives crying. Drunk buddies sitting in empty apartments after another marriage collapsed under the strain of military life.
He held her stare. “Their failures kept me from ever trying, not that I ever met a woman I wanted forever. What I’m trying to say is…I understand being gun shy.”
A shadow crossed the bright blue depths of her eyes and she handed the phone back. “We’re all broken, Vander.”
She pushed out a sigh and began to tell her story. “We moved across the country to follow my ex, Michael’s, dream. Not mine. He dreamed of small-town life in the mountains. The plan was to stay in town long enough to earn money for a homestead.”
She pushed out a snort through her nose. “As if he could grow our own food and support us by being a homesteader. I could barely keep a roof over our heads most months.”
Pope’s heart flexed at her words but he remained silent.
“Michael promised everything would work out once we got settled. Then I got pregnant.” She stared at the school doors as she spoke. “When Ben was born, Michael left us at the hospital.”
Physical pain clutched his chest.