20. Garrett #2
I wasn’t there when Simone and Lucas explained to my parents how Simone had been pregnant with Lucas’s baby over eleven years ago—something none of us, including Lucas, had known about at the time.
A drunk driver resulted in her losing the baby, and Simone needed an emergency hysterectomy to save her life.
I wasn’t there when they told Mom, but I heard afterward how devastated she’d been at losing her only grandchild.
“Mom seems convinced Peony is my daughter.”
Dad blows out a short laugh. “Of course she does. She desperately wants this to be true. But most of all, she wants you to be happy. Are you happy?”
Happy? I’m not sure that describes how I feel.
I have a daughter I didn’t know about until recently.
A daughter who isn’t particularly fond of me.
She’s only eighteen months old—what will she be like when she’s sixteen?
Will she resent me more than she does now because I wasn’t in her life from day one?
I rub my neck, trying to ease the growing knot.
“Are you happy?” Dad repeats.
“Ask me that once my current project is in my editor’s hands.” Better yet, once my editor tells me he loves the story and confirms massive rewrites won’t be necessary.
“Like that, huh?”
Screams of laughter come from the slide, the two other kids running around it, arms up like they’re airplanes.
“I don’t know how single parents manage. At least I have Athena to help me muddle through it. But it’s not making things easy for hitting my deadline.”
“I wish I could say I know what you mean, but I can’t.
I missed those early years when you and your brothers were that age.
” He dips his head toward Peony. “You won’t miss those precious years like I did with you and your brothers.
And the mother of your children won’t have to worry about you dying in action, leaving her with young kids to raise without a father. ”
His words, spoken without malice, are a grenade to my heart, shrapnel shredding my insides. Yes, Peony won’t have to worry about her father dying in action. But Clarke’s and Cooper’s children can’t say the same…because I couldn’t save my friends.
Memories flash in my mind. Memories of the day I lost them both.
Sweat due to the heat from the Afghan desert sun had dampened my hair and dripped down my back.
The sweltering temperature had been the least of my problems, what with the recent Taliban activity.
My M27 was in position, the butt against my shoulder, as I slowly reversed into the old stone building.
I focused on the dry terrain surrounding the entrance. Cooper and Clarke had been the first to enter the building as we worked to secure it. I was watching their backs. The rest of our unit was in position, ensuring we weren’t ambushed from outside.
I searched around the room, and an unease stirred in my gut. Something’s not right .
An explosion at the back of the house shook the building, shattered the windows. I dropped to the ground, covering my head and neck with my arms. Dust and debris landed on me. Something sharp sliced into me just below my ribs.
It took a moment to regain my senses. All I could hear was the loud ringing in my ears. The explosion hadn’t been big enough to level the house, but a thick layer of dust covered the front room.
Coughing, I pushed to my knees and gasped at the pain in my side. Blood soaked through my cammies, but the amount seeping through wasn’t enough to worry about yet. “Cooper? Clarke?” I yelled.
The ringing in my ears drowned out their replies. Please let them be okay. I staggered forward, calling out their names again, using the wall to keep me upright.
I entered the hallway. Clarke was on the floor, unmoving, face down.
I hurried toward him, my breath labored, and dropped to my knees next to him. “Hey, buddy. Hold on. I’ve got you. Cooper?” I yelled out his name, my voice hoarse, in case he could hear me. I didn’t have a visual on him. He wasn’t in the hallway.
The ringing in my ears began to settle into a dull background noise.
Clarke groaned and moved his leg a fraction of an inch. Thank Christ . He was alive.
“I’m just going to roll you over,” I told him, “so I can see what we’re dealing with.”
Shouted voices came from the front door.
I rolled Clarke over carefully. His groan squeezed something inside me, the resulting pain worse than the physical one from my injury.
Blood flowed from the open wound in his belly. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . I covered it with my hands, attempting to stop the flow of blood. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” The lie tasted sour in my mouth.
Agony contorted his face, and my insides crumpled. It should have been me. I didn’t have a wife and kids waiting for me at home—but Clarke did.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I had told him again and again and again, but I didn’t know if the words were for him or for me or for his family.
I white-knuckle the edge of the park bench with both hands, fighting to suck air into my lungs, fighting to keep the memory of that day from my face.
What do you see? my old therapist’s voice says in my head.
Peony on the swing. Her sweet smile. My mother. Poppy…
“You okay, son?”
I drag my gaze to Dad, abruptly ending the therapy exercise I didn’t want to do anyway. “Yeah, I’m good.” I reluctantly release my grip on the weathered wood of the bench.
“How is the book going?”
“It’s going. It’ll probably be a struggle for a few days. Peony, Athena, and I need to come up with a schedule that works for all of us. But at least the plot isn’t giving me any problems.” For now .
“She’s a pretty thing. The nanny.” He doesn’t say it in a leering sort of way. It’s more like he has correctly guessed Mom’s matchmaking thoughts.
I roll my eyes. I’ve been so overwhelmed with everything, I haven’t paid attention to what Athena looks like, beyond my initial impression when I found her and Peony on my doorstep. “I’m just happy to have her around to help make everything smoother for Peony.”
“How’s that going so far?”
“As well as can be expected, given she’s lost her mother.” And she had no idea I existed until five days ago.
Dad winces. “That rough, huh?”
“With me, she’s nothing like she is with Mom.” I nod toward where Peony is giggling at Mom from the swing and Mom is playing peekaboo. “She’s scared of me when I haven’t given her a reason to be. She was the same way with Kellan.”
“ Hmm . Well, your mother has already fallen in love with her.” He eases out a heavy, despite-my-warnings sigh and unfolds from the bench. “You might as well introduce me.”
We walk to the swings. The two fathers on the other side of the playground glance my way. I pretend not to notice them. Hopefully that will be enough to keep them from coming over to chat.
“Peony.” I keep my voice soft and even, hoping that will be enough to ward off any potential problems.
She squeezes Poppy to her body, a shield against perceived evil, and rounded eyes dart between Dad and me.
“This is your grandfather,” I tell her, a bad feeling settling over me. The same feeling that had hit a second before the explosive that killed my friends detonated. That seemingly elongated period when no amount of hoping will prevent the sequence of events from unfolding.
Peony stretches her arms to Athena. “Nina!”
The high-pitched wail of her voice is a hook in my chest, yanking my heart out, dragging it across the artificial turf.
“Hey, baby girl. It’s okay.” Athena lifts Peony from the swing, but her foot gets caught on it.
I lunge forward and gently untangle it, taking care not to further upset Peony. “No one will hurt you, little flower. I’ll make sure of that.” I put my fingers on her shoulder. “I’m your daddy, and it’s my job to make sure you’re safe and loved.”
Her small body trembles under my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. She stares at me, perhaps processing my words. Or willing me to vanish in a puff of fairy dust.
Her trembling eases after a beat, but she continues to stare at me with uncertain eyes.
Dad looks no less uncertain than Peony. “It was nice to meet you, Peony. Joanne, we should go and give her a little space for now.”
Mom’s gaze moves between Dad and Peony. She’s clearly torn between leaving with Dad and staying with her granddaughter.
“Okay,” she replies on a sigh. “But let me know when I can see this little angel again. Or when you need someone to look after her.”
Athena’s body goes rigid, her shoulders pulled back. “ I’m looking after her.” There’s a possessiveness to her tone, the extending of claws. “I mean, I’m the live-in nanny. I can look after her.” The possessiveness dulls only a fraction. The claws remain fully extended .
My brow furrows, and a spark of anger flares in me at her reaction. I open my mouth to…I don’t know what I plan to say.
But Mom cuts me off before the words can form. “And you’ve done a great job taking care of my granddaughter.” Mom smiles patiently at her, not at all put off by Athena’s reaction. “But you’re not her mother.”
Athena’s eyes widen, and she jerks back a step as if Mom has just slapped her, though upsetting her would never have been Mom’s intent.
“You get to have time off from the job,” Mom continues, undaunted by Athena’s reaction. “That’s the law. And during your off hours, when you get to take a break and enjoy your downtime, I’m happy to step in and help out.”
Athena looks like she wants to argue, hurt burning in her eyes, but she just nods, her jaw tight.
What the hell was that—Athena’s reaction—all about?