24. Garrett
GARRETT
Small, staccato barks come from one of the nearby houses. Three little kids under the age of five, who showed up at the playground a short time ago with their parents, run around the artificial grass, shouting and pretending to be airplanes.
Peony squats at the top of the little kids slide and drops onto her ass. Zara is up there with her, like she has been for the past seven times Peony slid down. The warm May breeze kisses the exposed skin on my arms and brushes a coil of Zara’s hair against her cheek. Lucky coil.
Before Zara can get into position, with Peony on her lap, Peony twists so she’s on her stomach. Like she saw one of the other kids do a few minutes ago.
“Wait a second, Peony,” Zara says as she lowers her ass onto the slide platform.
But Peony doesn’t wait. She wiggles her body far enough onto the slide for gravity to take over, and slowly slides, giggling, feet first. Her arms are stretched in front of her, pointing up the slide.
Unlike the previous seven times, when she slid down the slide with Zara, I catch her as she gets to the bottom. I don’t have a choice.
I hold my breath, bracing for her reaction. Hoping for the best. I’m pushing her boundaries just a little, testing if it will take us a step closer to her accepting me.
Taking care not to scare her, I scoop her up under the arms and swing her high in the air. Her resulting laughter is the sweetest thing.
Pride swells through me, temporarily replacing my earlier fear.
She’s my daughter. Really my daughter. She doesn’t belong to some guy Kenda didn’t want to see again or didn’t want to be the father of her child.
She’s mine, and I plan to do everything in my power to be all she could ask for in a father.
Even though I have no clue what I’m doing.
“You ready to go home?” I ask Peony. “It’s almost your bedtime.” Right after Athena gives her a bath.
I lower her to the ground. I may have made some headway, but I can’t assume she’s fine with me carrying her yet. That won’t help me gain her much-needed trust. She needs to be the one who chooses who carries her home.
Zara slowly slides down next, arms raised like she’s on a roller coaster. “Wheeeee!”
The earlier pride in me twists into something entirely new. For Zara. Her animated expression. The way she looks so free and joyful, her inner child coming out to play. All this combined…there’s something just so freaking adorable and sexy about her like this.
And super comical.
Peony and I burst out laughing. Peony lifts her arms, mimicking Zara. “Wheeeeee!” The action is made even cuter with her tiny, high-pitched voice.
Zara stands up at the bottom of the slide, her movements slightly halted, like it’s taking her more effort than normal to straighten.
Shit. I’m not sure she can carry Peony all the way back.
I squat in front of my daughter. “Can I carry you home?” I hold my hands out to her, hoping she’ll say yes, for Zara’s sake.
She tentatively steps forward, possibly thinking through her options or trying to figure out what I asked her.
She takes another tentative step, and another, until she’s standing in the space between my hands. Seeing that as a positive sign, I slowly close my hands around her waist, giving her a chance to change her mind. Watching her body language for any indication things are about to go south.
I ease out a relieved breath when she doesn’t put up a fuss, and I carefully pick her up. Her legs straddle my waist, and I keep my arms protectively around her small frame. Holding her—my own flesh and blood—feels so right. So perfect.
Zara beams at us, as if Peony and I just won a gold medal in pairs skating.
I feel like I’ve won an Olympic gold medal. Or a Noble Peace Prize.
Only better.
“Have you talked to your physician or your father or Samuel about your shoulder pain?” I ask Zara as we walk to my house.
I don’t want her to ignore the pain any longer.
Samuel, an ER physician, and her father aren’t allowed to treat family members, but can’t she check to see what they recommend she should do?
“I had a medical appointment this afternoon.”
“And?”
Zara looks to the driveway where the ginger cat was earlier. It’s not there now. “He said it’s nothing to worry about. It will get better. I just need to give it more time.”
A comfortable silence joins us on the walk, but it’s not alone. An odd tension crackles in the air, whips around Zara and me, bringing with it the memory of her lips on mine.
Kiss her , a voice in my head commands, conveniently forgetting I’m carrying Peony.
No, I can’t kiss Zara. She’s my best friend. You don’t kiss your best friend ’cause you get the urge to.
Besides, what happened the other day was an accident. Neither of us planned for it to occur. She leaned in to kiss my cheek as I happened to turn my head. It was the accidental brushing of lips. Nothing more.
Get over it.
A bird tweets from a branch in a nearby tree, as if agreeing with my assessment.
Peony points up at the branches. “Bird. ”
“That’s right, a bird.” A smile nestles in my tone.
“Fly!” Peony holds her arms out like wings preparing to take flight, her face bright with a toothy grin.
The grin tugs on my heart, yanks at my soul.
I honestly wasn’t sure if I would ever see that smile of hers intentionally directed my way.
And now I’m not sure I can look away. Afraid if I do, I’ll never see that smile specifically for me again.
“Fly!” she repeats.
“You want to fly again?”
She bops her head, the toothy grin in full force.
“Okay.” I adjust my hold on her and lift her above my head, then swoop her through the air as if she’s flying.
She shrieks with delight, and her infectious giggles have Zara and me laughing alongside her. Christ, this moment is better than a golden sunrise after a cold and wet stormy night.
I carry her like this all the way to my driveway, my arms trembling slightly by the time we get there. My old CO would be disappointed. Clearly, I’ve been “slacking” on those killer runs with Kellan compared to when we were in the Marines.
I lower Peony to my waist. Her legs clamp around me with surprising strength, and the three of us stop next to the driver’s door of Zara’s car.
“So, you’re happy with the test results?” Zara’s eyes remain on mine, but she nods at Peony.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t buy her all that stuff only to find out Kenda lied. Am I scared stiff I’m now a single father?” I nod. “Whenever I thought about Kenda and I one day having babies together, not once did I imagine going it alone.” Not once did I imagine her never getting to see them grow up.
“You don’t have to go it alone,” Zara says, the compassion in her eyes making it a little easier to breathe.
“You’ve got your family, you’ve got me, and you’ve got Athena to help you out.
Kenda might not be here anymore, but you aren’t alone.
” Her gaze drops to my lips, and I feel myself lean in a minuscule amount.
Peony squirms in my arms, her interest in this conversation nonexistent, and points to the ground.
“I’d better let you two go.” Zara waves goodbye to her. “Bye, Peony. Thank you for letting me play with you and your daddy.” She climbs into her car.
I step away and watch her reverse out of the driveway.
I walk toward the front door, Peony in my arms. She’s happily chatting again in the toddler language I haven’t learned to decipher. Yet.
The door opens, and Athena steps out of the house, desperation wild in her eyes. “Oh, there you two are.” A weak smile curves across her face, the panic in her eyes unwavering.
What exactly did she think would happen while we were gone? Sure, if I had taken Peony to the playground on my own, Athena would have had a reason to worry. But I wasn’t alone. I was with Zara.
Peony stretches her arms out to her. “Nina!”
Athena doesn’t wait for me to pass my daughter to her. She’s removing her from my grasp before I realize what she’s doing.
As soon as Peony is securely in her arms, the panic quickly smooths from Athena’s expression. “You ready for your bath and bedtime story?”
They step into the house, leaving me on the stoop wondering if I should join them for this part of the bedtime ritual.
Toddler steps.
Athena doesn’t ask me to join them, so I head to my bedroom, change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, and return to my office to work for a bit while she gets Peony ready for bed. I’ll say good night to her once they’re finished. That’s more than I’ve done since they moved in with me.
I settle in the wingback chair, reread where I last left off in the story, and type. But the words don’t flow like I’d hoped they would. The endless memory of the kiss with Zara is blocking them.
Focus.
The next few paragraphs flow like I’m milking frozen blood from a rock. By the time I stop to check on Peony, I’ve barely typed out a page…double-spaced.
The memory of the kiss, Zara’s soft lips against mine, has yet to let me go.
Heaving out a disgruntled breath because I’m getting nowhere with the chapter, I put my laptop on the desk and walk down the hallway to Peony’s room. Peony is in bed, hugging Poppy and listening to Athena read Peony’s favorite book to her.
I lean on the doorjamb, waiting for them to finish. Peony’s animated expression while she listens to the story has me smiling. She really does love that book.
Athena closes it and sets it on the bedside table. The book is the same one they were reading the day I found them on my doorstep almost two weeks ago. The same one I’ve seen Athena read to her so many times, I’m surprised the board book hasn’t fallen apart.
Athena kisses Peony on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
I want to let Peony know with more than just words she’s my daughter, but we’re a long way from that point. One day. Maybe one day she’ll let me kiss her forehead too.
I walk to Peony’s bed and pat her panda on the head, a little at a loss at what to do.
I’m not the one who puts her to bed every night.
I’m not the one who reads her a bedtime story.
I’m not the one who tucks her in and checks under her bed for monsters.
And I’m not the one who says good night to her and kisses her on the forehead.
For the past two weeks, I’ve simply let Athena do those things.
It was easier that way, given Peony’s opinion of me.
But maybe that needs to change. Maybe I need to be the one who does all those things for my daughter.
Soon. Once I’m positive she has accepted me and what happened this evening, at the playground, wasn’t a one-time thing. Then I can fully jump into my role as her father.
“Good night, Poppy. Good night, little flower.” I wave to them.
A shy smile sneaks into Peony’s expression, and she buries her face in Poppy’s fur.
She turns her head a fraction, peering at me with those big, pretty brown eyes, her smile still in place.
A small amount of relief rushes through me, bringing with it a rainbow of hope. Her new opinion of me hasn’t slipped down the drain in the short time we’ve been home. We have a chance of being the family Kenda had wished for—minus the part about Kenda being in it.
I leave the bedroom but wait in the hallway for Athena .
She says good night one more time to Peony, turns off the bedroom light, and steps out of the room. She doesn’t close the door fully, even though a baby monitor sits in the room in case Peony calls out in the middle of the night.
Athena startles, clearly not expecting to find me waiting for her.
“That book? Any reason she keeps asking for it?” I’ve seen Athena read to her the other picture books, but nowhere near as often as that one.
“It reminds her of her mama. Kenda read the story to her whenever…she just read it a lot.”
Fair enough.
My thoughts slip back to the high I’d felt when Peony let me carry her at the playground. They then flip to the kiss with Zara. It’s no wonder my words are coming out sluggishly. I’m too distracted to write. My thoughts are everywhere, other than where they need to be: on the book.
I need to take a break and go see Zara. Just for a few minutes.
That should straighten my mind out.
“I’m going out. I won’t be long,” I tell Athena. “Then I’ll be up late working. Do you need anything before I head out?”
“No, I’m good. Let me know if you want me to make you a late-night snack. I can do that.”
“Unless Peony needs you, you’re off duty for the rest of the night.”
The only time Peony has needed Athena during the night is when Peony wakes up from a nightmare. I doubt we’re near the point yet where she’ll let me comfort her after she wakes from a bad dream.
I add Find a child psychologist to my mental to-do list. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that the nightmares are the result of seeing her mother shot. But I have no idea where to find someone qualified in that department. I can’t ask for recommendations at the Veterans Center.
I grab my wallet and keys on my way to the garage and head to Zara’s building. I park in Visitor Parking and walk to the main entrance. One of the residents who knows I’m a friend of Zara is leaving the building, and he holds the door open for me.
“Thanks,” I tell him and head for the staircase. The elevator was recently repaired, but I prefer taking the stairs, especially when restlessness plagues me, like now.
I jog up to the fourth floor. But as I pull open the door, a craving to kiss Zara hits. And it grows stronger the closer I get to her apartment.
Is that the real reason I wanted to come here tonight? Because I need to get the craving out of my system, otherwise I won’t be able to focus on the book?
I stop at her door and knock.
Christ, I hope she’s home.