Remedy (Flaming Skulls MC: East Coast Chapter #8)

Prologue

Remedy

I didn't need an alarm clock anymore.

For three years, one tiny blonde tornado had become the most reliable wake-up call I'd ever known.

The mattress dipped beneath a surprising amount of determined weight before something soft landed against my chest. Even half asleep I recognized the familiar shape of Mr. Pickles, Charlie's well-loved teddy bear whose once-brown fur had faded to a strange mixture of tan and syrup stains after surviving countless adventures that only made sense inside the imagination of a three-year-old.

"Daddy."

Her whisper carried all the urgency of a national emergency.

I kept my eyes closed.

"Mmm?"

Another small poke landed against my shoulder.

"Daddy."

I smiled despite myself.

"What is it, Bug?"

Mr. Pickles was suddenly pressed against my cheek.

"He says he's starving."

"Does he?"

Charlie nodded so enthusiastically the mattress bounced beneath us.

"He says pancakes."

I finally opened one eye.

"And what do you think?"

She leaned so close our noses nearly touched before lowering her voice into an exaggerated whisper.

"I think he might faint."

A laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"You think your teddy bear is going to faint because he hasn't had breakfast?"

She looked horrified that I would even question such obvious facts.

"He had a very busy day yesterday."

I reached over, scooping both Charlie and the bear against my chest until she dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

"What exactly did Mr. Pickles do that exhausted him so much?"

"He fought dinosaurs."

"Naturally."

"And sharks."

"At the same time?"

She nodded again.

"Then aliens came."

"That's rough."

"He protected me."

I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of strawberry shampoo and the lavender detergent Daisy insisted every kid should smell like because, according to her, "children should smell like childhood."

"Well," I said, climbing carefully out of bed with Charlie still clinging to me like a tiny koala, "we'd better feed the brave little guy before he wastes away."

Charlie gasped dramatically.

"I told you!"

The old farmhouse creaked softly around us as dawn slowly brightened the windows. Most mornings started exactly like this, and if I was being honest, I wouldn't have traded them for anything.

The kitchen wasn't much bigger than necessary, but it had become the center of our little world.

Finger-painted masterpieces covered one side of the refrigerator.

Tiny alphabet magnets spelled words that changed almost daily depending on Charlie's latest obsession, while a faded growth chart stretched beside the pantry door, each pencil mark preserving another inch of time I wished would slow down.

Charlie insisted on wearing one of my old Flaming Skulls T-shirts as pajamas. It nearly reached her ankles, the sleeves hanging well past her hands until she rolled them up with fierce determination before climbing onto her stool beside the counter.

"I'm helping."

"I was counting on it."

She puffed out her chest proudly while I gathered flour, eggs, milk, and vanilla. Cooking with Charlie always took twice as long and left three times the mess, but somewhere between spilled flour and crooked pancakes, those mornings had become the best part of every day.

I cracked the eggs while Charlie attempted to stir with absolute confidence and almost no coordination.

Flour exploded across the counter.

Then onto the floor.

Then somehow into her curls.

She looked down at herself before slowly lifting wide blue eyes toward me.

"I think the flour sneezed."

I folded both hands over my mouth as though considering the evidence.

"It certainly looks suspicious."

"I don't think it likes me."

"I think," I said, lifting her onto the counter so I could brush the white dust from her nose, "it likes you a little too much."

She scrunched her face before dissolving into another fit of laughter that filled every corner of the house.

There had been a time when silence lived here.

Back before Charlie.

Back when I thought coming home meant collapsing into bed after another emergency call and waking up to do it all again.

Now silence barely lasted five minutes.

And somehow...

Life had never sounded better.

The first pancake landed on Charlie's plate shaped vaguely like a heart after several failed attempts that she generously declared looked like dinosaurs instead.

Mr. Pickles received his own tiny pancake on a plastic tea plate beside her.

Charlie thanked me on his behalf.

Apparently teddy bears had impeccable manners.

By the time breakfast ended, syrup decorated half the table, Charlie had somehow managed to stick blueberries inside my coffee mug, and Mr. Pickles had survived another life-threatening battle with imaginary starvation.

While I cleaned the kitchen, Charlie disappeared down the hallway before returning several minutes later wearing her tiny denim overalls and pink sneakers on the wrong feet.

"I'm ready."

I crouched beside her.

"I think your shoes had an argument."

She frowned down at them.

"Oh."

After fixing them together, I tied both laces while she absentmindedly played with the ends of my hair.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Bug?"

"I like mornings."

"So do I."

"They're my favorite."

I looked up at her.

"How come?"

She wrapped both little arms around my neck so suddenly I nearly lost my balance.

"'Cause they're with you."

For just a moment the world seemed to stop turning.

People talked about life changing when they became parents.

They were wrong.

Life didn't simply change.

It rearranged itself.

Priorities shifted without permission.

Fear took on entirely new meaning.

Love expanded until it became impossible to remember who you'd been before carrying another human's entire world inside your chest.

Charlie had done that to me.

Without ever trying.

I hugged her a little tighter before standing and grabbing both our jackets.

Outside, early morning mist still drifted between the trees as the sun slowly painted the Carolina sky with streaks of pale gold and soft orange.

Charlie skipped beside me toward my truck, Mr. Pickles tucked securely beneath one arm while she chattered about dinosaurs, pancakes, and the important responsibility of making sure teddy bears always ate breakfast.

I listened to every word.

Not because the stories made sense.

Because one day they wouldn't be told anymore.

One day she'd outgrow teddy bears.

She'd make her own breakfast.

She'd stop reaching for my hand every time we crossed a parking lot.

I wasn't in any hurry for that day to arrive.

As I buckled Charlie into her car seat, she reached forward and squeezed my hand.

"I love mornings with you, Daddy."

The words settled somewhere deep inside me, becoming another memory I knew I'd carry for the rest of my life.

"I love mornings with you too, Bug."

Charlie settled back into her car seat while I reached across to buckle the last strap into place.

She hugged Mr. Pickles tightly against her chest before watching me with the kind of quiet concentration only children seemed capable of.

For several seconds she didn't say anything, her little brow furrowing as though she were trying to solve a puzzle only she could see.

I rubbed absentmindedly at the back of my neck, trying to work out the stiffness that had settled there sometime during the night.

Sleeping diagonally across a bed because a three-year-old and one determined teddy bear had slowly claimed ninety percent of the mattress had become a fairly regular occurrence.

Charlie's eyes followed the movement immediately.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Bug?"

"Your head hurts again?"

The question caught me off guard.

I smiled over at her.

"Just a little."

She looked at me with complete seriousness, the same expression she wore whenever she was trying to help someone fix a problem.

It amazed me sometimes how observant she had become.

Most adults barely noticed when I skipped meals or rubbed at the tension headaches that had become part of everyday life. Charlie never missed them.

Without saying another word, she leaned as far forward as the car seat straps would allow.

I met her halfway.

She placed one tiny hand against my cheek before pressing a gentle kiss to the center of my forehead.

"There."

I chuckled softly.

"There what?"

"It'll feel better now."

"You think so?"

She nodded with absolute confidence.

"That's what you do when I don't feel good."

A warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the summer morning waiting outside.

"I do, huh?"

"Mhm."

She leaned back again, satisfied that the problem had been solved.

"Kisses help."

I laughed quietly as I reached over to smooth a curl away from her face.

"I'll have to remember that."

"You don't have to."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'll remember for both of us."

For one impossible moment, I couldn't speak.

People spent years searching for wisdom in books, sermons, and conversations that stretched long into the night.

Sometimes it came from a little girl wearing pink sneakers who believed teddy bears needed pancakes and kisses could cure headaches.

I leaned over one last time and kissed the top of her head.

"I think that might be the best medicine I've ever had."

Charlie's grin was brighter than the morning sun slowly climbing above the Carolina trees and I couldn’t help my own grin as she hugged Mr. Pickles against her chest.

Neither of us knew the phone would ring before we reached town.

Neither of us knew that one ordinary morning would quietly begin changing all of our lives forever.