Chapter 5 - Cade
I can't stop watching them.
Sierra's sitting across from me, her hot chocolate mostly untouched, a small smile playing at her lips as Ruby launches into a story about the time she tried to give their neighbor's dog a bath and ended up soaking herself instead.
Ruby's animated, using her hands to demonstrate, and Sierra's eyes are docile with that particular brand of affection that only comes from years of loving someone completely.
They're beautiful together. A unit. A family that's existed for seven years without me.
The thought should hurt more than it does, but right now, in this moment, with chocolate-scented air and Ruby's laughter filling the space between us, I'm just... grateful. Grateful that I get to see this, to be part of it, even if I'm seven years late.
"And then Mr. Henderson had to help me catch Chester because he ran away with soap all over him and Mom was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe," Ruby finishes, grinning at the memory.
"I was not laughing," Sierra protests weakly. "I was concerned."
"You were laughing," Ruby insists. "You were crying you were laughing so hard."
"Okay, maybe a little." Sierra's smile widens, and for a second, she looks exactly like she did eight years ago, before I left. Before everything got complicated. "But I was also concerned. Chester's owner was very understanding, considering."
"She gave me cookies," Ruby adds. "So, she couldn't have been that mad."
I find myself smiling in a way I haven't in years. "Sounds like you keep life interesting."
"Mom says I'm a force of nature." Ruby takes another sip of her hot chocolate, leaving a whipped cream mustache. "I'm not totally sure what that means, but it sounds cool."
"It means you're unstoppable," I say, and catch Sierra's eye. "Like a hurricane."
"A small, very determined hurricane," Sierra agrees.
Ruby beams at this assessment, clearly taking it as a compliment.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, probably one of the guys checking in, making sure I haven't completely lost my mind.
I ignore it. Whatever they want can wait.
This, sitting here with my daughter, learning about her life, watching the way her nose scrunches when she concentrates on fishing marshmallows out of her mug, this can't.
"Can I ask you something?" Ruby's voice pulls me back, and there's a seriousness in her expression that wasn't there a moment ago.
"Anything," I say, and mean it.
"Are you going to leave again?"
Sierra goes still across the table, her eyes wide, and I realize this is what she's been afraid of. Not that I'd reject Ruby, but that I'd do what I did before, decide things are too hard and walk away.
"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "No, Ruby. I'm not going to leave."
"Promise?" Her blue eyes search my face, looking for truth.
"I promise." I lean forward, making sure she can see how serious I am. "I know I wasn't there before. I didn't know about you, and I can't change that. But now that I do know? I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."
"Good." Ruby relaxes, her shoulders dropping. "Because I just met you and I don't want to lose you already."
My throat tightens. "You're not going to lose me."
"Okay." She nods, satisfied, and goes back to her hot chocolate like she didn't just ask the question that's been hanging over all of us since Sierra walked into the station.
But Sierra's still frozen, staring at me with something raw and vulnerable in her expression. I hold her gaze, trying to communicate without words: I mean it. I'm not running. Not this time.
She nods slightly, and I see relief flood through her.
We stay at Melt for another hour. Ruby talks almost nonstop, filling me in on seven years of life in scattered, enthusiastic bursts.
I learn that she loves strawberries but hates strawberry-flavored things ("They don't taste like real strawberries, Dad"), that she's afraid of the dark but pretends she's not, that her favorite subject is science because they get to do experiments.
Every time she calls me "Dad," something in my chest tightens and loosens at the same time. Like a knot I didn't know I had slowly coming undone.
Sierra contributes details Ruby forgets or glosses over: the time Ruby broke her arm falling out of a tree (fearless, just like Sierra said), her first day of kindergarten when she cried for ten minutes and then decided school was actually great, the elaborate fairy garden she built in the backyard last summer.
I soak it all in, trying to piece together the picture of who my daughter is, what her life looks like. And the more I learn, the more I can't stop thinking about what could be.
What if.
What if they lived here, in Blackwater Falls?
What if Ruby went to school here, played soccer or baseball on the local team, grew up knowing my crew as her extended family?
What if I could be there for her games and parent-teacher conferences and all the mundane, beautiful moments that make up a childhood?
What if I could have this life, this family, for real?
But then reality crashes back in. They have a life three hours away. Sierra has a job (I assume, we haven't gotten to that yet), Ruby has school and friends and grandparents and a whole world that doesn't include me. I can't just ask them to uproot everything.
Can I?
Or maybe, and this thought makes me anxious, maybe I could move back. Return to the place I ran from eight years ago, face the demons I've been avoiding, try to build a life in the shadow of the warehouse fire that nearly destroyed me.
For Ruby. For the chance to be her father every day, not just on weekends and holidays.
Could I do that? Could I leave Dallas and the crew, the life I've built here, the safety of a place with no reminders? Could I walk past those buildings every day, see the memorials, face the families of the people I couldn't save?
For Ruby, maybe I could.
Sierra checks her watch and I tense, waiting for her to say they need to leave, that they have a long drive ahead of them. But instead, she looks at Ruby.
"You getting tired, sweetheart?"
Ruby shakes her head vehemently, even though I can see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. It's been a big day, emotionally intense for a seven-year-old. "I'm not tired."
"Uh-huh." Sierra's smile is knowing. "Well, we should probably head to the Inn soon. Get checked in, settled."
My head snaps up. "Inn?"
"Yeah." Sierra fidgets with her mug. "We're staying the weekend. I booked a room at… I think it's called the Blackwater Inn? The one on Main Street. We're leaving Monday morning."
They're staying. They're not leaving today. I have the whole weekend.
Three days. Three days to spend with Ruby, to get to know her, to start figuring out how to be her father. Three days to talk to Sierra about logistics, about what comes next, about whether there's any possible way to make this work without someone having to completely uproot their life.
Three days to figure out if I could move back. If I could face my past for the chance at a future with my daughter.
"The Blackwater Inn is nice," I manage, my voice rough. "Owner is good people. She has been running it for about fifteen years. Makes breakfast every morning."
"Oh." Sierra looks slightly embarrassed. "I didn't know about the breakfast. I just… I saw it online and it looked decent."
"It is decent. More than decent." I'm already planning in my head: what I can show them, where I can take Ruby, how I can make these three days count. "I'm off this weekend. I could… If you want, I could show you around Blackwater Falls tomorrow. Both of you."
Ruby's entire face lights up. "Really? Like a tour?"
"Exactly like a tour." Ideas are already forming. "There's a park with a playground. And a trail that goes up to a waterfall. It's an easy hike, good for kids. And there's an ice cream place that has like thirty flavors."
"Thirty!" Ruby's bouncing in her seat now. "Mom, can we? Please?"
Sierra's eyes meet mine over Ruby's head, and there's something there, gratitude, maybe, or hope. "If your dad wants to spend his day off with us, then yes. We can."
"I want to." The words come easily, truthfully. "I want to spend the whole weekend with you. Both of you. If that's okay."
"It's more than okay," Sierra says softly.
My phone buzzes again, three times in rapid succession. I pull it out with an apologetic look and see a string of texts from Dallas.
**Dallas: You good?**
**Dallas: The guys are worried. Also nosy. Mostly nosy.**
**Dallas: Take your time. We've got the station covered.**
**Dallas: But seriously, you okay?**
I type back quickly: **All good. They're staying the weekend. I'm off tomorrow and Sunday, right?**
His response is immediate: **You are now. Take Monday too if you need it.**
I stare at that last text, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Monday. I could take Monday, drive back with them, see where they live. See the town I left eight years ago. See if I could handle going back.
**Thanks, Cap. Might take you up on that.**
**Whatever you need, Lawson. We've got your back.**
I pocket my phone and realize both Sierra and Ruby are watching me.
"Everything okay?" Sierra asks.
"Yeah. Just Dallas checking in. Making sure I haven't spontaneously combusted." I stand, suddenly energized despite the emotional exhaustion of the last few hours. "Come on. Let me walk you to the Inn."
"You don't have to—" Sierra starts, but I'm already holding the door open.
"I want to."
We walk the two blocks to the Blackwater Inn, Ruby between us, holding both our hands. It's such a simple thing, walking down the street with my daughter's small hand in mine, but it feels monumental. Like everything in my life has been leading to this moment.
And maybe it has. Maybe the fire, the guilt, the eight years of running, maybe it was all leading here, to this street, this town, this little girl who has my eyes and my stubborn chin.