Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Miles
While Chloe forgave me for being a dumbass, Jake has been a much harder sell. I don’t blame him one bit for the attitude he gives me. Actions speak louder than words, and I shit all over the relationship we’d forged.
Even with strict adherence to the rules I spent months teaching him, I haven’t made a ton of progress. As May starts its downward slide, I’ve got to do something to mend the rift I created.
“Jake, you want to come with me and grab some ice cream?”
Chloe made a big dinner but accidentally forgot to make dessert at my request.
“Mom doesn’t like ice cream, or did you forget?” And there’s that attitude he was full of when we met.
Chloe huffs out a laugh. “I’m stuffed, babe. You and Miles go on without me, and I’ll get these dishes done.” She throws me a wink and mouths a silent, Good luck .
“Come on.” I give his shoulder a light squeeze as I grab my keys from the counter.
Jake drags his feet but follows me out to Maggie, sliding into the passenger seat as Bronson hops on the bench seat between us. “Damn it, Bronson.” He doesn’t bother using one of his substitute curses, but now is not the time for me to correct that.
“Jake, I need to apologize to you. What I did, the way I dropped out of your mom’s life and yours, that wasn’t right. I struggle with making excuses for myself, almost as much as I struggle with accepting them from others.”
He peers at me from behind Bronson’s back, brows lowered, his thinking face on.
“But people make mistakes. Sometimes, those mistakes are innocent, and sometimes, they’re intentional but with good intent, no ill will. Does that make sense?”
He nods, so I continue, wanting to explain this as best I can, “I was married before, a couple of years ago, way before I met you guys.”
“When you were a SEAL?”
I pull into a space at the ice cream shop and park. “Yep. My wife was…” I sigh, bracing myself. Weighing my words. “She did something bad, something very serious, that resulted in another person’s death.”
“She killed someone? She was a murderer?” There’s no hiding the shock leaching into his voice or painted on his face.
“She did kill someone, but it’s kind of hard to explain. She was sick.”
“So, she murdered because she was sick?”
Shock turns to confusion—and isn’t that the fucking thing? I don’t want to give him so many details that he’s scarred from it. I carry enough of that myself. But I want to do the explanation justice—at least, as much as I can.
“She suffered from a mental illness, and at the time, she didn’t know what she was doing. It was wrong, very wrong.
“When I went to California, I went there to talk to the judge and the lawyers. I wanted to help her get the care that she needed. Unfortunately, the sickness was too strong, too much, and she died.”
Chloe and I talked at length about how much to tell Jake, what to tell him and how to say it. I don’t know whether it’s right or wrong to fudge the details of exactly how Aly died, but for the sake of an eleven—almost twelve—year-old, boy, we decided to censor this particular detail.
Jake’s hand goes to Bronson’s back, stroking his fur as he processes what I shared. “Miles, who did she kill?” he asks softly.
Part of me hoped that he wouldn’t ask, but this, I won’t gloss over. That would feel too wrong. “Our daughter.”
Sadness pulls at the corners of Jake’s eyes, and he sniffs quietly, chewing at his lip. “I’m sorry she did that. I’m sorry you don’t have a kid anymore.”
“Thank you. That means a lot. I’m still her dad, even though she’s not here. Just like you will always have your dad.”
I pause, letting that thought sink in for both of us.
“So, that’s what happened, and that’s why I was really sad—pretty mad, too—and I was afraid of losing you and your mom. Afraid enough to push you guys away, thinking it would be easier for everyone, but I was really wrong. And if you’ll forgive me, I’d like to be part of your lives again.”
He picks at his lower lip and sniffs noisily. “I would like that. A lot.”
“There’s one last thing I need to clear with you before we go get dessert. And if it wasn’t super important, I would never ask you to keep a secret from your mom, not for anything, but I would like to ask her to marry me. I want to make sure that it’s okay with you first though.” I hold my breath because, honestly, I’m going to ask her; it’ll just be that much easier if Jake is on board.
A smile lights up his face, and he asks, “Really?”
I match his smile and nod.
Jake thrusts his hand toward me to shake and says, “Welcome to the family.”
I shake his hand, ignoring his clamminess from wiping away snot, proud of the way he’s handled something a kid should never have to hear about.
“So, is there something special you two do for Father’s Day?” I ask.
With a quick, shrill whistle, Bronson trots across the yard and into the house, splaying out on the AC vent in the corner of the kitchen.
“What do you mean?” Chloe lifts the dishwasher door with her heel and bumps it shut. “I thought you were cool with going to my parents’.”
“I am. Just… Do you do something special to honor Dallas?” I’ve worked hard over the past couple of weeks, proving myself to Jake, building trust, and earning his respect again. “I don’t want to be in the way, so I can just cut out for a bit, let you guys do your thing, and then swing back when you’re ready to go.”
Chloe folds the dish towel, neatly tucking it in the laundry room. She stands with a hip resting against the counter, arms folded across her chest, pushing her boobs together. “Before we moved, we’d go visit Dallas’s grave, and then, we’d just hang out for the rest of the day. Nothing we can really replicate here.” Sadness flashes in her eyes before she covers it with a smile. “What about you? I should have asked before now, but is there something special you do?”
We still tiptoe around discussions of Aly and my daughter—mostly Aly. Chloe is hugely supportive of me when I talk about them, but it’s never an easy discussion. For any of us.
“I’ll talk to my dad at some point, but I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
She seems to think about that, her brows pulling together, but the subject dies right there for the night.
In the morning, after a quick detour for doughnuts and coffee and a chocolate milk, we make the drive out into the country. Chloe’s parents live in a big house on a good-sized chunk of land.
“Uncle Brent and Uncle Drew are going to be there, right?” Jake asks from the backseat.
“Yep.” Chloe smirks at me from the passenger seat.
While her parents seem to like me just fine, she’s hinted at the fact that her older brothers can be kind of brutal.
“And Uncle Jack won’t, right? Did we send him a card?”
“We?” Chloe glances in the backseat and laughs at Jake’s shocked expression. “Yes, we sent Jack a card and Grandpa Triplett, too. I covered all your bases for you.”
“Almost all of them,” Jake mumbles under his breath, leaning forward and most likely thinking only Chloe can hear him.
The rest of the drive is quiet, uneventful, but with aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents, chaos fills our day.
Over grilled burgers and more salads and desserts than a group our size needs, gifts are handed out.
Chloe’s big, bad brothers might think they’re tough. But when Brent puts on the pink construction-paper tie with unicorn stickers decorating it, his street cred dies a painful death.
“Don’t you look pretty?” Drew drawls, winking at his brother.
Brent smooths down his paper tie, nodding at the play makeup set Drew just unwrapped. “Prettier than you’ll be, even after your makeover.”
A tiny version of Drew’s wife climbs up onto his lap, digging into the makeup crap and swiping pink and blue powder across his face. It hits me that she’s about the age my daughter would be. I allow myself just a moment to imagine her playing dress-up with me, and I smile.
“Don’t laugh, man. She’s been eyeing your beard since you got here, and I’ve got some bows in my princess kit here,” Drew razzes me.
“That’s a hard pass,” I say.
Jake leans over to Chloe and whispers, his hand cupped around his mouth. She nods, and he bounces from his seat and trots over to the tote bag she tucked under the small table by the door. He hands Chloe’s dad a card and then hands me a royal-blue gift bag, bright red tissue sticking out the top.
“Happy Father’s Day,” he says, cheeks turning red as everyone watches.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking from Jake to Chloe and back.
“It’s just… Nothing. I thought…”
I pluck the tissue from the bag and pull out a blue compression shirt, a red Superman symbol on the chest. “Thanks, Jake.” I unfold the shirt, and a keychain in the shape of a green ’52 Chevy pickup clatters to the table. “And you got something for Maggie, too. Thank you.”
I pull him in for a hug, giving him an extra squeeze and then a pat on the shoulder. Jake nods, red creeping higher on his cheeks as he shuffles off into the house.
My throat tightens with emotion, and Chloe reaches over, threading her fingers through mine.
We get home late enough that Jake climbs straight up the stairs and into the shower.
“Thank you for today,” I say, wrapping my arms around Chloe from behind. With my nose, I push her loose strands of hair to the side and place a kiss to the nape of her neck. Goose bumps pop up, dotting the skin across her shoulders. “The shirt and keychain were perfect.”
Chloe turns in my arms, twisting her fingers in the hair at the back of my head. She scrapes her nails down my neck, causing my skin to tighten, the same as hers. “That was all Jake. He thought them up and picked them out. I just played secretary and did the ordering.”
“Well, shit.”
“Exactly. Puts you in a pretty elite club. I think that’s the only Father’s Day gift he’s even had any input on.”
Chloe slides her hands around to my neck, scraping her nails through my beard. I should probably make a point to trim it soon. It’s getting a bit unruly.
My dick stirs as she dances her fingers across my shoulders and down my pecs, circling my nipples.
“You got a little something for me, too?” I palm her ass and press her tight into my hips, blood flooding south.
As much as I love spending time with her family, I would give my right nut to sneak Chloe out to the beach house one of the guys at work has and bury myself in her for a solid week, no interruptions.
“I do. A couple of things actually,” Chloe says, pinching my left nipple.
My dick is well beyond stirring and fucking begs for her after that. She runs a hand over the front of my shorts, giving me a playful squeeze before sauntering away from me.
I follow her up the stairs, admiring the sultry sway of her hips. In the bedroom, she rummages around in the closet for a hot minute before returning to me. Her tits sway alluringly, free from the bra she obviously took a few magical seconds to shed while she was in there, a square box resting in her palms.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the footlong square box from her, though honestly, I’d rather finish unwrapping her than get to whatever’s in this box.
“Remember that surprise I borrowed Maggie for on Mother’s Day weekend?” She taps the top of the box a couple of times with her finger and bites her lip.
“I do. Guess with Jake spilling about our adventures that day, I forgot all about it.” I resist the temptation to shred the box, instead slipping my fingers into the cardboard to pry it open.
My breath leaves in a rush.
“Sweet baby Jesus, woman, what have you done?” I lift an image of Chloe set in a simple black frame from the box. Full pinup. Glossy black waves. Ruby-red lips. Tight skirt, white blouse flashing a hint of red lace, fuck-me shoes to match, and goddamn seams up the backs of her hose.
I can barely form words.
“There’s more,” she says, her voice husky with desire.
I dig through the box, pulling two more frames out—same outfit, different poses. All fucking knockouts.
“The album has a few more.”
I don’t even look. Because I have the real thing, in the flesh, here to touch, taste, and love any damn time I want, just as long as she says yes .
I fully planned to do the whole thing—dress up, dinner, drop to my knee after a million pretty words, and ask her to be my wife. But I don’t want to wait. I reach in my pocket, slip the ring from the black velvet box, and slide it onto her finger.
“As beautiful as I’m sure every one of those pictures is, I won’t be able to appreciate the artistry behind them right now. I love you, Chloe. I don’t want to think of what my life would be like without you. Marry me. Make me the happiest man on earth.”
“Yes,” just barely breaches her lips before my mouth crashes into hers.