Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Kace
The loud blaring of a car horn rips me awake. I jerk upright in the recliner, and since I'm sitting by the window, I have a clear view of what's going on outside.
My heart stops in that instant. "Dani!"
My baby girl is frozen in the street. The blare of the horn sent her teetering, and she's wrecked her bike in the middle of the road.
I curse, trying to get out of the recliner and onto my good foot, my gaze locked on the window as Lindsey goes running into the road to retrieve Dani and the bike, dragging it toward the yard to get it out of the street.
For one sickening second, all I can imagine is twisted metal and the kind of grief and pain that never lets a parent breathe deep again. One glance tells me Dani had “only” fallen off her bike and hadn’t been hit.
I get vertical, then hop to the couch, using it as support until I can hop to a table. Then a wall, another table, and finally the door. Every hop leaves my body throbbing, but I keep going.
I yank open the door and continue cursing and fumbling my way across the porch furniture until I get to the carport and hold onto a post, head swimming and uninjured leg weakly shaking and barely strong enough to hold my weight. "Dani!"
Dani and Lindsey are at the end of the short driveway, surrounded by one of Dani's little friends and her parents, all on bikes. I ignore them and focus on my daughter. "What just happened?"
Dani's crying, and I get that she probably just had the fear of God instilled, but I'm shaking so hard from the rush and pain and fear that I can't lower my voice.
"She's okay," Lindsey calls as she straightens with Dani in her arms. She cuddles and pats and carries Dani toward me after murmuring a soft thanks to the couple. I focus entirely on Dani and ignore the others as they shove off on their bikes to continue on their way.
Dani's bike is at the end of the driveway, and I glare at it, wishing I could get my hands on it to stash it so far out of Dani's reach that she couldn't find it without a twenty-year growth spurt. "What happened?"
Lindsey looks almost as wide-eyed and shaken as Dani does. I harden myself to the regret and upset I see in her pale face and focus on getting answers.
"I-I drifted off. She was riding under the carport, and—I drifted off. It's my fault."
"Dani?" I barely recognize my own voice, and somehow I force myself to take a breath and soften my tone. "Baby girl, what happened?"
"You should sit down," Lindsey says. "We should all sit down."
I wonder if the excitement and rush has made her dizzy, so I jerk my chin toward the camp chairs under the shade.
Lindsey heads that way, still carrying Dani.
They slide into one of them, and I brace myself for pain as I hop like a drunk kangaroo the three steps it takes to collapse into a chair next to them. "Talk to me. Now."
"I wanted to go with them," Dani says in her little-girl voice. "I wanted to show Livvy that I got my training wheels off and could go to the pier with them now."
"Kace, I'm so sorry," Lindsey says, looking pale and remorseful.
Her eyes sparkle with a sheen of tears, and I see the way her lips tremble with the effort it takes to hold back her emotions.
"I told Dani she could ride under the carport for ten minutes. I-I was sitting right here. I can't believe I fell asleep."
"She knows the rules," I say, my gaze locking on Dani once more. Dani looks rightfully remorseful, even though she's taken fifty years off my life. "Don't you, Dani? What's the rule? Say it."
"No riding in the street unless you're with me."
"Or what happens?"
Dani lets out a sob. "I l-lose my bike. I'm sorry, Daddy! Please don't take it!"
"No, sorry isn't going to cut it. You were almost hit by a car. We could be on our way to a hospital right now. Rules are rules for a reason, and you broke the rules. No bike for two weeks."
"Nooo!"
"Go to your room and stay there until dinner."
"But Lindsey said—"
"No, no, no. Don't you even go there. Lindsey said you could ride right here in front of her. You disobeyed her, too. You want me to punish you for that as well?"
Dani shakes her head, and the tears keep flowing, but I don't allow myself to soften.
I've been on too many runs with kids involved in vehicle accidents, and my daughter was almost a statistic.
She can cry all she wants. This is something I need her to get into her head and remember from now on. "Room. Now. Go."
Dani sobs as she scrambles off Lindsey's lap and runs for the door. Dani swings the door shut behind her, but we can still hear her cries as she runs through the house to her room.
"Kace…I am so sorry."
It's not Lindsey's fault my kid took it upon herself to ignore the rules but as her babysitter? "If you can't stay awake and keep an eye on her, it's a problem."
"I know. I won't let it happen again."
It's a nice sentiment but realistically? "You're growing a human. I'm not sure you're able to promise that."
I hate the defeat I see in her expression as she slumps in the seat. Like she's failed and hates herself for it.
"I'll do better. I have to," she says. "Especially since I'm going to be handling parenthood as a single mom. Unless…you'd rather end our agreement now? No hard feelings. I messed up. I really messed up. I am so sorry."
I swallow down the anger and fear still pulsating through my body and focus.
She made a mistake anyone could've made.
How many times have I dozed off in a chair with Dani playing nearby?
At any point, she could've tried to sneak out to ride her bike, and I would've been just as responsible.
I take a breath and remind myself that my precocious daughter has a mind of her own.
"You just got a wake-up call on how fast something can happen," I say softly.
"We both did. Let's keep that in mind from now on.
I was asleep in the chair. If I'd been here alone, she could've snuck out and done the same thing. "
Lindsey nods and swallows hard.
"I'll do better," she whispers again.
"We both will," I say, wincing as I shift in the uncomfortable chair.
"Come on. You have to be hurting after hopping out here the way you did. Let's get you back inside."
She stands and moves to my good arm, leaning down to help me up from the chair with no real support. I'm weak as a newborn, but I'm careful not to rely on or lean too heavily on Lindsey's smaller frame.
Lindsey and I make the awkward trek to the door, pausing every few steps so I can catch my breath.
"I can go get your chair. Wheel you around to the front."
"Too much trouble," I say, panting for breath as we finally make it to the railing. "Let's just do this."
I make the first step, no problem. The second is harder and takes two tries to clear.
The last step into the house has us tumbling through the door.
Lindsey is gasping and laughing as she tries to counter my off-balance spill, and we wind up face-to-face, her arms around me and head tilted back as she looks up at me.
Everything inside me stills. The pain fades to dull throbbing aches I ignore. I'm captivated. Struck by the light and amusement in her eyes. Her features. She's beautiful. I noticed her the first moment I set eyes on her in Bronwyn's bookstore, and right now, I can't look away.
"Are you okay?"
She sounds breathless, and the huskiness trips me up. Makes me think of kissing her senseless and whether she'd sound the same way after I let her up for air.
I rein myself in. Professional. I have to keep things professional. First because she's Gabe's—my best friend and the chief—family, but also because she's carrying a baby and trying to figure out her own life.
And if that's not enough, she's temporary and unsettled, and now's not the time.
I have to get back on my feet. Take care of my girls.
Figure out what I'm going to do if my leg ends my career.
I have a family to provide for, and they come first. Always.
Any feelings I have for anyone outside of them? Not the priority. "I'm fine."
Lindsey stills as though sensing the sudden tension riddling me, and I watch the change overtake her features.
The awareness I feel for her in this moment?
It's there. On her face, her expression.
But I also see fear and indecision and more than a little guardedness as walls go up behind her eyes.
I can't blame her there. We're both reeling from the results of recent life events.
"Chair," she says, her frosty-green gaze sliding away from mine.
She shifts back to my side, and we continue to the recliner, every step bringing me the scent of her. The feel of her against me.
Because when it comes to the future and her?
Forbidden doesn't begin to scratch the surface.
Wanting Lindsey is already dangerous. But having watched her throw herself in front of danger to protect my baby girl?
The line I've been trying to keep between us just got a whole lot thinner and harder to hold.