Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The kitchen still smelled of butter and sugar, and no matter how well he cleaned, flour still dusted underneath the stove dials and the edge of the toaster and stand mixer.
Decker washed his hands and lifted Birdie onto a chair, positioning her where she could participate. “So, what’s it going to be? Chocolate?”
“Shocklet.” Birdie clapped her hands.
“Well, that’s a good thing because I make a mean chocolate pie.”
He pulled flour from the bin and measured it into a bowl. Birdie leaned forward, eyes tracking every movement.
“I do it?” she asked.
“Sure.” He guided her hand, helping her scoop another cup, and dumped it in. A puff of flour rose into the air.
They cut cold butter into cubes, and four hands squeezed them into the flour, forming pea-size clumps. He dropped it out onto a sheet of plastic wrap, then formed a solid ball. “This’ll go into the freezer for a little bit while we make the filling.”
Willa leaned in and tore off a chunk of dough, handing it to Birdie. “Here. Let me find our cookie cutters.” In a cupboard, she pulled out a container filled with them. Pressing the dough flat, she showed Birdie how to create cut-outs.
While she concentrated on that, Decker asked Willa, “You hear anything from your mom?”
“No. And I won’t. She’ll let me stew in fear until I can’t take it anymore and give in and do everything she wants. She always gets her way.”
“Is it working?” In a saucepan, he whisked cornstarch, cocoa, sugar, and a pinch of salt.
“I mean, I’m still here, right? So, in that sense, no. But she’s in my head.” The space between her brows furrowed. “My entire career has been a race to the brass ring. And right when I’m about to grab it, I jump off the ride.”
“You regretting taking a leave?”
“Not for one second. And look, this isn’t just about my mom.
My career would be threatened at any firm.
You can’t source a deal and then bow out because your dad has a hypertensive crisis.
Anyone would question whether you want it badly enough.
And trust me, there are plenty of associates in line behind you. ”
“But it is your mom. Whether or not she can show favoritism, you want to believe she’d have your back no matter what.”
“Yook.” Birdie peeled the flower-shaped dough off the counter. It drooped and fell apart. “Oh, no.”
“Ah. You know what? After we get this pie done, we’ll make a batch of playdough. It doesn’t have butter, so it’ll hold up better.” Ava used to make it for them when they were kids. He’d have to get the recipe from her.
Satisfied, she went back to playing.
“The thing is…” Willa worried a dish towel. “I might be edged out about my mom, but
I don't regret this time with my dad.” Her breath hitched. “Or with you and Birdie.”
Their eyes caught, locked. She seemed to struggle with her thoughts until she straightened with a look of resolve.
“I’m really happy…with you. I don’t think—well, I know I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I know we agreed to just, you know, enjoy each other while we were both in town—”
“But it’s turned into something more. Something I’m not going to give up.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she gusted out a breath. “Yes.”
“We won’t.” His voice came out rough. Maybe it was her courage. Her boldness. Or maybe it was just them, but he knew what he had to do. For himself, for her, for Birdie. “I’m going to stick with my original timeframe.”
Willa tensed. “What do you mean?”
In a separate bowl, he beat three egg yolks. Then, he whisked milk into the dry ingredients. “I’m out of the boot, and my coach wants me back now. I told him I needed a few more days, but instead, I’m staying for the full three weeks. That’s what Coach and I originally agreed on.”
“What’s the cost of that?”
“I might not start.” He’d been sacked by three hundred-pound wide receivers that didn’t hit as hard as that one sentence. “But I’m keeping in touch with everyone. I don’t miss an install. I watch tape. I’m as plugged in as I can be.”
“How’s the backup doing?” Her tone held the gravity of the situation, and he appreciated that.
“He’s okay. We’re working on his weak spots.
But…” He glanced at Birdie, her blonde hair gleaming in the overhead lights, the curls springy.
“I just can’t leave yet. All this time, I’ve been setting up the infrastructure of her life.
Well, of my life, really. Trying to insert her into it like she’s one more thing on my to-do list. I feel like such a piece of shit—” He pressed his lips together. He’d have to work on his language.
“It’s okay. She’s in her own world.”
Birdie squeezed soft dough through her fingers, humming quietly to herself.
His gaze lingered on her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. How could I be so cold to my own child?”
“Hey.” Willa’s hand settled on his arm. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You wouldn't have gotten where you are if you weren't this driven, this dedicated. It takes time to shift gears into something new. Especially something you weren't prepared for.”
Her belief in him mattered. “I'd like to believe that's true.” Which made him realize how much he trusted her.
He didn’t trust many people.
“I think you're doing a great job. You're trying. You care. You are shifting.” She threw her arms around him. “You’re such a good man, Decker. You have the biggest heart. You’ll do right by her.”
Birdie tipped her head back. “You kissy kiss?”
Willa burst out laughing. “No. We’re talking. And what do you know about kissing?”
“Mommy kiss Bwian.”
Here it is. They’d known it was coming, just not when. “Oh, yeah?” He kept his tone light.
Birdie smashed the dough flat and picked up a flower-shaped cookie cutter, and for a second, it seemed like the moment had passed.
He glanced at Willa. Do I say anything?
Before she could answer, Birdie looked up. “Mommy come get me?”
Willa pulled back, and Decker set down the whisk, every instinct in him firing at once. Fix it. Solve it. Make this better.
But how? Thankfully, before he could fuck things up with his blunt honesty, Willa stepped in.
“No, sweetheart,” she said gently, her hand resting on the little girl’s back. “Mommy can’t come get you.”
Dough squeezed through Birdie’s fingers, but she didn’t cry. Didn’t really even react. Then, more firmly, like she was correcting Willa, she said, “Mommy get me.”
Willa brushed a curl back from the little girl’s cheek. “You miss her.”
Tears glittered in Birdie’s eyes, and her lips pressed together.
“I know you do,” Willa said. “But mommy’s body stopped working, and she died.” She let out a shaky breath. “That means she can’t come back.”
The words hung there. Decker’s stomach rioted. He’d never felt more helpless in his life.
Birdie’s eyes filled with confusion and hurt. “Mommy get me,” she said again, quieter this time.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Willa said. “She loved you so, so much. And she would come get you if she could, but she can’t.”
His heart couldn’t take it anymore. He crouched beside her. “I’m here, Birdie.” He cupped her chin, looking into her eyes. “I’m your daddy, and I’ve got you.”
And in that moment, he understood the shift Willa was talking about.
Because he’d just moved Birdie from the periphery to the center of his life.
Wild West Days was in full swing. The streets were filled with white tents, smoke from barbecue pits, and excited crowds.
The horses leading the stagecoach clip-clopped down Main Street, kids and tourists peeking out the windows with huge smiles.
The smell of chili drifted from one direction, and kettle corn from another.
Thousands of tourists crowded the streets, and Birdie would’ve been trampled in the throng, so he carried her. In one hand, she clutched Fifi’s ragged pink ribbon. The rabbit still hadn’t come in the mail. He’d get in touch with Brian directly. He better not have thrown it out.
At the sound of a pop from the staged shoot-out, Birdie jerked, and she hid her face in his neck. His hand went to her back. “It’s okay. It’s just playing.”
“No, no, no.”
“Yeah, I don’t like it either,” Willa said.
“Come on.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll cross the park. Get something to eat on the other side.” Street barricades cut off traffic, making it easy to get around. “What’re we hungry for?” he asked his girls.
My girls.
The clutch in his heart shook him—you might not get to keep this—so he focused on the row of food trucks.
“I could go for a brisket sandwich.” Willa smiled. “When I was little, I’d get corndogs, but by high school, I was obsessed with the High Noon Smokehouse’s barbecue. What about you, sweetie? Would you like a hot dog?”
But Birdie’s attention had snagged on the giant bear sculpture in front of Bazoo’s Mercantile. “You want to go in?” he asked. “See the animals?”
She nodded eagerly. “See aminals.”
As they entered, though, he saw it through her eyes.
“Wait.” He held back. “Is this too gruesome for a kid?” Throughout the store, mounted animals posed in exaggerated positions.
A grizzly on its hind legs, a mountain lion crouched on a rock, and a ram with full, curled horns.
They sold everything from fox tails to Calamity mugs and T-shirts.
But Birdie wasn’t looking at any of that. Fixated on a display of stuffed animals, she wriggled free. He wondered why she was looking at the toys and not touching them.
Willa must’ve sensed her hesitation because she reached in and pulled out a teddy bear with a red bow. “This one’s cute.”
“Would you like that, Birdie?” He’d love to get her something other than educational toys. Something that might comfort her the way Fifi obviously did.
But she pointed to a moose with beige flannel antlers and an oversize bulbous muzzle. “Dat mine?”
“Sure.” He chuckled. “That one’s yours.” He handed it to her.
She studied it for a moment, and then she burst into a smile that made her nose scrunch up. “Dat funny shicken.”