by Jen Talty
Selfish asshole.
And her son had paid the price.
Gunner glanced over his shoulder before catching her gaze. He held her stare for a long minute. His facial muscles didn’t flinch at all.
She hated not being able to read him. Not even his ice-blue eyes gave anything away.
“I have them.” His voice remained flat, unemotional, and undetached, much like he had ten years ago. It was as if Courtney had taken him to the grave with her. “I’ve just never wanted to read them. I can’t go back to that time. I’m sorry.”
Dropping her hands to her sides, she sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to go back.” She dug her hand into her cross-body purse and pulled out a business card. “I want nothing from you. I feel nothing for you anymore. That all died the day we buried Courtney.” She hadn’t said that name in years, and it tripped over her tongue and tumbled out of her mouth in a freefall. She cleared her throat and held up a finger. “I have one thing to ask of you. Just one.”
“What’s that?”
“Read the letters. I’ve sent you a couple a year for the last ten. They aren’t long, except the first one. You don’t need to call me, or ever speak to me again, but do me the favor of taking the time—”
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s in them?”
She shook her head. The nerve of that man. She’d given him the choice, but he hadn’t bothered to even peek in one envelope.
No way could she handle looking him in the eye and telling him he had an almost ten-year-old son. He’d either be devastated he’d lost ten years of his boy’s life, or angry that she even thought he’d care. Either way, she didn’t want to be next to him when he found out. Besides, he lost that privilege when he dodged her right before he left for boot camp.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got to go.” She turned on her heels.
Thick, long fingers curled around her arm. The familiar sensation of his warmth sent her down a road she’d thought she’d long forgotten. Hot blood pumped through her veins, reminding her of a love so great that no man has ever been able to fill it.
“Now who’s walking away?”
She jerked, trying to yank herself free from his tight grasp so she could rid herself of all the emotions she tried to tell herself had been crushed the day he left her standing over Courtney’s coffin.
“Just tell me.” His nostrils flared like a frustrated bull waiting to charge.
She swiped at her cheeks, resenting the waterfall pouring from her eyes. Her life had never been easy. Her father had died in jail when she’d been in high school, and her mother died of a drug overdose about the same time she started dating Gunner. He’d lost his mother to cancer, and his father died in the line of duty right after high school, so he understood some of what she went through. He’d been so kind to her all through school, knowing what her home life was like where the rest of the kids shunned her.
“What’s in the letters?” His strong hands rested on her shoulders.
“I can’t get into this with you. You asked me not to chase after you, and other than one time, I respected that. However, I took the time to write you. You can take the time to read them. Like I said, we never have to see each other again, if that is what you want.”
His callused hands ran up and down her arms five times before he dropped them to his sides. “When I saw you on the ledge of that building, my heart sank. I couldn’t believe that you were risking your life that way. It reminded me of the time we found Courtney with a handful of pills, and it brought everything back, and I can’t push it away. Maybe we could have lunch or something sometime so we can talk, something we should have done before I left.”
All of this was a little too late, but she owed it to her son to give Gunner a chance; she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words to his face.
Or maybe she wanted to torture him.
Either way, before they had a real in-depth conversation about the subject, she needed him to come to terms with what he’d turned his back on. “I’ll meet you for lunch, but only if you read the letters.” She raised up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger so she could take one last taste of his salty skin. “You have my number.”
“You look good. Real good,” he said with a slight smile.
“You look like you’ve spent a lifetime running from the past, but it looks like the past just caught up with you. Deal with it, or you’re going to end up a very lonely, sad man.” She suspected he was already there; he just hadn’t accepted it. “I hope I hear from you.”
“I’m on duty until tomorrow morning, so I won’t be able to read them until after I get off work.”
“You know how to reach me.” With that, she marched back into the hospital and didn’t look back.
Chapter 2
Gunner tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. He’d rented this house for the last four years, and he loved the area. He was close to the beach and close to the base as well as the volunteer fire department he often worked at when he was off duty.
All he had was work.
Other than his brother, he had no family left.
His team was his family, but Gunner even kept them at a safe distance. He never got too close to anyone, and he never lasted more than two years at any given post, until he joined this particular team. He’d put in a request to be transferred, again, but his captain, Ace, wouldn’t hear of it. Ace liked the team he’d assembled over the last ten years, and he wasn’t about to let any of them go.
But Ace, as with half the team, was a family man. A wife, a bunch of kids, a couple of dogs, and recently, a kitty that one of his kids had been begging for, and Ace finally caved.
Gunner wasn’t past begging Ace to let him go, especially if he’d be constantly running into Arcadia. Seeing her again only stirred things he’d rather not ever experience again.
He snagged a glass of orange juice before heading back to the bedroom. The place had three. One he obviously used for sleeping. One he used for an office, though other than paying bills and occasionally trolling the internet, he had no use for it. The third was used as a guest room, though only one person had spent the night.
His brother.
And that had been a month ago when he stopped by unexpectedly after a grueling mission with another letter from Arcadia. Colt also gave Gunner quite the lecture about avoidance. As if Colt knew anything. The man had no idea what the word commitment meant, unless it was attached to a resigning bonus. Colt loved the military more than he loved women, and he enjoyed the company of many.
Gunner set the glass on the bathroom sink and splashed his face with water. He leaned over and stared at his reflection. Deep wrinkles had started to form around his eyes, but it was the lack of any life behind them that haunted him. He’d tried to date. At one point he thought he wanted to fall in love again, but he could barely manage a second date with anyone.
“Open the damn letters.” With a spring in his step, he made his way to the office. Opening the closet door, he pulled out the box labeled: AB.
Arcadia Bloomingdale.
He sat down at the small, dark wooden desk that faced the window. He could see Noah and Zach’s house. A few of the single men were sitting in the backyard, drinking a few beers, waiting until they were so tired that their bodies wouldn’t care it was nine in the morning. They would sleep on and off for the next day, recovering from an overnight shift.
He wouldn’t mind a mind-numbing beer or two, but Arcadia was right. He at least owed it to her to read the letters.
But where to start?
He pulled out the first letter that ever came and read the return address. She’d still been living in their hometown when she sent that one.
He set it aside and decided to start with the last one. Taking the old-fashioned letter opener his mother left him, he carefully tore through the envelope. A picture fell to the desk.
He held the image in his trembling hands, staring into the hauntin
gly familiar blue eyes of a young boy, maybe nine, holding a fishing pole.
The picture burned his fingertips. He tossed it aside and opened the letter.
Dear Gunner,
I’m moving again. My marriage fell apart.
He rubbed his stinging eyes. She’d moved on. Had a family. He was sorry it hadn’t worked out for her, but he was glad she’d left him in the past.
That had been the right thing to do.
I don’t know why I got married. Maybe it was because I felt like Davidson needed a father figure.
“What the fuck,” he mumbled, snagging the picture again. She named her fucking kid with his last name. Why?
Only, deep down, Gunner knew why; he just didn’t want to admit it. Not this second anyway.
But Doug wasn’t much of that. He had two kids of his own he needed to make time for and blending our families didn’t work. Besides, I don’t think I loved him.
Not like I loved you.
You ruined me, in more ways than one. Oh. I don’t blame you anymore. Not for that. I’m a big girl and can take responsibility for the outcome of my own life. But Davidson is an innocent child, and he has so many questions. I keep telling him that his father was an important man. A firefighter and paramedic in the Air Force. Your brother told me that, but I never told Colt about Davidson.
I figured since you never returned a single letter, you just didn’t want anyone to know you were a father.
His heart raced so fast he couldn’t feel when one beat started and the other ended.
A father.
He was a father.
He had a son.
He slammed his fist on the desk, sending the stack of envelopes to the ground. They scattered about the floor.
“Fuck.” There had to be at least thirty letters.
And more pictures.
He dropped to the floor. Sitting cross-legged, he arranged the letters by order of postmark.
Two or three letters a year. One around Christmas. One around Halloween.
The third grouping of letters was postmarked on the same date every year.
May 29th.
Today was April 8th.
With trembling hands, he held the last letter in front of his face.
I don’t know why I keep writing to you. I keep thinking that maybe you’re so far away that you can’t reach out to me.
But it’s been almost ten years. Your son will be ten this May.
“Jesus Christ.” He flipped through the envelopes until he found the one postmarked May 29th, nine years ago. Without using the metal letter opener, he fumbled with the paper, praying he didn’t destroy any image of his son. He let the letter fall to his lap and held up a picture of Arcadia, in a hospital bed, with a naked newborn on her chest.
Her dark hair was piled on top of her head. A few curls curved down the side of her face. Her sweet lips pressed against the baby’s forehead. The boy looked to be a good size. His pink skin glowing against Arcadia. His tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb.
A single tear fell from Gunner’s right eye.
He took the letter from his lap and held it into the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Dear Gunner,
I hope you received the last couple of letters. I know boot camp can be brutal, and your brother told me you signed up to be a firefighter and paramedic for the Air Force. That made me smile. I know it can be a dangerous job, but I also know the kind of man you are. Caring and kind.
Gunner held the picture up in his other hand. He wondered if Arcadia had gone through childbirth alone or if someone had been by her side. Who helped her raise their son? Knowing Arcadia, the strong, stubborn, independent woman that she was, she probably did it all by herself.
Until she got married.
His heart squeezed so tight he had to clutch his chest. Another man had been married to Arcadia and had played a role in his son’s life.
I wish I had known I was pregnant for sure that day at the cemetery. As I wrote in my last letter, I had been hoping we could take the test together. But I didn’t think that day was the right day to say, hey, Gunner, remember when the condom broke? Well, yeah, I think I’m going to have a baby.
I tried to get in touch with you. I want you to know your son. I don’t care if you don’t want anything to do with me. I can live with that.
But you need your son, and he needs you.
By the way, I named him Davidson Gunner Bloomingdale. You are listed as the father on his birth certificate. I know, when you come back, and if we give him your last name, which I’m perfectly fine with, he might be in a pickle as Davidson Gunner Davidson, but we can just call him Gunner, or change his first name.
What was I thinking?
I’m going to call him Gunner.
“But you called him Davidson in this last letter.” Gunner scratched the side of his face. Not a day went by that he didn’t remember that slap. It had left a red mark for two days. But he had deserved more.
And his son deserved better.
You should know that this little fella wasn’t so little, weighing in at nine pounds eight ounces and twenty-two inches long. Thank God it was a quick delivery. Almost gave birth in the elevator on the way in. He came so fast it was a bit frightening, but I had a friend of mine from work with me.
Would have rather had you.
Below is my address and cell number. Looking forward to introducing you to your son.
Love, Arcadia.
He tore through the rest of the envelopes, ignoring the letters and focusing on each and every detail of his son. Every year, he changed so much.
She had sent him pictures of him walking. Sitting on the potty with a book. Playing in the sandbox.
He gasped, holding a group of images where his son was playing in his first soccer game. Another one of him holding a golf club.
But his favorite had to be of him on the ski slopes. His son’s piercing blue eyes dancing with mischief in the sun. It looked as if they had lived up north for a bit.
He found two letters with postmarks from Vermont and unfolded the one from Christmastime.
Dear Gunner,
I promised myself I’d never keep your son from you, but it seems you don’t want him. Maybe I’m sending these to hurt you. Or maybe to hurt myself for thinking you’d actually want to be a father.
My mistake.
I got married a couple of months ago when my boyfriend took a job in Vermont. God, I hate it here. Way too flipping cold, but Doug, my husband, is from here, so it’s nice to have family. And Davidson has step-siblings to play with. It’s a good life for him.
He has so many questions about you, but I’m at the point where I think I need to either tell him you’re dead or crush his little heart and tell him the truth.
You don’t want him.
Gunner jumped to his feet and kicked the chair. “Of course I want him.” If he was being honest, he wanted her too.
But that wasn’t something he’d allow to bubble to the surface.
Ding. Dong.
He jumped.
Racing toward the front door, clutching the picture of Davidson on the ski slopes in his hand, he hoped—no—he prayed the person standing on the other side would be Arcadia.
And Davidson.
He pulled back the door and groaned. “Hey, Declan. What are you doing here?”
Declan held up a six-pack. “Becca heard you knew the therapist on the ledge and told me I had to come over. If she knew I brought beer, she’d kill me.”
“Isn’t she running the desk today?” Gunner shoved the picture in his back pocket.
Declan was part of what the team called the married crew. Ace, Hunter, Jax, Brodie, Declan, and Garrett. All of them had children, except Garrett, though it was only a matter of time before his wife had a bun in the oven. It was like there was something in the water at the firehouse.
“Nope. Her folks are visiting, so she’s taking them and the kids to the zoo. Since I was on an overnigh
t, she gave me the day off,” Declan said.
“For Mennonites, her parents are very cool.”
“They are the best. And the kids adore them, which is even better.” Declan waved the six-pack in the air. “Are you going to let me in, or what?”
“I’m surprised Ace and Hunter aren’t with you.” Gunner took the beer and headed toward the kitchen, contemplating on whether or not he would indulge. He needed to call Arcadia, but he hadn’t figured out what to say. “They were both pretty pissed I stepped out on the ledge.”
“Wasn’t the brightest thing you ever did.”
Gunner kept a larger distance between him and all the married men on the team, and their families. He tried to avoid going to their barbeques or other family gatherings, even when Noah, his paramedic partner, or other firefighters who weren’t married went. Being around families always made him uncomfortable. Not just because he didn’t think he wanted one, but it always reminded him of the day he walked away from Arcadia.
“I’ve done dumber,” Gunner said.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“The what isn’t important.” Gunner twisted off the cap from two longnecks before shoving the rest in the fridge. He handed one to his buddy who sat on the stool at the counter in the kitchen. Both men sipped their beers in silence.
Declan was a patient man. Gunner always assumed it stemmed from his religious background, and perhaps it did, but Declan also had a calmness about him. He put people at ease no matter the situation.
“Ten years ago, my ex-girlfriend committed suicide.”