It started when I almost lost him.
Now, we’re celebrating his second birthday and the successful recovery from his third, and hopefully final, surgery. My mom has him sequestered on our front porch watching the birds flit around the lake. His little squeals pierce the humid afternoon and remind me to look forward to many more just like this.
Cole’s future looks bright. As the surgeries to treat those with HLHS are relatively new, no one knows exactly what the life expectancy is. In fact, we’re incredibly lucky to have the technology and excellent cardiology staff on call to give Cole the best chance possible.
In the meantime, there are days for swinging at the park, watching the birds, and enjoying a good time with family.
“Sofie, Jack ‘iss!” Cole yells.
Every person in attendance turns toward Cole and follows his outstretched hand. Sofie and Jack are clutched in a passionate embrace down on the beach on the edge of the forest. Hoots and calls from the crowd cause them to break apart. Sofie pushes away from Jack and rushes by everyone and into the house, her face as red as Olivia’s hair.
Olivia turns to me with wide eyes from where she’s setting out the cake. She mouths, “Oh my God,” and does a little happy dance.
I roll my eyes. It was about damn time they made a move.
Though I’m not really one to talk. It took me nearly ten years to realize what I was missing with Olivia.
I move through the crowd of our friends and family until I reach her side. I cup her jaw in my hands and dip her backwards for a long, thorough kiss. She breaks apart, breathless, and I look into her eyes. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
She leans into me. “Only three or four times.”
“Not nearly enough.” I kiss her again. “I love you.”
“Momma, Daddy, ‘iss!” Cole shouts.
Gravel crunches in the driveway and I turn to see the newest arrival.
Livvie grabs my face and turns me back to her. “Now, I don’t want you to be mad, but I did something and I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
My brows furrow. “What did you do?”
“After you told me what happened in Afghanistan and explained who you had Logan looking for, I did a little looking myself and had Sofie help me out.” She moves in closer and touches her forehead to mine. “I wanted to give you something that I know you’d never give yourself.”
I release a breath and bring my hands up to place them on her wrists, still holding my head to hers. “Livvie,” I say more calmly. “What did you do?”
The car comes to a halt and a young guy gets out with a service dog. It’s not until he reaches the steps to the deck that I see his prosthetic leg. My face goes slack as I recall the day I nearly died saving his life.
“Scott?”
Livvie urges me toward Scott as he bounds up the stairs with a smile stretching across his face.
“No-Heart!” Scott exclaims, throwing his arms around my back. “God, it’s good to see you, man.”
My reply is choked with emotion. “You too,” is all that I can manage before I break down like a little fucking sissy in front of everyone. “Lookin’ good, man.”
He steps back and shows me his new leg. “Yeah, with my own peg leg.”
Cole comes closer to look. “Oohhhh!” he says.
“Scott, meet my son, Cole. Cole, can you say hi to my friend, Scott?”
Scott crouches down and extends a hand. Cole is more interested in touching the shiny new leg. Scott angles it so that he can see more clearly.
“You like that? I’ve got a brand new leg.”
Cole smiles and pulls down the collar to his shirt. “New heart!” he says proudly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Olivia later.
“Yes, I did,” she replies, dressing in one of those pajama sets with short shorts that I love so much. The sight of her bare legs nearly distracts me from my goal.
“I was going to get ahold of him.”
She sits next to me on the bed, smiling at me in a way that I know means she’s trying to hold back a laugh. “I love you, baby, but we both know if I hadn’t, it would have taken you years. I had Sofie. Come on…you know Sofie can put the FBI to shame when she wants to. Besides, this is a new chapter in our lives. I thought it was time that we put the past behind us so we can move on.”
“A new chapter, huh?” My hand finds the skin of her thigh. “What makes you say that?”
She presses her lips against my jaw. “Well, I figure you have to marry me now that you’ve gone and knocked me up again.”
I jerk towards her, my face going slack in shock. “You’re…”
Olivia smiles at me, bringing a hand to my cheek. “Pregnant. Yes.”
My arms go around her, pulling her close to my chest where I’m determined to keep her. “Have you been to the doctor? Is everything okay? His heart?”
“Yes, I have, and they can’t tell that yet, but the chances are slim that this baby will have the same defect,” she says.
A weight eases from my shoulders. “That’s good.”
“Just as long as you promise to be there with me.”
I cup her cheek in my hand. “Forever. You’re my little spitfire and you always will be.”
Yep, there are good days and there are bad days. For a guy like me, there always would be.
Now I know I can endure the bad days and fight for the good ones.
Present
Sofie
Every rational bone in my body is screaming for me to turn around, get back in my car, and return to sanity. But Varanos are not built for sensible decisions. We take risks, break rules, and say fuck the consequences.
Which is probably why I’m always getting myself into trouble.
But that’s a story for another time.
My black boots with the three-inch heel, another poor choice on my part, sink into the thick layers of mud and muck. I yank them free with a sucking sound and frown at the glop plastered all the way up to my ankle. So far, not so good.
I was a lot better at this when I was seventeen.
Skirting around the edge of the tree line, I make sure to stay bathed in shadows until the last light winks out in the windows. Then I make my move. I manage to dash across the neatly kept yard, made hazardous by the seven inches of rain, without face-planting or destroying my boots any further.
A girl has to have priorities.
The wraparound porch looks exactly like I remember it, deep and inviting. The swing creaks lazily in the night breeze, the worn pillows the same faded blue as the curtains fluttering in the front windows. I say a mental prayer as I tip-toe around the boards that used to creak. They may have been repaired in the ten years since I visited last, but I’m not going to take any chances.
I make it to the windows without a sound and give myself a mental pat on the back. Maybe I’ve still got it after all. I wedge my fingers under the edge of the window, cursing the damage I do to my new manicure, and heave. It takes a couple tries, but it finally gives way with a long, low creeeaaak.
My biceps freeze and my breath catches in my chest as I strain into the darkness for any sign that I’ve been made. Minutes pass without a peep and my breath releases in a woosh. Almost there.
Those four years of gymnastics come in handy at the most interesting times. New to the list is squeezing through windows. I go feet first, slowly, until I find my footing on the wood floors beneath, then I arch my back and squeeze my small, though still adequately sized breasts through the opening. I pause, perched on the floor in the living room beneath the window to listen for any stirring from upstairs.
It’s only a few seconds, but it’s long enough for my nose and brain to pull memories to the forefront simply by the smell—lavender and cotton. It was my mom’s favorite scent. She used it with everything. Her laundry detergent. Her potpourri. The shampoo she used to clean the rugs. Apparently, she hadn’t been able to get the air conditioning unit fixed either because
its rattling hum can still be heard clear across the house.
I shake my head to clear it of the memories. Focus.
My eyes adjust to the darkness and I’m glad I waited before I started fumbling through the room. It may still smell and sound the same, but everything else is completely different. Underneath the comforting scent of lavender and cotton is the sweet ripeness of garbage and the dull, cloying smell of dirt and dust. A thick layer of it covers everything. I look down and dust off my boots, noticing my feet have made faerie sized tracks on the hardwood floors.
“Shit,” I hiss. There’s nothing I can do about it now. All I can do is finish what I came here to do and get the hell out before I get sucked back into this time warp. The 90’s were fan-fucking-tastic, but I have no wish to reminisce. The sooner I can get out of here, the better.
Deeming the area safe, I straighten and tread lightly across the living room to the spare room my mom used as an office. If I’m lucky, I can find what I’m looking for there without having to search the rest of the house.
Thankfully, the door is open and I’m able to slip through without making a sound. The streetlight outside the window shines through the open curtains, illuminating the space. Boxes cover every surface and I grumble underneath my breath. I’d hoped to get here before they started packing everything up. There are still books on the shelves and half-empty cabinets underneath, so maybe they haven’t gone through my room yet.
I begin my search with the shelves that haven’t been packed, hoping to find it the first place I look. Apparently, I’m not lucky after all because it isn’t in any of the remaining cabinets or on any of the half-packed shelves. There are around ten or so boxes stuffed to the brim with books and office supplies, so I pick one at random and start digging through. I get through five of them before I give up on the office.
None of the boxes have any of my old crap in them, so Mom probably never cleaned out my old room. The hall is empty when I peer through the crack in the door. I squeeze out of the office and sneak down the hall to the last door on the right—my old room. Unlike the office, this one is shut tight.
My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob, but I shake myself. I left this place a long time ago so there’s no reason for it to bother me. Twisting firmly, I shove through, pausing for a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
The scents are still the same here, too. My Japanese cherry blossom perfume hasn’t changed in ten years, either. The double bed shoved on the far side of the wall is bare, but everything else is exactly as I left it when I moved out, right down to the teeming hamper by my closet. Emotion threatens, but I swallow it back, shoving it deep inside my chest.
I move to the folding doors that house my closet and slide one open. Here I find the boxes of all of my stuff—presumably from the rest of the house, but that’s not what I’m looking for. I stretch my hand up and feel around the lip of the closet’s interior wall for the loose panel. My fingers skitter along the fake wood until a section of it moves. My fingers touch paper and relief loosens my straining muscles.
They hadn’t found them.
My momentary happiness drains away when my eyes catch the barest movement in the shadows across the room. Heart thudding viciously in my chest, my feet automatically inch toward the door to make my escape. I nearly make it to my bedroom door when I hear a lamp cord yank down, then the room floods with light. I freeze, my hand clutching the papers behind my back.
Caught.
Ten years ago, having this boy—this man—in my room would have thrilled me straight to the core. Now, I’m overcome with the urge to turn tail and run. He is perfection from the top of his just-long-enough-to-grab black hair down to the bottom of his customary black Converse sneakers. The sight of those worn out shoes makes me want to smile. He’s had them since we were kids. From the looks of it, they’ve seen better days, but I couldn’t imagine him without them. A pang shoots through my heart and the spurt of happiness fades, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.
“’Lo, Sof,” he says.
The words bubble out of my mouth before I can swallow them along with the rush of emotions. “I can explain.”
Jack
My mouth twists. “Really? Well, I’d hate to miss this.” I wave a hand. “Please. Give it your best shot.” Her mouth opens and closes a couple times and instead of the rush of anger I expect, all I feel is regret. I’m getting too old for this shit. Weariness clips my words, makes my tone short and harsh. “That’s what I thought.”
Being in this room is a clusterfuck all on it’s own. I roll my shoulders and glance at the walls, certain they’re closing in on me. A bunker would be more comfortable than being trapped in this room with the woman who kicked me to the curb.
Forcing myself to face her, I sigh heavily. I shouldn’t have come down here to confront her when I heard the window open, followed by her muttered curse. But I’d lain in bed, in her house, surrounded by ghosts of her and given in to the need to see her face.
Because I’m a fucking tool.
A flush darkens her neck and travels to her cheeks. I scowl at her, causing her chin to jerk up and her eyes to flash. Anger I can deal with. Anything is better than letting my dick get off on her skin-tight jeans and dangerously low-cut shirt.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the door jam and study her. She’s looking down at her feet and over my shoulder, anything to keep from looking me in the eye. Even though I know I’ll regret it later, I take in how much her hair has grown, nearly down to her ass now. It’s pulled back in a tie at her nape, but the sleek like of it winks around her shoulders.
“There were some things of mine I wanted to get before the house was ransacked by relatives.”
I raise a brow. “So you thought sneaking in through a window in the middle of the night was a good idea?”
“What’s the matter, Jack?” she spits back. “Are you upset I didn’t crawl through the window to get to your room instead?”
“No,” I respond mildly. “I’m upset you didn’t come here to see your brothers. Or your mother. But I shouldn’t be surprised. You left all of us in the dust a long time ago.”
Her face leaches of all color. For a moment her lip trembles faintly, the show of emotion so hastily covered with scorn I can’t be sure it was ever there. “My family is none of your business.”
“You’ve got that wrong.” My voice is low, lethal. “Your family has been my business for the past decade. What they aren’t…is yours. I hope you got what you were looking for because if you’re not off of this property in the next five minutes, I’ll have Logan over here in ten to escort you off.” It’s an empty threat, but she doesn’t have to know that. I learned a long time ago, the best way to goad Sofie into something is to make her think she can’t have it.
“I’ll be out in three,” she says through gritted teeth. Her eyes flash and her movements are stiff and jerky. She keeps looking back at me as she inches her way to the door.
She folds the papers in fourths, then tucks them in the pocket of her too-tight jeans. I’d have to be dead to ignore the way they mold to her firm thighs and ass, but the lust that tests the fit of my own jeans only serves to piss me off even more. Ten years and my reaction to her hasn’t dulled—on either end of the spectrum.
I follow her sleek bobbing ponytail through the house, noting the open window in the living room. “You couldn’t use your key?” I ask, tucking my hands in my pockets to stifle the need to run my hands over her hair and tug it back to force her to look at me.
“I don’t have one,” she says, tugging the front door open. “I gave it to Mom the day I left.”
The casual reminder of that day is like a right hook and the effect is just as potent. My head nearly jerks back before I can check the movement and for a couple seconds, I’m disoriented. My jaw tics, then I bite out, “If you have anything else you need to get, call me first next time instead of breaking in. We’re both adults. The least you can do is act like
one.”
She flutters her lashes at me. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Will you be in town for the funeral?” I ask, more for her brothers’ sake than any curiosity of my own, not that I’d admit to it if I were. “Donnie and Rafe would love to see you.”
Her eyes dim and lower to study the worn rug at our feet before she glances back up, schooling her features. “I don’t think I will, I have to get back to work.”
I blow out a heavy breath and laugh, though it’s hollow. “Really, Sof? How can you be so heartless? Your mom is dead. Your brothers are orphans. They need their sister right now. What the hell happened to you? What happened to the girl I used to know?”
She takes a step closer, bringing us toe to toe. She’s a good foot shorter than me, but she looks me dead in the eye and says, “My brothers are better off without me and you are, too. I’ve got everything I need, so don’t worry about any other nighttime excursions. I’ll be back in Hampton by tomorrow morning.”
“The funeral is the day after tomorrow,” I tell her retreating back. “In case you’d like to pay your respects.”
She pauses on the top step, turns, and surprises us both by saying, “It was good to see you, Jack.” Then she disappears into the night.
I lean against the porch railing, gripping it with both hands, and hang my head. I knew her mother’s death would draw her back to Nassau. I’d spent the past week on tenterhooks waiting for her sleek little coupe to blow through town like she did when my sister’s son was kidnapped a year ago.
But just because I was expecting it, doesn’t mean I was prepared for it.
The coupe revs in the distance and I see her twin red brake lights shining through breaks in the trees as she drives away.
Seems like the only thing I’m good at when it comes to her is watching her leave.
Past
Sofie
I should be excited. A part of me is, I can’t deny that. But the other, more dominant part is worrying that he’ll see the deception on my face. That he’ll know I’ve been holding something back.
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 38