by Dahlia West
Pop would be conflicted. ‘Never point a gun unless you’re prepared to shoot,’ he’d always told them.
Dalton was writing his own playbook tonight.
Grant hesitated, probably trying to decide if Dalton was serious.
“I wouldn’t risk it,” Dalton advised. “You’ve already seen what I’m capable of.”
Grant glared at him. “You broke into my house. My fucking house!”
Dalton rolled his eyes. “Anyone could break into your house, Grant.” He waved the phone. “But can they call off your dogs, too?”
Grant’s fingers twitched on his own extension.
Dalton smirked at him. “Really? Why don’t you work that play through in your head? Two seconds to dial. Three seconds for the dispatcher to answer. How long do you think it’d take to give them your address? Let’s say it takes five. I can pull this trigger in one.” Dalton redirected the gun to the table next to Grant. “Put the phone down.”
The other man hesitated, then slowly turned. He paused when he realized what he’d missed earlier and cast a furtive glance at Dalton.
“Sign them both.”
Grant’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do this! This… this is…”
Dalton waited, watching the man splutter.
“Duress!” Grant finally shouted. “This is duress.”
Dalton’s eyes narrowed. “Nobody cares. And you’re not going to tell anyone, anyway.”
Grant’s own eyes flashed. “The hell I won’t.”
“I know about the money.”
A long, tense silence hung in the room. You could hear a pin drop, like one from a grenade— a dummy grenade, anyway.
Grant licked his lips. “Bullshit,” he whispered.
“I know,” Dalton repeated. “And the ex-cop I hired to find out knows, too. So does his girlfriend, the bounty hunter. Of course, I can think of a few people who don’t know, but I’d bet they’d sure like to hear about it.”
Grant’s whole body vibrated like a live wire.
“So, you’ll sign the divorce papers and get the fuck out of Zoey’s life. Permanently.”
Grant sucked his teeth as he thought it over. “And the kid?”
“I told you, the kid is mine now.” Dalton gestured to the table again. “You’re going to sign that one, too. He’ll never see you or hear from you. Ever. He’ll never even know your name.”
Grant continued to hesitate, searching for an angle no doubt.
“That’s it,” Dalton declared. “That’s all there is to it. You sign those papers. You give me Zoey and the baby and I’ll let you keep your miserable, shit-stained life, such as it is. I won’t tell anyone else your dirty little secrets. Not even about the coke in your nightstand drawer.”
Grant’s eyes widened. His jaw went slack as the full force of Dalton’s presence in his house hit him. Grant was out of moves.
“Consider this a draw,” Dalton told him. “Now, pick up the pen.”
An hour before dawn, Dalton slipped back into the apartment. He had his hand in his pocket, palming Zoey’s house key, but he immediately froze when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. “What are you still doing up?” He said innocently.
She rose up out of the chair. “I couldn’t sleep. I was worried.” She folded into his arms. “I wanted to call, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s fine.”
She pulled away from him. “Where were you?”
Dalton hesitated, unsure of how to answer.
Zoey noticed the papers tucked up underneath his arm and reached out to grasp them.
He let her. “You still have to file them, but you don’t owe him anything. He walks away with whatever he came in with.”
Zoey slowly turned the pages, her jaw slack in disbelief. When she got to the end of the divorce papers, she discovered the other set. “What’s this?”
“Parental rights. He signed them away.”
Zoey’s head jerked up to meet his gaze.
“The kid deserves a father,” Dalton declared. “Well, such as I am. I’ll be around, anyway. And I’ll make sure he has whatever he needs.”
A long silence hung between them as Zoey rifled through the stack again. And a third time. She shook her head. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t… I can’t.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and landed in fat drops on the typeset.
Dalton slid them from her hand and set them on the table to keep them safe.
“It’s over,” she breathed.
Dalton reached out and took hold of her chin with one hand. With the other he wiped her face as he smiled at her. “No. It’s not over, baby. It’s just starting.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dalton stood in front of the mirror and briefly considered strangling himself, or, at the very least, breaking his garbage disposal again. Thankfully, Zoey appeared in the doorway to rescue him.
She grinned at him. “You still haven’t figured this out after all this time?”
He shrugged and returned the grin. “Didn’t need to. I was just waiting for you to come back to me. Now I never need to learn.”
She sighed. “You’re hopeless.”
“Not anymore.”
She crossed the room and stood in front of him.
He slid his arms around her waist. “These days, I’m hopeful.” He leaned down for a kiss, barely managing to touch hers.
She laughed. “My big belly’s in the way.”
Dalton cupped her face in his hands, tilting her gaze to him. “Hey,” he said quietly. “He’s never in the way.”
She smirked at him. “That’s not what I meant.” She said, slapping his arms lightly. “Stand up straight. Let me do it.”
He squared his shoulders and let Zoey go to work on his tie. Her smaller fingers worked the fabric easily. He closed his eyes and smiled. He never realized how much he missed the little things: her hairbrush on the sink, her teacups left all over the place.
She cinched the knot and he opened he eyes. “You’re supposed to be so good with your hands,” she teased.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “In case you forgot, I’ll remind you when we get home.”
Zoey gasped. “Dalton! It’s Christmas.”
“So?”
“So you can’t say things like that on Christmas. That’s terrible.”
“Isn’t that what the song’s about? O Holy Night?”
“Dalton!”
He raised his hands to ward her off. “Okay, okay. No nookie on Christmas Eve. Got it.”
She sniffed. “Well… I didn’t say that.”
He grinned.
She narrowed her eyes at him as she turned to walk away. “Just no dirty talk.”
“You sure have a lot of rules,” he called after her.
She shot him a dark look over her shoulder. “You need them, Stark.”
He laughed. “I know that’s right.”
He fastened his cuff links and left the bedroom. The other bedroom door was cracked. The paint was still drying. He’d managed to talk Zoey into blue and silver. She’d drawn the line at a giant Cowboys star hanging from the ceiling, though. Instead it was a mobile, mostly planets and a rocket ship. A good compromise, he felt. He shut the door firmly and headed to the kitchen.
“Are we ready?” he asked, glancing through the front window. It was dark, but there was a soft glow from the lights he’d hung up.
She nodded.
The parking lot was filling up fast by the time they arrived and the rest of the family had already beaten them there. They were waiting on the sidewalk as Dalton and Zoey approached.
“It’s snowing!” Calla said as she pulled Zoey in for a hug.
“I know!”
Jonah shook his head. “It’s been snowing for the last three days.”
“But it’s Christmas snow,” Calla insisted.
‘It’s cold snow,” Jonah argued. “And my toes are nu
mb.”
Calla cuffed him on the shoulder.
Pop laughed and put his arm around his youngest son’s shoulders. “Women are mysterious creatures, boy. We need them, but we don’t understand them.”
Jonah smirked. “I understand snow chains and black ice.”
Zoey scoffed. “Jonah, you are the least romantic person I’ve ever met. I almost feel sorry for the girl you end up with.”
She turned away, but Dalton saw Jonah’s eyes flick to the parking lot. Sienna and her mother were trudging toward them.
“Merry Christmas!” Sienna called out.
Jonah turned and headed up the steps without responding. After exchanging greetings, the group followed him inside.
Dalton’s step faltered just a bit as they crossed the lobby. Zoey stopped beside him. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Looks crowded.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah.”
He peered into the chapel. No coffin this time, just a lighted wreath on display up front.
“That’s pretty,” she declared.
He nodded.
Zoey threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. “She’s here.”
“Your mom?”
She shook her head. “Yours.”
Dalton blew out a harsh breath. “If she is, I’m in trouble. Last time I was here I embarrassed her.”
Zoey sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “You know, you forgot to put a name on your list.”
He frowned down at her. “Zoey, I’m making it up to you. Every single day.”
“Not me,” she whispered.
“Then who?”
She looked up at him.
He sighed. “You can’t forgive yourself, Zoey. It’s not allowed. It’s too easy, too pat. ‘Look at all these horrible things I did. But it’s okay, I forgive myself.’ People don’t get to do that.”
She squeezed his hand again. “Then I forgive you.”
The baby kicked and he felt it in his own stomach.
Zoey laughed.
“I got it,” said Dalton. “Stop wallowing.”
They made their way into the chapel.
Dalton reached into his pocket to make sure he had his offering ready and his fingers came up against the coin. As he held it between his fingers, he looked over the people in the sanctuary. They all smiled; they all greeted Zoey warmly.
People, it seemed, had a remarkable ability to accept the things they couldn’t change.
Zoey excused herself and wove a path through the crowd to the far corner.
Dalton watched as she lit a candle. He smiled to himself. Mom would be so pleased. Across the way, Zoey’s own mother looked on in what seemed to be disapproval or disappointment. Elaine seemed almost mournful and it was a sad sight on a night meant for family and fellowship.
Dalton stepped away from his own family and crossed the aisle. Without asking permission, he slid into the pew next to Lyle.
The older man looked startled, but after a moment he said, “She left a message.” He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “They’re divorced, she said.”
Dalton nodded. “Sixty days for the filing, but yeah. It’s over.”
Lyle turned the hymnal over in his hands, not meeting Dalton’s eyes. “And she said you’re adopting the boy.”
Dalton sighed. “I know you don’t think much of my family, but we are good people.”
Jonah’s eyebrow ring glinted in the light and Elaine pressed her lips together.
Lyle cleared his throat again. “Will we see you at church?”
Sundays were for sleeping in, which Dalton sorely needed these days, but Zoey would want to come and it would go a long way toward repairing her relationship with her folks. What the hell? He could sleep when he was dead. Maybe he’d even avoid the real Hell in the process. “Yes,” he told Lyle. “The early service,” he added quickly.
Lyle nodded. “You know, the Cowboys play the Colts on Sunday.”
Dalton raised an eyebrow at his future father-in-law.
Lyle shrugged. “You two could come for lunch.”
Dalton tried not to grin too much. Hymns first and then the Holy Hand-off. He could make that work.
Lyle leaned in. “Murray’s leading the league in rushing and I think—”
“Lyle!” Elaine whispered fiercely. She jerked her head toward the altar. The service was about to start.
The older man ducked his head sheepishly.
Zoey turned, searching the crowd for him and he saw her hesitate when she finally spotted him. He gave her an encouraging nod and Zoey quietly slipt into the empty space next to Elaine.
“Mom?”
Even in the dimmed light, Dalton saw Zoey’s lower lip tremble. He wanted to comfort her, but Elaine managed it just fine and both women hugged each other fiercely.
The organ began to play behind them and even Dalton joined in. With both Zoey and her mother in tears, all was not calm, but things were looking bright.
Chapter Thirty-Six
After the service, Dalton shook Lyle’s hand with a promise to come again on Sunday. Zoey filed out of the pew to meet up with the rest of the Starks with Dalton bringing up the rear. He paused, though, when he spotted a familiar face. He tugged on Zoey’s sleeve and leaned down to whisper, “Can you get a ride with Calla and Adam?”
Zoey gave him a confused look but Dalton nodded to the rear of the sanctuary. She followed his gaze and then patted his hand. “Sure.”
Dalton stood to the side, letting everyone move past him toward the exit. After the last straggler finally made it into the aisle, Dalton fell into step behind her. He walked to the back of the chapel and slid into the last pew.
Jig smiled at him. “How’s the dog?”
“Dead and buried.”
The older man shook his head. “Dog’s never dead.”
“On a leash then.”
“That’s what I like to hear. And those fine, upstanding folks you were sitting with during the service?”
“Zoey’s parents.”
Jig nodded. “I figured.”
Dalton sighed. “It’ll be slow going, I guess. But I got my boot in the door, I think.”
Jig grunted his agreement. “These things take time.”
Dalton scuffed his boots on the thin carpet and glanced around to make certain they were alone. “You call your kid?”
“Left a message. Haven’t heard back.”
Dalton pressed his lips together and nodded. “These things take time.”
Jig snorted. “Smart ass.” He looked around the empty sanctuary. “You know, I never came here much before I turned it around.”
“Or at all?”
“Got me there,” Jig admitted. “Getting right with the man upstairs is easy. Well, easier than getting right with the man in the mirror, anyway.”
Dalton rubbed the back of his neck. “Zoey wants me to forgive myself.”
Jig nodded. “I might have heard something like that when I came up from the basement. Though I would never stoop to eavesdropping on purpose.”
Dalton hesitated. “What do you think?”
Jig blew out a slow breath. “Oh, it’s not a popular opinion, but on that point I happen to agree with you. You can’t forgive yourself.” He held up the two books in his hands. The Good Book and the Big Book. Two bibles about two very different spirits. “You won’t find that in either of these. That’s the Tao of Jig.”
Dalton’s brow wrinkled. “The Tao of Jig?”
Jig shrugged. “Well, the Tao of Sawyer just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
Dalton rolled it around on his tongue. “Sawyer. Huh.”
Jig leaned back in the pew. “Sawyer Jones. Jigsaw Jones. The only thing I kept from that life.”
Dalton’s eyebrows shot up. “Jones? As in—”
Jig shook his head. “Let’s not raise the dead tonight, boy.” He jerked his chin to the cross hanging above the altar. “Besides, neither one of us is exactl
y qualified.”
Dalton looked across the pew at the older man. “Do you have somewhere to be tonight?”
Jig pursed his lips. “I don’t need to be anywhere but where I am.”
“Okay, but do you want to be somewhere else?”
Dalton pulled up to the house and led Jig in through the front door. As they shrugged off their coats, the older man gave everyone a sheepish look. “I didn’t bring pie. Didn’t know I’d need one.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Adam as he hung up Jig’s leather jacket. “The girls have been cooking for two days. We have plenty.”
“If Adam didn’t eat it all,” Dalton added.
Adam glared at him.
“I’m just saying. You and fruitcake go way back.”
Calla stepped out from the kitchen. “Well, it’s ready,” she declared.
“Grab a seat,” Adam told Jig.
At the table, everyone pulled up a chair. Across from Pop a place was set, but the plate stayed empty. Jig passed it up, seeming to guess that it needed to stay that way. Instead, he pulled out a chair next to the old man.
The girls all took a seat while Adam, Dalton, and Jonah brought out the food. It was the least they could do.
Pop looked at Jig. “You’re the guest. Do you want to say grace?” The old man eyed his sons warily. “Seems wrong to let one of them give thanks for the food they’re about to stab each other over. Goodwill toward Man and all that.”
Jig snorted and brought up his hands. He cleared his throat. “Dear Lord, bless our families, near and far, and those we’ve not yet met.”
Dalton beamed at Zoey across the table.
“Keep them safe and show them the way. Help them be a candle or the mirror that reflects it. Amen.”
Pop nodded approvingly as everyone reached for their forks. The turkey was huge and could feed a small army, or a group of Starks, and they plowed through it with a vengeance. Jonah and Adam argued over a leg. Calla plucked it from Adam’s hand and bit into it, ending the argument. Pouting ensued, but at least the women were spared.
As the carnage subsided, Pop looked at Jig. “Did you get enough to eat?”