“Yeah,” Deacon said. “Your kid stole my kid’s rabbit, and he’s getting it all sticky.”
“Pia’s not your kid, and how do I know she didn’t get frosting on it before my kid even touched it?”
When Deacon’s hands fisted, Ellie prayed for peace between the two hulking men.
“You really want to go there, man? If so, I’m more than ready.”
Franco Sr. laughed. “You hotshot navy guys are all the same. Acting like you’re tough sh—”
“Stop!” Ellie shoved her way between the men. “Enough’s enough. This is a child’s party and I’d appreciate both of you leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Deacon declared.
“Oh,” Franco Sr. retorted, “you’re going somewhere, all right, but it’s gonna be the ground.” He raised his arm to throw a punch, but even Ellie knew that with Deacon’s training, he could put the guy in a coma if he wanted.
Deacon grabbed hold of the neighbor’s wrist, wrenching his arm far enough backward to make him drop to his knees. “Who’s leaving?”
“Franco?” The guy’s wife came running to his defense. “Honey, are you all right?”
“Come on.” Once again standing, Franco Sr. called to his son. “We’re out of here.”
“Can I keep this?” Franco Jr. hugged the pink, frosting-coated rabbit.
“Please,” Ellie said, “take it and just go.”
“Good riddance,” Deacon grumbled when the trio left through the back gate.
“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped, once the last guest had left—even John and Helen. Ever since the near fight, the other parents had been gathering belongings and children at lightning speed. “This was supposed to have been a happy day. How in the world could you do something so disrespectful to me and Pia as starting a fight over a stupid toy rabbit?”
“For the record—” Deacon stooped to grab a soda can from the lawn “—I stopped the fight. That loser didn’t have a chance.”
“I swear, I don’t even know you.”
Grabbing two plastic cups, he said, “That kid stole Pia’s present. Who does that? I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Lord knows, she’ll have to put up with enough of that kind of crap once she hits her teens.”
“Go.” Ellie pointed toward the gate.
“Why?” He kept working. “You need help cleaning. Pia’s half mine, so I should deal with the aftermath of her party.”
Hands on her suddenly throbbing lower back, Ellie said, “You just don’t get it, do you? Pia, Helen and John are all I have. I never knew my father, and to this day, my mom is a mean drunk. For me, marrying Tom was life’s ultimate do-over.” After an almost hysterical laugh mixed with more tears, she added, “Considering the secret I kept from him, I didn’t deserve him.”
* * *
AFTER LEAVING ELLIE, Deacon tried working off his frustration by riding his motorcycle too fast, but traffic never allowed him to get much over sixty.
He next hit his favorite bar, Tipsea’s, but while he was nursing straight tequila, his mind’s eye focused on Ellie and that sad story about her drunk mother. Suddenly becoming a parent put a lot of pressure on him to get his act together. Most guys had nine months. Sadly, the clock had long run out on Deacon’s grace period.
Bob Seger blared from the jukebox.
Cigarette smoke clouded the air.
Garrett and Tristan were on a double date, but Deacon wished they were with him. It had been quite a day, from finding Ellie sobbing in the pantry, to his altercation with her neighbor.
“What’s up?” Deacon’s favorite bartender, white-haired Maggie, who claimed to be older than the state, rested her forearms on the bar. “You look as worn-out as I feel.”
“Thanks.” He downed the rest of his drink.
“Refill?”
“Nah.” He trailed the tip of his index finger around the rim of his glass. “Trying to cut back. I would like a cheeseburger, though. Extra pickles? And a Coke?”
She winked. “You got it.”
After Deacon downed his meal, Maggie stopped by again to refresh his cola. “Planning on telling me what’s got you down?”
“Got a few days?”
Laughing, she said, “It’s a slow night. How about fifteen minutes?”
The woman had been a maternal figure to him for as long as he’d been at the Virginia Beach base. Knowing she was a friend he could trust, he gave her the highlights of the past months’ events, ending with him being Pia’s true daddy.
Once he’d finished, Maggie whistled. “I see why you’d need to stay sober—although may not want to.”
“What do you think?” Deacon asked. “I get why Ellie is struggling with telling Tom’s folks. With their feelings in mind, should I play by Ell’s rules and maintain the status quo? Or, while Pia’s still young, get to know her like a father should?” Like the father he’d always wished he’d had?
“Hmm…” Drumming her fingers on the wooden bar, Maggie took her sweet time answering. “To my way of thinking, it’d be a shame for that little girl to grow up not having a dad in her life, all because her mom’s scared of facing the music.”
Leaning in closer, Deacon said, “But in her defense, this goes deeper. It’s not just about not wanting to upset Tom’s folks. With him gone, she needs them as much as they need her.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Maggie said, “they should always be part of Pia and Ellie’s lives. But your little girl shouldn’t miss out on having a father because of them. Yes, they’re going to be upset—very. But even they will eventually agree that Pia needs a father in her life more than they need to hold a grudge.”
Deacon wasn’t so sure.
* * *
“HE DID WHAT?” Ellie switched Pia to her other hip. She hadn’t expected to be at the bank for so long.
“Mr. Murphy set up an account for your daughter. He’s already deposited several thousand dollars. Pia is the primary account holder, but you will also need to sign all documentation, since she’s a minor. Mr. Murphy is also on the account.”
“But I don’t want his money,” Ellie argued, staring at the assistant manager, who’d phoned that morning, requesting she stop by her local First Federal branch.
“Please,” the woman said, pushing stylish black glasses higher on her pert nose. “If you’ll have a seat, we’ll sort this out.”
While Ms. Davenport typed on her computer, Ellie wished the canned samba music playing over the intercom would stop. She wished the flowery potpourri in a bowl on Ms. Davenport’s desk wasn’t so strong. Most of all, she wished she’d never given in to her conscience’s demand to tell Deacon about Pia.
From his territorial stance at her party, and now this, Tom’s parents would know the truth far sooner than Ellie wanted.
“Ma’am,” the clerk said, “from what I can see, you have full access to the money, to use however you see fit for Pia’s benefit. We deal with divorce cases all the time and—”
“No. I was never married to this man. What gave you that idea?”
Her cheeks reddened. “Sorry. I assumed, since Mr. Murphy listed himself as Pia’s father, that you two were… Well, again, I’m very sorry.”
Feeling queasy and entirely too hot, Ellie used the passbook she’d been given as a fan. Pia grabbed it, promptly deciding to chew the corner.
“No, sweetie.” Taking it from her, Ellie tucked it into the purse she’d slung over her shoulder. To Ms. Davenport, she said, “Thank you for your help.”
“This is a good thing,” the woman said with an exaggerated smile. “Who doesn’t love free money?”
Me. Especially when, knowing Deacon, there were no doubt major strings attached.
* * *
EARLY THAT EVENING, having left Pia with her g
randparents, Ellie broke the speed limit getting to Deacon’s apartment.
Once there, she pounded on the door.
“Hey,” Garrett said. “Long time no—”
Ellie brushed past him. “Where’s Deacon?”
“Whoa.” Garrett flattened himself against the open door. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Deacon!” The three-bedroom apartment wasn’t that big. Where could he be?
“Um…” Garrett cleared his throat. “If you’d made time for the most basic of pleasantries, I could’ve told you Deacon’s not here.”
“Oh.” After an awkward apology, she asked, “Mind telling me where he is?”
“Northport Beach. He parks his bike behind that abandoned ice cream shop.”
* * *
AFTER TEN HOURS in a dry suit for more training, the last spot Deacon would’ve expected himself to go after the endless day was the beach. But lately, it was the only place he felt calm. He ran until his legs ached. Until his calves screamed.
Finally back where he’d started, he collapsed on the sand, staring up at the rising moon.
“Deacon!” Just the tone of Ellie’s voice made him wince. What the hell was she doing at his private sanctuary, and what had he done wrong now?
She stood next to him, hands on her hips, her petite frame lost in a hoodie Deacon recognized as Tom’s. Wind whipped her dark hair about her face, reminding him how he’d once slipped his fingers through those tousled waves.
“Why did you set up a bank account for Pia? Tom had plenty of life insurance, and I don’t need your money. What if someone at the bank talks? You know how this town loves to gossip. Can you imagine the nightmare my life’s going to be when all my friends discover I slept with my dead husband’s best friend?”
“You didn’t used to be this selfish.” On his feet, Deacon strolled toward the surf, intent on washing sand from his feet.
“Selfish?” Chasing after him, she hollered, “What do you think you’re being? Doing everything in your power to turn my life upside down?”
“Have you ever looked at this situation from my point of view?” He slicked water from his shins. “My dad treated me like a dog compared to my wonder brother, who could do no wrong. Peter was everything I wasn’t. Football star, Eagle Scout, the son with a stellar future. The more he achieved, the more I screwed up. Arrested for possession, underage drinking, busting into our school. I was every parent’s worst nightmare and my folks weren’t afraid to let me know it. Fast-forward a dozen years and I’m doing all right for myself. Gotta admit I never saw myself having a kid, but now that I do, I want Pia to know, deep inside—” he patted his chest “—that she’s unconditionally loved. She doesn’t have to do a thing other than exist to earn her father’s love.”
Eyes tearing in the light of the rising moon, long hair flowing behind her, Ellie looked beautiful and vulnerable at the same time. “I want that, too. That’s why I told you the truth. But now that our secret’s out, I’m scared of the consequences,” she said. Her voice had been barely loud enough for him to hear.
“Me, too.” He went to her, planning to enfold her in a hug, but at the last moment, he couldn’t. His attraction for her was still too primal. His respect for her husband—his best friend—too strong. “I like Tom’s folks. I’m willing to give you time to make an official announcement, but I’m also planning to try being the kind of dad I wanted my own father to be.” Hands in his pockets, Deacon locked his gaze with hers. “Money in the bank means nothing. Anyone can provide financial support. I don’t have a clue if I can be a decent dad. All I know is that I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try.”
Ellie’s heart went out to him. Tom had told her a little about Deacon’s upbringing, but she really knew nothing about his past, the early years that had formed the man he was today. “Interesting,” she mused, “that we both had lousy parents, only on opposite ends of the spectrum. I remember feeling hopeless, but I fought that demon by overachieving. You might’ve initially chosen defiance, Deacon, but look at you now. You’ve devoted your life to serving your country and saving people who can’t save themselves. You’re reliable and hardworking, and I can only imagine how proud your parents and brother must be of you now.”
“Yeah…” He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Might’ve gone that way, only there’s one problem. Peter’s dead.”
“Oh, Deacon…” She couldn’t help but squeeze him in a hug. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
Almost as if he couldn’t stand being touched, he pulled free. “Car accident.”
Her throat knotted from not only his story, but the notion that she’d alienated him to the point that he didn’t want her comfort, Ellie asked, “Your parents must’ve turned to you after that, right?”
He laughed. “Far from it. Not only was I behind the wheel the night Peter died, but I had the misfortune to live.”
Chapter Six
Deacon rode his bike as if the devil were dragging him home.
Why had he told Ellie about Peter? He’d never told a soul, not even Tom. The day of his brother’s funeral, Deacon had been in intensive care. The day he’d been released from the hospital, he’d enlisted. Left town without a word to anyone.
Since then, he received cards and calls from his mother on his birthday and Christmas, but he had yet to hear from his dad. The bastard. Clint Murphy wanted to blame him for Peter’s death. Well, Deacon knew it to be a horrible accident. It’d been raining and a semi had lost control, ramming the car’s passenger side. Deacon had been driving under the speed limit, actually enjoying his brother’s company. Peter had been home from his second year at UCLA. A star kicker, he’d led the football team to a national championship, and pro scouts were already knocking on his door.
Their father had attended every one of Peter’s games, no matter how far he’d had to travel. Their house had been filled with memorabilia. Newspapers and programs. Photos and pennant flags and stuffed Bruins bears.
Deacon’s dad had played for Colorado State, but never had the success of his oldest son. To say he lived vicariously through him would be the understatement of the century. To say that, when Peter died, he also gave up on life wouldn’t be in the least bit melodramatic.
While Deacon felt sorry for his mother, living the rest of her life with just a shell of her husband, she’d never so much as lifted a finger to convince the man he was wrong to blame his younger son. And for that, Deacon didn’t care if he ever saw either of them again.
On and on he drove, at a dangerous speed. He was well into North Carolina when he finally pulled over at a rest stop and took a nap beneath a tree.
A few hours later, back on his bike, nourished from a protein bar he’d found stashed in his jacket pocket, he headed for home, making it to the base just in time for morning roll call.
Throughout the day, he performed his training duties to the level of perfection expected of a seasoned SEAL. After that, he rode to Ellie’s.
He not only needed to hold his daughter, to reassure himself he wasn’t anything like his father, but he had the oddest craving to see Pia’s mom. To hear her sweet voice tell him everything would be okay.
Trouble was, from her point of view, things couldn’t be further from okay. Yet again Deacon found himself in the position of being resented for living, when the man Ellie wanted was dead.
* * *
“HEY.” Ellie opened her back door to find Deacon standing there. Though her pulse was racing, she wasn’t sure how to feel about his appearance. Their last meeting had covered a lot of emotional ground—too much. Part of her still felt raw from his revelations.
Motorcycle helmet in his hands, he said, “Hope it’s okay, me stopping by. I mean, I know I should’ve called, but—”
“As long as you behave, you’re always welcome.”
&
nbsp; He winced. “Guess that means you won’t be offering tequila for dinner?”
“No, but I did make tortilla soup.” Flashing a half smile she hoped masked her nerves, she added, “It kinda goes with your Mexican theme.”
“If you’re sharing, I’ll sure eat. Sounds good.” When he entered, his bare forearm brushed hers, launching a whole new set of problems. The night of Pia’s conception, the chemistry Ellie felt for Deacon had taken on a life of its own. His slightest touch had sparked shimmering heat and awareness of his size and strength and masculinity. He was the kind of man who’d made her feel all-woman. Not that Tom hadn’t been a wonderful lover. But where her husband had made her feel safe, Deacon had made her feel wicked, in a wholly pleasurable way.
Pia kicked in her high chair, squealing and holding out her arms. “Up! Up!”
Ellie started to go to her, but Deacon cut her off. “Let me.” Raising Pia high in the air launched a fit of adorable baby giggles. “Vroom, you’re an airplane.”
While Deacon played with their daughter, Ellie set the table with more care than she would for just herself and Pia. She used colorful place mats and set out the good glassware. Deacon’s opening up had been a turning point for her. She now felt an odd kinship with him, due to their equally lousy upbringings. She’d escaped hers, but sensed he stilled lived with the demons of his.
“You two ready to eat?” she asked, after placing a bowl of freshly grated cheddar on the table to sprinkle on the soup.
“Smells amazing.” After returning Pia to her high chair, Deacon asked, “Anything you need me to do?”
“Want to try your hand at feeding a two-year-old soup?”
Though a brief look of fear passed over his face, he gamely took the plastic bowl Ellie offered, as well as the child-size spoon. “I just hold it up to her mouth?”
Nodding, Ellie said, “She’s great at feeding herself, so as much as you can, just sort of guide her. That way, she’ll hopefully end up with at least half in her tummy rather than decorating her clothes.”
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