by A. S. Teague
He waves his hand in front of my face. “Grace, did you hear me?”
I shake my head, both to clear it and to answer his question. “Nothing after you saying that there was another man there.”
He nods. “I said there was a surveillance system. Tony took the tapes. He’s had them all these years.” He shakes his head and mutters, “He’s a dumbass.” Raising his voice, he continues, “I have the tapes, Grace.”
I can’t comprehend what he’s just told me, but I know that it’s the missing piece that my father and I have been looking for.
A surge of relief hits me so hard that my knees buckle right before going out from under me. Bronn sees me falling and catches me before I hit the floor.
Slowly, he lowers us to the floor and holds me in his lap.
With my face pressed into his neck, I ask, “What does that mean?”
He leans back, his blue eyes bright for the first time in weeks. “It means we’re getting your dad out of prison.”
Three Months Later
I pull the blanket up, covering Grace’s naked body. She shifts, nestling in closer to me, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
I kiss her hair, running my finger up and down her arm. “What are you doing today?”
She tips her chin up, her eyes meeting mine, but doesn’t move her head from its position on my chest. “Running. And then shopping with Dani.” Her eyes shine, a silly smile on her face. “You know, I used to think that I shopped too much. And then I met your sister.”
I groan. “We don’t have room for anything else.”
Her smile grows wider, and with a wink she tells me, “Then let’s buy a house.”
I shake my head. “You’re not buying us a house, Grace.”
We’d had this fight off and on over the last few months, and while she’d been a fierce opponent, I’d stood my ground, refusing to let her use her grandmother’s money to buy us a bigger place. I’d been able to swallow my pride on a lot of things, but I’d stuck to my guns about Grace using her money for a home for us.
We were making a life together, and it wasn’t going to be built on a foundation of hate.
“You’re already paying all the bills, Bronn. Let me do something for you. For us,” she pleads, sticking her bottom lip out.
I chuckle. She’s cute and she knows it, using that face to get what she wants. But not this time. “I like taking care of you.”
Her hand trails down my abs, and she wraps her fingers around my cock. “You take really good care of me, you know.”
My balls tighten, lust surging through my veins. I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes. “That’s not going to work. Besides, we don’t have time for that anyway.”
“Mmm,” she purrs. “Are you sure? I don’t have to go for a run this morning.”
Her touch lights a fire in my belly, the way it always has, and I fight to hang onto the thread of control I have. I want to flip her over, slide inside of her, and get lost in the way she makes me feel, but I’ve got something else planned for the day, something I think she’ll appreciate more.
“It’s not gonna work this time,” I tell her through clenched teeth, desperately trying to ignore the way her palm is working my dick. “We need to get up and get dressed.”
She sighs heavily, releasing her hold on me. “Fine.” She throws the comforter off us and pushes out of the bed. Grabbing her running clothes, she saunters to the bathroom, wiggling her ass at me as she goes. “You sure we don’t have time?”
I let out a groan.
After the day that I’d given her the tapes, admitted my feelings for her and begged her to forgive me, she’d asked me to stay. Nearly three months later, I hadn’t left yet. I’d woken up beside her every morning, her warm body wrapped around mine, her face always smiling, in disbelief that this was my reality.
There are still times that I don’t think I deserve her. I’m still waiting for her to come to her senses and tell me to take a hike.
But she hadn’t yet, and I’m determined to be the man she deserves.
“As much as I love your perfect ass, and want nothing more to spend the day in bed with it, we can’t.”
She rolls her eyes and begins pulling her clothes on, lifting a shoulder. “Your loss. After my run, you want to get breakfast?”
I push up on an elbow. “Is that what you’re wearing today?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Well, yeah…” she drawls.
Climbing out of bed, I go to the closet and pull out her favorite heels. “I was thinking that you should wear these today.” I continue to rummage through the closet until I find her sweater dress, my personal favorite, and hold it up. “And this.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes squinted. “Bronn, are you feeling okay? I love that dress, but I can’t exactly run in it. What’s wrong with you?”
Tossing the dress on the bed, I saunter over to the chair that she’s perched in and squat in front of her. “I mean, if you want to wear your running clothes to pick up your dad, then I guess that’ll be okay.” Her eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth. “But, I know you, and you’ll want to look your best.” Standing, I pull her up with me. “So why don’t you wear the dress I picked out?”
Her mouth opens and closes, no words coming out. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and I swipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
“It’s time to bring him home, baby,” I whisper, just a moment before she launches herself into my arms, squealing so loudly I worry I’ll have permanent hearing loss.
I’d been hanging onto the information for days, barely able to keep it to myself. The attorney that Grace had hired with Nana’s money was worth every penny and had been able to fast track the appeal with the new evidence. Mickey Chumley was being released on time served, and today was the day.
She pulls back and looks into my eyes, the depth of emotion shimmering in her own. “I love you, Bronnson.”
Never tiring of hearing those words, I crush my lips to hers. “I love you, too, Grace.”
The air’s freezing, the sweater dress not keeping me nearly warm enough. I knew when I put it on that it wasn’t going to be able to ward off the cold of the December air, but Bronn had been right. I wanted to look my absolute best today.
Shivering from the cold, I hug my arms around my waist, working to keep my teeth from chattering.
“You cold?”
I glance over at Bronn and nod, lifting a shoulder. “Fashion over function strikes again.”
His eyes crinkle with his smile, and he gives a quick shake of his head. “Want my jacket?”
“No. I want to look nice. And no offense, your jacket wouldn’t complement my dress.” I glance down, shuffling my feet back.
God, is it possible to get frostbite in just a few minutes?
“Here he comes,” Bronnson murmurs, and my head snaps up. I can see a figure making his way down the tunnel, barely distinguishable in the shadows.
I suck in a deep breath and press my lips together. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t cry today. I’d done enough crying in the last few months.
The shadowy figure slowly becomes clearer, and eventually I can make out my dad’s features. His head is high, his shoulders squared. Gone is the stooped-over man that I saw that day in the courtroom. The man walking out of the tunnel has clear eyes, the deep lines of his forehead are gone, and his face is lit with the most blinding smile I’ve ever seen.
He emerges from the tunnel fully, and when he does I sling my purse at Bronn and take off running. The moment his feet step off the curb, he opens his arms and I launch myself into them, shrieking.
“Daddy!” I shout in his ear. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this is real!”
He holds me and doesn’t complain as I squeeze him as tightly as possible. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in that prison cell,” he whispers in my ear, his voice wobbly.
I pull back and see tears streaming down his face. “Oh, Daddy,” I murmur, squeezi
ng him again. “Don’t cry! You’ll make me cry and I spent an hour doing my makeup this morning.”
“My Bear,” he whispers into my hair.
I swallow hard, but surprise even myself as I keep my eyes dry. Daddy doesn’t let go, and I refuse to be the first to break our embrace.
We stand like that, arm in arm, in the parking lot of the maximum-security prison, until Bronn clears his throat behind us.
With one final squeeze, I untangle myself from my dad’s arms and turn. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I press my lips together and force a smile.
I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be, but letting out a shaky breath, I tell him, “Daddy, this is Bronnson. My boyfriend.”
Throughout the course of my life, I’d often imagined what it would be like to bring a boy home to meet my Daddy. I never thought it was possible, but that didn’t stop me from daydreaming about it. I’d come up with a million different scenarios.
I’d giggled when Daddy would give the boy a firm handshake and a stern lecture about taking care of his princess. I’d rolled my eyes and grinned when he’d declared that his daughter was too good for the pimply-faced kid she’d brought home.
But never once in all those fantasies had I ever envisioned this—introducing my father to the son of the man he’d shot in self-defense.
No one speaks for several moments, the tension in the air thick. Finally, my father clears his throat and sticks out his hand. “Bronnson, nice to meet you.”
I look from my Daddy to Bronn, then back to the hand that continues to float in the air, waiting for some sort of reaction. With my heart in my throat, I breathe a silent prayer that this isn’t a mistake.
I look back at Bronn and his eyes meet mine. A slow smile forms on his face and he lifts his own hand, grasping my father’s and giving it a firm shake. “Mr. Chumley. It’s nice to meet you.”
They stand here, hand in hand, and look each other over. My dad is the first to pull back, but he gives a quick dip of his chin.
“We good?”
Bronn wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. “Mr. Chumley, I love your daughter. Everything that’s happened between us is in the past where it belongs. The only thing that matters to me is the future. And my future is with Grace.”
I wrap one arm around his waist, and with my free hand reach for my father.
Together the three of us walk away from the prison, leaving the bars between us where they belong.
Behind us.
One Year Later
I slide out, feeling the loss of her warmth immediately. Turning to my side, I gather her in my arms and hold her against my chest. She rests her cheek over my heart, the way she does every night, and begins to trace my arms with a fingernail.
“I love you, Grace Williams,” I murmur into her hair.
Hearing it never gets old. She probably gets tired of me using her full name anytime I talk to her, but if she does she never says anything about it. Secretly, I think she likes it as much as I do.
I run my hand over the smooth curve of her hip, letting it come to rest on the small swell of her belly. When she’d told me she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I’d never really thought much about having kids, never really thinking it was in the cards for me. I figured that I’d spend my life riding out the waves solo. But then I met Grace and I couldn’t imagine a life without her. A baby seemed to be the perfect addition to our future together.
But as time went on, the excitement had begun to turn into fear. The more her body changed, the more I began to worry.
“What is it, Bronn?” she asks, her head tipping back. I lean forward and capture her lips with a kiss. “Mmm. Don’t think you can kiss your way out of my question. I know that look. Something’s bothering you.”
I swear, sometimes I believe that she really is a superhero. Her special power is the gift of mind reading. Either that or she’s some sort of clairvoyant, because she always knows when I’ve got something on my mind, no matter how hard I try to keep it from her.
“What if…” I stop, not sure how to put my worries into words. I don’t want her to think that I’m second-guessing anything.
She grasps my chin with her thumb and forefinger. “What?”
Embarrassed to even be saying it aloud, I cut my eyes away from hers and mumble, “What if I’m not a good dad?”
Her sharp intake of air causes me to look back at her, and I see her eyes softening. “Oh, honey. Why would you think that?”
I laugh bitterly. “Well, I don’t exactly have the best role models for that sort of thing. And what if parenting is genetic? What if it’s in my DNA to be a shitty dad?” It sounds silly when I say it out loud, but the fear is legitimate.
What if there’s something deep rooted inside of me that will dictate how I parent? I already love the baby that Grace is carrying, and I know that I would do anything for both of them. But what if I can’t handle it when our child arrives? I’ve never once dealt with a crying child, what if it overwhelms me? I could never live with myself if I turned out to be just as bad as my father. Or worse, distant like my mother.
She pushes up on her elbow and shoves at my shoulder until I’m flat on my back. Looming over me, her eyes are intense as she tells me, “Shitty parenting is not genetic. Your parents weren’t just bad parents, they weren’t good people either. But you are not a bad person.”
I’m sure that her words are meant to reassure me, but they only serve to make me feel worse.
I may not be a bad guy now, but I was never a saint. I’d spent years channeling my anger into the wrong things. I’d grown up hating a man that wasn’t even the bad guy, while adoring a man that was.
It had been a year full of ups and downs. I’d turned over the tapes that I’d gotten from Tony to the attorney that Grace had hired. He’d wasted no time getting the murder charge downgraded to involuntary manslaughter. Grace’s dad had more than served enough time to cover the mandatory sentence for the charge, so he’d been released not long after the new evidence was introduced.
After I’d used a little bit of manipulation and done some arm twisting to get the tapes from Tony, he’d skipped town. I probably should have kept my cool, gone a different route to get the information I wanted from him, but not once had I regretted my tactics. The end result has been more than worth it.
Mickey Chumley had welcomed me with open arms, never once using my lifetime of hate against me. He and Grace had forged ahead in their newfound relationship, and I’d made it a point to never interfere with that.
I had a bit of difficulty getting used to having Mickey in my life. The past was something I wasn’t proud of, but Grace had assured me that she understood. It had taken some time, but we’d finally gotten to a good place, and I found that I enjoyed spending time with her dad.
He was quickly filling the role that I was so desperately missing in my life.
Dani had been crushed when I’d told her what I learned about our dad. She knew that he wasn’t a model citizen, but it was still hard on her when Mickey’s claims were confirmed. However, she hadn’t let that stop her from continuing her friendship with Grace and accepting Mickey as part of our family. I couldn’t help but admire her ability to bounce back from hardships and keep a positive attitude. But how could I have ever thought she would do anything differently? She’d spent her whole life keeping a positive attitude about me.
When she learned that Grace was pregnant, and that I was going to be a father, she had never been more excited in her entire life. She’d already begun planning a baby shower before the day was over.
“Bronnson, did you hear me? You’re going to be an amazing father.” Grace’s face is hovering over mine, her eyes blazing. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that you won’t be.”
I grasp each side of her head and pull her face to mine. “Say it again,” I tell her before kissing her hard.
“You’re going to be an amazing father,” she whispers between kisses.
>
“Say it again,” I tell her more urgently, needing to hear it one more time.
“You’re going to be a fucking amazing father,” she says fiercely.
My chest swells, but doubt still niggles in the back of my mind. “How can you be so sure?”
She arches an eyebrow, a sly smile spreading across her glowing face. “Have I ever been wrong before?”
I want to challenge her, but I can do nothing more than shake my head. She’s always been right, about everything throughout our entire relationship. If she says that I’m going to be okay—that we’re going to be okay—then I believe her. “Besides, there’s no one else I would choose to be the father to my son.”
My heart skips a beat.
Fuck.
A son.
A buddy to take fishing. I may have never enjoyed fishing before in my life, but there’s always time to start.
A little guy to throw the ball with in the yard. Thank God, we sold the boat and bought a house.
A little boy that I’ll be able to teach—to show him right from wrong.
A man that will take after his mother and see only the good in people. A child that I will love, and that I will never hesitate to tell how much he means to me.
I know that along the way I’ll make mistakes, what parent doesn’t? But I will never let my child think that he is anything less than the very best thing his mother and I will ever do.
I look into her eyes and whisper, “Grace Williams, you are amazing. More than I could have ever dreamed I would have. I will never, ever stop trying to be the man you deserve.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she beams at me, a wry smile still lighting her features. “Bronn, you’ve always been the man I deserve.” She laces her fingers through mine, resting our hand on her swollen belly. “As long as you’re holding my hand, there will never be a single thing we can’t get through. It’s you and me. Forever.”
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