Mac shrugged. “He’s a marine. It’s what he is, what he does.”
She chewed on her lower lip. Clinging to her hurt and anger wasn’t going to accomplish anything. “And I have to do what’s best for Fiona.”
Mac met her gaze. “Having a father would be good.”
“Even an absent one?” Was she protecting Fiona or herself?
Her dad gave her an awkward hug. “I’m sure you’ll do what’s right for everyone. You always do. That’s why I’m so proud of you.”
She returned the hug, grateful for his support. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
* * *
Riley paced the small kitchen, sipping a can of soda, trying to make sense of the lump of messy emotions pressing on his chest until he couldn’t breathe. The irony of the situation was not lost on him as he paced around the kitchen. Had it only been a couple of weeks since he’d found Meg at the bottom of the stairs? He’d come here expecting to recover, not have his life implode.
And I didn’t even have to leave home to do it.
Meg’s words danced around his head as he paced. Even his anger didn’t prevent him from admiring all she’d accomplished as a single mother. She was giving Fiona the happy, stable childhood she’d experienced.
Damn. How could he be angry with her for taking such good care of his daughter? Because there was no doubt she was a happy, well-adjusted little girl.
He’d assured Mac he was willing to step up and do what was necessary to see that both Meg and Fiona were taken care of. How he would do that from Afghanistan was still a mystery. Her home needed a lot of repairs and upkeep. And what about Fiona? How could he make up for those missing years in the time he had left? He had five years to catch up on, and being responsible for a child meant more than sending child support checks. How was he supposed to get to know his daughter, let her get to know him, from halfway around the world?
At the thought of Meg and Fiona, his chest tightened and pressure began to build. What the hell did he know about being a father? Like he’d told Meg, it wasn’t as if he’d had any role models. His own parents were a cautionary tale at best. He wouldn’t have realized families could disagree without making their kids collateral damage if it hadn’t been for the McBrides. And how did he repay them? By getting Meggie pregnant, then abandoning her. Nice going, Cooper. You’re lucky Mac didn’t clean your clock out there.
And Meg. She’d been in love with him her entire life and he’d repaid her by sleeping with her and leaving. He should’ve taken care of her, seen that she was okay after he’d shipped out. Marines pledged to leave no one behind in battle and yet he’d left Meg behind. Thinking he was doing the right thing was a lame excuse. Heck, Meg had thought she was doing the right thing.
He swore when he realized he’d squeezed the soda can so tight, its contents had overflowed.
Slamming the can on the counter, he rinsed his hands in the sink and grabbed a paper towel from the roll. He wiped his hands, the counter and the soda can before tossing the wadded paper into the trash.
He gulped what was left then crushed the can in his fist. A kid. He had a daughter. She was a whole person with wants, needs and likes that he knew nothing about. How much had he missed out on? He tried to imagine all the stuff that went along with having a child, like first words, first steps—all those firsts. He tossed the can toward the recycling bucket. It missed and landed on the floor. Christ, he didn’t even know his own daughter’s middle name or birthday. All that condemnation he’d thrown at his parents over the years and he was worse.
Would he have given up his time in the marines to stay with Meg and Fiona? Even now, he was planning to go back, craving the security the corps had given him. Did he know how to be in a normal relationship?
After the motor home left, he went back across the yard to Meg and Fiona. Standing on the porch, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants before knocking on the door.
He stepped inside and his gaze searched the family room for his daughter. “Where’s Fiona? You didn’t send her with your dad again?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. “And I didn’t send her the first time. They wanted to take her and she wanted to go.”
He sighed. He hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation, but he was still trying to deal with the fact that he had a daughter he barely knew. He knew he was as much to blame as Meg, but logic didn’t make the pain and anger go away. He felt as though Meg had betrayed him by keeping his daughter a secret.
“C’mon in and sit down. She’s not going anywhere.”
He folded his arms across his chest and stifled a groan at the pain the movements caused.
“Do you need anything? I think your pain meds are still in Liam’s room. I’ll go and—”
“I took something back at my place. I prefer a clear head.” Christ, her concern made him feel like a heel. He’d accused her of being selfish, but in fact, he was the selfish one.
Meg gave him a beseeching look. “We don’t have to do this yet. Maybe you two could get to know one another first...”
“And waste more time?” And didn’t that make him sound like a first-class jerk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
Meg sighed. “Why don’t you take a seat on the couch? I need to get my clothes out of the dryer before they become a wrinkled mess, then we’ll talk to her.”
Sit down before you fall over, Marine.
He sat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. What was wrong with him? He could leapfrog his men in an urban combat situation, but here he was panicking at facing a five-year-old.
Fiona wandered into the room with a tattered stuffed animal clutched in a choke hold. She beamed with enthusiasm when she spotted him. “You came back.”
“Yes, I did.” He sat up straighter. “Who is that you’ve got there?”
She held up the toy. “This is Mangy.”
“Aptly named.”
“Huh? My Grampa Mac named him. He calls him Fiona’s Mangy Mutt, but he’s also a Dalmatian. They ride on fire trucks. Did you know my Grampa Mac is a fireman? Mrs. Grampa Mac says Grampa Mac is...” She scrunched up her face. “She says he’s re-re—”
“Retired?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Are you re-retired like my Grampa Mac?”
“No, I’m a marine.” Would she even know what a marine was? His chest tightened at the obvious hero worship in her voice when she mentioned Mac. Hey, be glad she had a positive male role model in her life instead of whining. He told his inner voice to shut the fudge up. Yeah, like she can hear the thoughts in your head. Have you gone soft, Marine? “Looks like you’ve had Mangy a long time.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I had him my whole life.”
“You must love him.” His voice sounded hoarse. That damn stuffed dog had been in her life longer than he had. He blinked and managed to keep a smile on his face. Not a good idea to scare her.
The pink wire-rimmed glasses lent a serious air to her cherubic face. “Uh-huh. Mangy helps when the scared comes and helps when you get boo-boos. He makes scary things not so scary.”
Riley leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. The thought of this little girl being frightened hollowed him out. His childhood had been full of scary moments and he didn’t want that for her. But how could he protect her all the way from Afghanistan? How could he not return to his squad? He needed to honor Trejo’s sacrifice. “And what things scare you, princess?”
“The tunder scares me.”
The tightness on his chest eased. Weren’t most kids afraid of thunder? “Loud noises like thunder can be pretty scary.”
She pushed her glasses higher up her nose. “Mommy says it can’t hurt me.”
“Your mommy’s right.” God, he wanted to gather her close and tell her he’d never let anyone or anything hurt her, including himself.
“I know, but...but some
times the scared just comes.” She leaned toward him, her gray eyes large behind the lenses. “Does that ever happen to you, Mr. Riley?”
Before he could guard against them, memories from Afghanistan played like a video in his head. The pings from ammo rounds hitting metal, shouted contradictory commands, sand in his mouth and eyes, the unmistakable stench of death in his nose. He had to clear his throat—and his head—before he could answer. “Yes, sometimes scared just comes.”
She smiled sweetly, reminding him so much of Meg that it hurt, and yet he realized she was her own person. A person he didn’t know, and he wanted to hate Meg for that, but he was as much to blame, thinking he had all the answers and setting them on a course that brought them to this moment.
“Mr. Riley?” She put her hand on his knee. “If you ever need Mangy, you can use him.”
“You’re very generous.” He had to force the words past his clogged throat. His heart felt as though it had cracked open. The first time he’d looked into Fiona’s eyes—his gray eyes—his world had tilted. Now it was spinning.
Thinking he knew best, he’d made the fateful decision that had sent them down this path. And once again he was assuming he had all the answers.
Meg came back in and set a laundry basket on the arm of a chair. Her gaze met his and when he nodded, she said, “Sweetie, Mr. Riley and I have to tell you something important and very special.”
“A surprise?” Fiona’s eyes widened and she rocked on her tiptoes. “Am I getting my own swings with a slide and everything?”
Meg pulled on one of Fiona’s pigtails. “Better than that.”
Fiona came down flat on her feet. “My own doggie?”
Riley laughed at losing out to a swing set and a dog and the knotted tension in his chest eased.
“No dog yet, but I think you’ll like this, too. Riley is—”
“A friend of your mom’s,” Riley interrupted. “And she wants us to become friends, too. Would you like that?”
“A grown-up friend?” she asked, her head tilted to the side to study him.
He didn’t take his gaze off his daughter, but Meg’s confusion was palpable. Yeah, he had some explaining to do, but this felt right. “We could do things together while I’m here and become friends.”
“Can Mommy come, too?”
“Mommy is always welcome,” he said and he meant it. He could spend his life blaming Meg, locked in a power struggle, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t become his father.
Chapter Eleven
After Fiona ran to her room, Riley was able to take a deep breath, his first since realizing the truth.
“I don’t understand. Why did you do that?” Meg reached for a towel in the basket and folded it. “I thought you wanted to tell her.”
“Faced with that trusting innocence, I couldn’t do it.” He sank back against the cushions. “I want her to know, but not until the time is right.”
She set the towel on the arm of the chair. “Getting to know one another is a good first step. You’re going to be her father for the rest of her life.”
“And that reminds me of something that’s been bothering me.”
She picked up a little girl’s nightgown and shook it out. “What is that?”
“How did it happen?”
“Happen?”
“We used a—” he lowered his voice and glanced down the hall toward Fiona’s bedroom “—condom...each and every time.”
Meg ran her fingers over the front of a pink nightgown. “True...”
“But?”
She blushed and looked away. “I guess there’s a reason they caution to use them before the...uh, festivities begin.”
“We...we—Oh.” He shifted uncomfortably, remembering how eager he’d been that night, how both of them had been impatient, ripping one another’s clothes off.
“Yeah, that time.”
“I swear, Meggie, if I’d even suspected... I would have... I messed up.” He drew his good hand over his face.
She smiled sadly. “That honor goes to both of us. I could have done more to track you down and tell you, but I let my pride and my anger get in the way.”
“So what do we do now?” The time for anger, blame, hurt had passed. If his crappy childhood had taught him anything, it was that worrying about stuff that couldn’t be changed was futile.
“You get to know her. You said you had the cottage for a month. Where will you go after that?”
“Afghanistan.”
She grabbed on to the clothes basket. “So you’re going back?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Had it only been last week that getting back had been his utmost priority?
“Why? I think that would be obvious.”
“You mean because of Fiona?” He didn’t tell her he’d been having the same doubts. But he was a marine; the corps was his life. What would he do if not that? “I won’t be the only one over there with a child back in the States.”
“That’s up to you. I guess that means you’ll need to get to know your daughter while you’re here.”
“I’m planning on it.” He would need to cram the short time he had left into getting to know Fiona and letting her get to know him.
Meg put the nightgown and towel back onto the pile of clothes. “You look exhausted. You still have some painkillers here. Want me to get them?”
“Ibuprofen is fine, if you have it.” He tried to stand and winced, sitting back down. After finding out about Fiona, he’d been running on adrenaline. Now it was wearing off, and he felt every one of the bruises he’d suffered.
“Stay there. I’ll get the pills,” Meg told him.
“Meg, wait.” He put a hand on her arm and winced when a look of uncertainty crossed over her beautiful features. He reached up and brushed off a curl that had stuck to her mouth. “Thank you for our beautiful daughter.”
* * *
Several days later Meg sat on her porch enjoying a cup of coffee and watching Fiona on the new swing set Riley had bought. He’d said he wanted to make up for missing her other birthdays. If she’d let him, Meg was convinced their yard would be overrun with toys, but she didn’t want Fiona to see him as a cash machine, or in this case, a toy machine.
The cedar set had a swing and a tree house–type structure at the top of a set of stairs with access to a slide and a sandbox underneath. It was way too elaborate but Riley insisted and she had to admit it was nice to see Fiona with something special.
A door slammed and Riley came out of his place and started across the yard.
“Mr. Riley.” Fiona abandoned the swings and ran to take his hand. “Can you push me?”
Meg’s eyes burned at the sight of the two of them. Seeing them like this, she knew she’d made the right decision. She hoped she felt the same after Riley left.
“I’ll help you get going, then I need to talk to your mom.”
After giving Fiona several pushes on the swing to get her going, Riley bounded up the steps onto the porch and sat next to Meg in the Adirondack chair that he’d insisted on replacing. “I ran into Jan at the Pic-N-Save.”
Meg rolled her eyes. That damn grocery store was gossip central. “Oh, boy.”
He stretched his long legs out in front and crossed them at the ankles. “Jan mentioned something about a bachelorette weekend. She said it was a pity you couldn’t go because everyone has been looking forward to it.”
“It’s no big deal.”
He tilted his head as he studied her. “If your reasons are financial, you know I will be paying child support from now on.”
“And it’s called child support for a reason. It’s for her. Not me.” She pulled her legs up and rested her cheek on her knees. “My reasons aren’t monetary.”
“When can we have a sleepover?” Fiona jumped onto the porch. “You said.”
“Mommy?”
“You see Riley every day.” The thought of having to share Fiona wasn’t something she was quite ready to face. Her mind probed it like a tongue seeking a sore tooth, but pulled back at the first hint of pain.
“What about the bachelorette weekend with your friends?”
“What about it?” She turned to Fiona. “Sweetie, why don’t you go play some more before it gets dark?”
He watched Fiona climb back onto the swings, and then turned to Meg. “I think you should go. I can stay here with Fiona.”
“I don’t know...” She nibbled on her lower lip.
“Don’t you think I’m capable?” His eyes had grown distant.
She shook her head. “It’s not that.”
“Is it because of what happened at the church?”
“No, I trust you. Do you trust yourself?”
* * *
Riley squeezed his eyes shut as he bent over and gripped his knees. Breathe, dammit. One...two...three. The acid in his stomach churned and he swallowed several times before he straightened and called out, “Fiona...I’m not mad at you. Please come out.”
Do you trust yourself?
Meg’s words from three days ago came back to taunt him along with all his cocky reassurances that he could handle this. He was the one that had insisted Meg go away with her friends for the weekend. Taking care of Fiona on his own would help them bond. Yeah, dumbass, you’re doing just fine.
He went to the front door for the umpteenth time and clenched the knob. Still locked and bolted. A quick glance at the clock before pouncing on the back door. Still locked and bolted. Sweet Jesus. Four hours since they started that damn hide-and-seek game. He grabbed his phone with shaking hands. No more putting it off. Admitting defeat at his first test of parenting wasn’t easy, but he had to face facts. And she was twenty minutes away at some sort of resort and spa. so she could return to her friends once they got this sorted.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose while waiting for the call to connect.
“Riley?”
“Meg, I—” He coughed hoping to disguise the shake in his voice.
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