by Amy Gamet
It was time for his announcement.
He made his way to the conference room, pleased to find the men all present and accounted for, recessed lights illuminating them like actors on a stage, and his throat clenched at the sight. Razorback was the only one who knew what this was about, his promotion requiring Mac to prepare him for this day long before now. “Thanks for coming.” He sat down. “You may be wondering why I called you all here on a Friday at four o’clock.”
He looked around the table. Sloan and Trace, partners in crime, with their rich senses of humor and deep-running loyalty to the pack. Gavin and Asher, two of the best tactical minds he’d ever had the privilege of working with. Brett Champion, the sharpshooter, a lone wolf and consummate ladies’ man. They were a solid team of soldiers, and while it pained Mac to leave, he knew in his heart they would get on fine without him. “I’m leaving HERO Force.” A collective gasp went up in the room, the words seeming to hang in the air around them.
He cleared his throat. “It’s time I move on, get busy doing the things that need doing in my own life. See if I can’t find that bride of mine.” His eyes went from man to man, soaking up the understanding he saw there. “And my kids.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he hung his head to regain his composure.
“You’ll be missed, man,” said Sloan. “I sure hope you find her.”
“Yeah, I hope you find her,” agreed Asher.
Mac raised his head. “Thank you.”
Champion leaned back in his chair. “You deserve to have her back, Mac. Never doubt that for a second.”
Jesus Christ, he was going to bawl like a baby if he didn’t put an end to this shit. He cleared his throat and gestured to Ian at his right. “Razorback here’s going to be in charge from now on. He’s a strong leader who will look out for the team. I know you’ll be in good hands.”
Gavin stood and crossed to Mac and held out his hand. “It’s been an honor to serve with you. I’ve never had a better commanding officer.”
Mac shook it. They were no longer in the military, yet they were still part of that same team, their brotherhood knowing no bounds. “You’ll make a good one yourself, someday.” His cell phone rang. “It’s Moto. May as well get this over with in one fell swoop.” He answered it. “O’Brady.”
“We have a problem,” said Moto. “My brother’s up to his eyeballs in shit, framed for murder by his real estate client, who was using him to buy property as part of a money-laundering scheme. You’re not going to believe who the client is.”
Mac’s brows drew together. He knew Moto’s brother was in trouble, but this was bigger trouble than he’d imagined. “Who?”
“DeRegina.”
“Archie DeRegina? One of Interpol’s most wanted criminals?”
“The one and only.”
“Holy fuck.” The hair on Mac’s arms went up. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. I need permission to bring Logan in on this case.”
Every bone in his body wanted to take on the case, to help Moto go after this bad guy and defend his brother, but his eyes shot to Razorback’s. This wasn’t Mac’s baby anymore. He wasn’t the leader of this organization. “That’s not up to me anymore. I’m leaving HERO Force, effective immediately. I was just sharing the news with the team.”
“Jesus, Mac, I’m sorry…”
“No apologies. I’ve got to find my wife. There’s a time for everything on this earth, and the time has come for me to focus my attention on looking for her.”
“I understand. I wish you the best. Godspeed, brother,” said Moto.
“Thank you. Let me put you over to Razorback. He’s in charge now.” He held out his phone to the other man, their eyes meeting, the import of the exchange lost on neither of them.
“Moto, what’s going on?” asked Razorback into the phone, turning away from Mac.
Mac’s throat tightened. It was as it should be, the passing of a baton, but that didn’t make it easier. He lifted his chin, nodded to each man seated at the table, and slipped quietly out of the conference room. The phone didn’t belong to him any more than the responsibility he’d just left behind. “Godspeed, my brothers,” he whispered to the closed door, then turned and walked away.
7
It was almost ten thirty, the humidity after the storm hanging in the air like fog, the scent of ozone heavy as Davina stood in the doorway to her house, Piggy in her arm and one hand on her hip, angrier than she could remember being in her life.
She pointed her finger at Zach. “This isn’t how this is going to be. You’re not going to walk into my son’s life just to let him down. You’re not going to be that guy who forgets shit that’s important to him or bails on him at the last minute or is supposed to show up for dinner and finds something better to do. You got that?”
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“Do you have any idea how nervous he was? He was sick to his stomach for hours. Then we sat here while the food got cold, the minutes ticking by until it was perfectly clear you had no intention of coming or even picking up the goddamn phone to tell us you were running late.” The teenage Davina never would have spoken to him like this, never would have yelled at anybody, and she swore she saw surprise in the depths of his deep brown eyes.
“I can explain. Let me come in.”
She crossed her arms. It had broken her heart to see her son disappointed. He’d been so anxious for Zach’s visit tonight, she could only imagine what was going on in his head. Desperately wanting his father to like him, terrified he would not. Then to watch those hopes be dashed. Wyatt had all but caved in on himself, the emotional toll of rejection weighing him down. “No. Go away, Zach Sato. Go back and crawl under your rock. Just leave me and my family alone.” She moved to close the door, but Moto stopped it with his hand.
“I can’t do that. Ben’s in serious trouble. These people he’s working with are big-time criminals, Davina. We’re talking on an international scale.”
Two things struck her at once—her own concern for Ben and the lack of concern Zach had for Wyatt. A creak from the staircase behind her let her know Wyatt was behind her, and she wished she had slammed the door in Zach’s face after all. But how could she do that when Ben was in trouble, believing only his brother could save him?
“Besides, I want to see Wyatt,” he said. “I’m sorry about dinner. I screwed up, but I still want to get to know him. Please.”
Damn him for begging with those sincere brown eyes, and damn this whole situation for making her oblige. Begrudgingly, she took a step back for him to enter, glancing over her shoulder at the staircase. Wyatt was gone, and her shoulders relaxed a little. She put the dog down. “I made your favorite—zuppa toscana and crusty bread.”
“That sounds fantastic. I’m starving.”
“There was a bunch left, so I put it down the garbage disposal.”
His face fell. “Oh.”
She grinned, the smile not reaching her eyes. She led the way to the kitchen, taking a seat at the island. “There’s peanut butter in the pantry.” She watched as he got himself a plate and knife, then correctly selected the bread drawer. She’d never bothered to reorganize anything when she began renting the house from Ben. She’d been eating in this kitchen for years before she lived here.
He moved to the opposite side of the island and made his sandwich, the light illuminating his bruised face, and she frowned. “You got in a fistfight with your brother.”
“He deserved it.”
She couldn’t argue with that, though it bothered her this was how the Sato brothers settled their disagreements. “Physical violence will get you nowhere. How did it go?”
“He blamed me like he always does. Said I wouldn’t have been a good father, that I would have ruined everything. That I was too selfish and egotistical to raise a family.”
“You were driven. You knew what you wanted out of life, and you got it. That doesn’t automatically make you a bad father.”
He cocked his head. “Thank you.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“Ditching your kid for dinner does.”
He sighed, lifting guilty eyes to hers. “I know. It won’t happen again.”
Was she making a mistake letting him into their lives, even a little bit? Did she have a choice? Fear told her to stay away from this man, to give him the smallest glimpse into their lives that would satisfy him, then send him on his way. But Wyatt deserved more than that. He deserved a father who would know him and love him for the man he would become, and that was something only Zach could provide. “It had better not.”
Before he’d blown them off for dinner, she’d been intending to offer Zach the guest room so he could spend more time with Wyatt. Now that felt like leaving an open cash register in front of a robber—the epitome of vulnerability.
She’d once trusted this man completely. She’d been sure of his love, of his faith in her, that they would be together through thick and thin. Then the accident had shattered his world, and he’d found her with Ben, and in the time it took to snap her fingers, everything that mattered was gone.
The dog whined at Zach’s feet. “He wants part of your sandwich,” she said.
Zach obliged. “What’s his name?”
“Piggy. Wyatt named him when he was three. He was going through a pig phase.” It seemed like eons ago, and she was acutely aware of how much Zach had missed.
From the look on his face, he was thinking the same thing. “I was hoping I could stay here.” She opened her mouth to object, but he held up his hand. “I know it’s awkward, and it’s an intrusion, and it’s rude of me to ask. But I really want to spend as much time with Wyatt as possible.”
It was exactly what she’d been thinking earlier, but now it seemed like a terrible idea. He wouldn’t just be spending more time with their son, he’d be spending more time with her. It was inevitable. She barely knew how to get through this conversation. Could she really open up her home to this man right now? She braced herself on the island. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
You chicken. You absolute coward.
His stare fell to her neck, unfocused, before returning to lock with hers. “Please?”
Oh, Jesus, she couldn’t say no to that look. Damn him for being so good-looking, so sincere when he wanted to be. Especially when she knew he was right about this one, how could she possibly refuse? She crossed her arms and sighed shakily. “Just so you can get to know Wyatt.”
Not so you can break my heart again.
“Thank you.” He took her hand and squeezed it, releasing it before she could react. “What’s he like?”
“Smart. Talented. Great sense of humor, occasionally used for evil purposes.”
“What’s it been like?”
“What?”
He shrugged. “All of it. I missed so much. How much was Ben around here?”
She rolled her eyes and stood. “Ah, that’s what you want to know. Not how was it raising our kid without me, Davina, but how much was Ben around here?” She shook her head, putting away the peanut butter. “That’s all you care about, this age-old war between the two of you. Well, I’m not getting involved. You want to know how much Ben was a part of Wyatt’s life, then ask them yourself. I’m going to bed.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop asking about Ben.”
“Don’t try, do.”
He nodded. “Think Wyatt’s still awake?”
“I don’t know.” She gestured toward the stairs. “Why don’t you go see?”
He turned toward them, his purposeful strides all too familiar. From this angle, it was virtually impossible to tell one Sato brother from another, though it occurred to her she might be one of the only people who could.
She frowned. How two brothers could be so much alike yet so different was beyond her. The amount of animosity between them was brutal, everything a competition, with Zach always winning. There’d been a time in her life when she’d been blinded by young love, seeing only that Zach had been perfect and Ben highly flawed. But she’d had ten years of watching Ben work hard to overcome his difficulties and had gotten a solid appreciation for the man.
She rubbed her temple. Fatigue crested over her like an ocean wave, the stress of the last few days weighing her down. Her eyes flashed to the ceiling, beyond which her son was talking to his dad for the first time, and she said a silent prayer it was going well. “Come on, Piggy. Time for bed.” She turned off the kitchen light and made her way upstairs.
8
At least she let me stay.
Talking to Davina was like dancing on hot coals. If she stayed in any one place too long, he was bound to get burned. Whether it was talk of Wyatt or her anger with Moto for being so late tonight, virtually any topic between them held the potential to sear into his skin like a branding iron.
He’d managed to secure a spot under her roof, and that was all he’d been hoping to accomplish for tonight. Well, that and talking to Wyatt.
He hadn’t expected to be drawn to her as they spoke, to feel the tension in the air thicken as it had when they’d been teenagers. His body had come to life just being near her, all the old desires rising up where they once had been.
That wasn’t something he was prepared to deal with. For even as she denied anything had happened between her and Ben, he could feel there was something she wasn’t telling him. Maybe it was him trying to protect himself from being hurt again. He would have thought himself incapable of that kind of heartbreak today, but he could see now it was because he hadn’t let anyone get that close to him since Davina.
She still held power over him, just as she had then, despite everything she’d done. The last person in the world he wanted in his life was Davina, and he swore to himself right then and there he would stay away from her.
The steps creaked beneath his feet. The stairway had been carpeted when he lived here as a boy, but now it was hardwood, the risers painted white. The wrought-iron railing had also been replaced with wood, the small changes altering the entire feel of the space.
Instead of pictures of Ben and Zach lining the walls, there were pictures of Wyatt and a few of Davina. The first one was Wyatt as a little kid holding a giant stuffed bear, smiling at the camera. Moto froze. The photo could have been of him as a child, so strong was the resemblance, though he did have Davina’s round cheeks and dimples.
Next were Wyatt’s class pictures. Moto’s throat constricted as he stopped to commit each image to memory. He found himself wondering where he’d been when each one was taken, from Kandahar to Germany or California, and what he himself had been doing at that exact moment.
He could guarantee it was less important than what he’d missed. He thought of his words to Davina long ago—I would have been a used car salesman like my dad—and knew it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had his son in his life.
He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, his old bedroom coming into view. He poked his head in to find a neat room with a four-poster bed and a dresser. Definitely not Wyatt’s room. He made his way to the next bedroom. The door was closed, decorated with a soccer ball sticker half peeled from its backing. His pulse raced as he knocked.
“What?”
“It’s Zach.” The name sounded strange on his lips. When was the last time he identified himself by his given name? “I was hoping we could talk.”
After what seemed a lifetime, the door opened halfway, a scowling Wyatt framed across the threshold. “About what?”
“Can I come in?”
The boy stepped back for him to enter. The room was a hodgepodge of decorations and toys, Moto’s eyes catching on them one at a time. A Lego spaceship. What appeared to be a real bowling pin. Textbooks. A large computer screen atop a glass L-shaped desk, and a wooden pocketknife on the edge. “Nice place you’ve got here.” He crossed to the desk and picked up the knife, his finger running along the familiar monogram as he grinned. “This was mine.”
“Kee
p it.”
He looked at the boy, seeing the hurt etched into his features. He put the knife back on the desk. “Can I sit down?”
Wyatt was standing, looking as uncomfortable as an innocent man on trial. “Suit yourself.”
An innocent man, trying to look strong.
He lowered himself into the desk chair. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I was helping your uncle Ben.”
“My mom was angry.”
“I know. I apologized to her.”
Moto leaned forward and braced himself on his knees. “You have every right to be angry with me. For tonight and for all the nights I wasn’t here. Trust me, if I knew you existed, I would have been here.”
Wyatt didn’t respond. Moto waited patiently for the boy to talk, the stalemate stretching out awkwardly. Moto leaned back. “I’m going to be staying here for a little while. I’d like to get to know you.”
“My baby book’s right downstairs.”
Damn, the kid had a smart mouth, and Moto didn’t know if he should be offended or impressed. He stood. “You think about it. I’ll bet you’ve got some questions for me, too.”
“Just one.”
“Shoot.”
“When are you leaving?”
“I don’t know yet. But here’s the thing. You’re a part of my life now, whether that sounds good to you or not. Even when I walk out of this house, I’m not going to walk out of your life. We’re family, and family is forever.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know you.”
Moto pointed at him. “Yet. You don’t even know me yet.” He winked and smiled. “But you’re going to.” He held out his hand for Wyatt to shake it, knowing full well a hug was too much to ask. But as his hand hung in the air between them, he feared a handshake was a bad idea, too. It left the ball in Wyatt’s court, and he clearly had no desire to play this game.
Wyatt’s hand slowly came up to shake his father’s, and Moto’s heart rose into his throat, emotion nearly choking him. The baby pictures from the hallway flashed in his mind as he touched his son for the very first time, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, son.”