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One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
Here at Padme's Library I feature all genres but followers have probably noticed that 95% of the posts and 99% of my reviews fall under the LGBT genres, so for this year's Pride Month I am showcasing 20 of my favorite M/M single dad reads in no particular order. There are Dads, Uncles, Guardians,but they are all dad figures doing it on their own. The single dads fall under a variety of genres and tropes with a perfect blend of romance, drama, healing, and heart, creating unforgettable reads.
One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
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Summary:
Haven Hart #1
Haven Hart #1
After running from a past destined to kill him, Snow has been hiding on the streets.
Tell nobody your name.
Tell nobody your secrets.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules of the streets.
His entire life changes when he saves an eight-year-old boy from a violent end.
Christopher Manos is one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country.
Don’t ask anyone to do something you aren’t willing to do yourself.
Secrets can get you killed.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules he lives by.
When his eight-year-old nephew disappears, he never expects the boy’s savior to end up being his own.
A man with a dangerous past and a man with a dangerous future find love amidst murder and mayhem. But with Snow's life being threatened at every turn, will Christopher's best be enough to prevent Snow Falling?
Tell nobody your name.
Tell nobody your secrets.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules of the streets.
His entire life changes when he saves an eight-year-old boy from a violent end.
Christopher Manos is one of the most powerful crime bosses in the country.
Don’t ask anyone to do something you aren’t willing to do yourself.
Secrets can get you killed.
Trust nobody!
These are the rules he lives by.
When his eight-year-old nephew disappears, he never expects the boy’s savior to end up being his own.
A man with a dangerous past and a man with a dangerous future find love amidst murder and mayhem. But with Snow's life being threatened at every turn, will Christopher's best be enough to prevent Snow Falling?
Never underestimate Snow. The mother nature kind looks light and fluffy but can be anything but, well Davidson King's Snow on the surface is light, fluffy, and a bit of pushover(at least what a certain bad guy thinks) but just like Mother Nature's white stuff, Snow Manos can be deadly. Let's be honest, there are times when its best if we get underestimated and Snow Storm is a prime example of just that. Never threaten the Manos family, Snow may not be the head of the family but he is the head's husband and that makes him even more of a danger to cross.
Not sure which factor I loved most: Snow being underestimated or that Christopher knows his husband so perfectly he knew exactly what to say to him on the phone to get the ball rolling? Talk about a perfect pair and its this knowledge and chemistry that will always put Snow and Christopher on the top of my favorite Haven Hart couples.
Snow is such an amazingly creative fun, flirty, and fabulous character which in my honest opinion defines exactly what Haven Hart is all about, both the city and the series. Don't get me wrong, Haven Hart Universe is not all rainbows and unicorns kind of rom-com happy happy. Oh no, it is anything but because there is danger always lurking and Snow Storm is the best example of that because Snow Manos brings happiness to everyone he meets but its not all he brings to the table. With this series entry you realize that he really is what brings everyone together, he is the cement that makes the bricks into a home, he is the Force that binds the Jedi together, and he is the love that makes the Manos and Black Organizations family(even if neither Christopher nor Black want to admit that is what they've become since meeting Snow😉😉).
Speaking of Christopher, he is just as dangerously yummy as always. His love for his nephew, Simon, has been blatantly obvious from the very minute Simon brought Snow home with him way back in book 1, Snow Falling, and if you hadn't already noticed that Christopher has become more than just a father figure you will clearly see he(and Snow) have become dads to the growing boy. I already mentioned how perfectly attuned Christopher is with Snow by knowing what clues to give his husband to help find them so I'll just add that they may be well established couple but their passion for each other is still off the charts that will fry your e-reader if you're not careful.
As for the secondary characters, well has there ever really been any "secondary" characters in this series? No because they all serve a purpose whether they get their own story or not, not a single one can be labeled "page filler", each one brings a needed element to the journey. It is always nice to see where other couples are once they've had their story begun, the author letting her readers know there is still life after they get their HEA.
Snow Storm once again showcases Davidson King's knack for storytelling, not just a writer but a true storyteller. She creates not only characters to read and plots to unravel but a whole community to discover and experience. If you haven't been reading Haven Hart Universe yet, I highly recommend doing so because you are certainly missing out on quite a ride.
One final note: if you are wondering if this is a series best read in order than I have to say yes. Sure each one features a new couple, well Snow Storm revisits Snow & Christopher from book 1 but each entry does have its own central plot so I suppose technically each one is a standalone but I have to recommend reading in order. The characters, the friendships, the favors Snow cashes in, these factors just flow better knowing each pairings' journey. If reading 5 books seems daunting, don't worry because the time will fly by and before you know it, you'll be kicking yourself for not savoring the moments but you just get so sucked in that you can't put them down. I should probably add that for the first time EVER, I did a re-read in less than 2 weeks after my initial read and if that doesn't express how amazing Snow Storm is then I'm not sure what does.
What can I say about the story that I didn't already cover in my original review? Nothing! It's still just as beautiful and engaging as originally. So I think I'll just talk about the narrators, Joel Leslie and Philip Alces. There again, what can I say that I haven't touched on in the first 4 audio versions of Haven Hart? Nothing! They bring life not only to Snow and Christopher but to all the characters, good guys and bad guys. Between Davidson King's visual storytelling style and Leslie & Alces narration, you can almost see the story unfold in front of you. I should add that although there have been bits & pieces from each entry that has carried over, I found Snow Storm to be the first one that really shows everything starting to come together to form the "big picture", so definitely read/listen to Haven Hart Universe in order.
RATING:
The Guy from Glamour by Skylar M Cates
Summary:
The Guy #1
Nice guy Anthony has a sudden “friends with benefits” relationship with a hot military man.
Anthony’s sex life is better than ever. It would be perfect—if only he didn’t crave more. The chemistry between them is on fire, but Anthony is uncertain of asserting what he wants, at least beyond the bedroom.
Ex-military and new to the small town of Glamour, Dean doesn’t do relationships, though he is supposed to become his niece’s guardian. Soon, however, his niece is melting Dean’s guarded heart, along with her guidance counselor, Anthony. Out of place in the town and among Anthony’s warmhearted family, Dean struggles with the idea of permanence.
Can a no-strings sexual arrangement spark something more real?
NOTE: The new edition has been reformatted, with new front and back matter, but the overall story is the same.
Original Review November 2015:
This has been on my Kindle for over a year but I just got round to reading it now. Not sure why it kept getting overlooked because it is an amazing read. Dean is the epitome of a career serviceman when he's thrown a curveball with the death of his sister and orphaned niece. Love the way he is immediately sucked into the Carrino family not to mention his connection to Anthony. The way the author tackled his fear of what he could possibly have to offer his 13 year old niece is believable and heartwarming.
RATING:
This has been on my Kindle for over a year but I just got round to reading it now. Not sure why it kept getting overlooked because it is an amazing read. Dean is the epitome of a career serviceman when he's thrown a curveball with the death of his sister and orphaned niece. Love the way he is immediately sucked into the Carrino family not to mention his connection to Anthony. The way the author tackled his fear of what he could possibly have to offer his 13 year old niece is believable and heartwarming.
RATING:
Maple Sugar Mixup by Kallie Frost
Summary:
Bake Sale Bachelors Season Three #5
An alpha no omega would want…
Jace has no desire to date; after all, what good is an alpha who can barely afford to take care of himself, let alone a mate? Maybe someday – when he gets his finances under control – he’ll find that special omega.
Despite his money troubles, Jace wants to give back to the hospital, but all he can do is supply something for the bake sale auction. In order to avoid an awkward cheap date with an omega, he agrees to make his popular maple sugar candy, but only under the condition that his friend bids for the item. Jace helps and doesn’t have to go on a date; problem solved. But he never expected someone to outbid his friend…
An omega who can do it alone…
Omega Ashton is thrilled to donate to the hospital that saved him and his daughter. When he sees the maple sugar candy – just like his grandmother used to make – he has to have it, luckily, money is no object; the only downside is the unwanted date that comes with it.
Ashton is so over alphaholes who date him for his money but also feel threatened by it. Worse than the ones who break his heart are the ones he trusts enough to introduce to his daughter, only to have them leave too. No more. Ashton is finished with dating.
Once on the date, however, Ashton and Jace can’t deny the chemistry between them. But will Jace’s insecurity over his financial situation be an all too familiar red flag for Ashton? Throw in some unexpected ice and a broken ankle and you have a recipe for a love story sweeter than candy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is an M/M mpreg romance in the Bake Sale Bachelors series. Each one can be read as a standalone. In this book you’ll find an alpha learning he’s worth more than what’s in his bank account, an omega doing his best as a single dad, and the surprise baby who brings them together. If you love books that are sweet with heat and full of characters who you’ll laugh and love with, get Maple Sugar Mix-Up today.
Original Review February 2024:
I'm still fairly new to the omegaverse so my experience is limited for comparisons but I've loved everything so far and Maple Sugar Mix-Up is no different. Perhaps a bit different as Kallie Frost is also a new-to-me author so in a way Maple is doubly fresh and exciting.
One thing that was completely new to me(and again limited experience here😉) was the role reversal of financial and status structure in this novella. Completely polar opposites of what one tends to think of when dealing with alpha/omega pairings. I can understand Ashton and Jace's hesitancies due to the whole station-in-life labeling. The emotions behind Ashton and Jace's scenario adds a lovely hint of realism to an already entertaining and delicious blend of fiction and fantasy.
Maple Sugar Mix-Up is a delightful novella that warms the heart, soothes your soul, and put a giggle or two on your face.
**Blogger Note: Unfortunately I only had time to read this entry but it lead me to place the entire season on my #TBRList.**
Always by RJ Scott
Summary:
Single Dads #4
Lives change in an instant, but with family found and forever love, there is always hope.
Impetuously putting his life on the line, Adam saved a child trapped in a car wreck and suffered career-ending injuries. Living with chronic pain, and at his lowest moments, he had friends who wouldn't let him give up, a family who had his back, and even though his future was different from what he'd always planned, he at least had hope. When Cameron and Finn land on his doorstep, he never dreamed that he would fall in love with the small family or that maybe he'd get to be a hero again.
Cameron goes from being a devoted husband to a single dad overnight. With his neatly planned future in ruins, he will do anything to make a new life for his son, even if it means moving to the other side of the country. Renting a room from Adam is the first step in making a home for him and Finn, but falling for the former firefighter was never part of the plan.
The shadows from Cameron's past might take a long time to touch this fragile future, but will he have to face the consequences alone when they do? Or will there always be hope?
Original Review June 2021:
First, I want to say as I have said in other reviews for this series, to me there is very few things sexier than a man who cares for a child. So right off the bat watching Cameron care for his little boy, Finn, ticks so many wonderful boxes for me. And of course Finn is an absolute dream. Torn between being a kid and this need to protect his dad, I just love him.
Second, for those who know me outside my blog and/or you have followed my Caregiver Month series posts every November will probably remember that my mom has dealt with chronic pain for over 30 years. I mention that because Adam is adjusting and living life with chronic pain so I tend to be overly critical when this subject is touched upon. Not that I need the subject to be spot on, perfect, without hiccups because it is fiction but it's close to my heart and I do need some semblance of accuracy and respect. There was no need for doubt(not that I really had any) when it comes to RJ Scott, I know she does her research. What Adam felt, said, his inner monologues, his communications with friends, it was all so well written and I'm not exaggerating when I say I had tears in my eyes at times, both because I felt for Adam but also for the level of heart and emotion the author put on every page.
Third, the amount of drama from Cameron's past and Adam's new path is so well balanced with the friendship and romance. I won't go into details but trust me, it works perfectly. Both men are dealing with heartache and rebuilding an uncertain future, for different reasons yes but still they individual futures have been turned on their heads. I'm all for doing for yourself but sometimes you need that missing piece to connect the dots, to light the way, to make everything fit, or a thousand other cliches that may get overused but that doesn't mean they aren't on point. Simply put: Cameron and Adam just fit.
One last point about the chronic pain. As I said, it's my mom who lives with chronic pain and though I have no intentions of ever thinking about this in my parents situation😉 I just want to take a minute to say a special thanks to RJ Scott for going the extra mile when Cameron did his research on sex and chronic pain. It's definitely an aspect that those who haven't lived with it, either themselves or watched a loved one, never even give it a second thought, that the physical intimacy side of a relationship can be devastating both physically and emotionally. So again, thank you, RJ Scott for showing there are ways if you do the research and are incredibly patient.
Always is not only worthy of the author's Single Dads series but it's a truly entertaining, heartfelt emotional gem. For those wondering if Single Dads is a series best read in order or series of standalones, they are standalones as each book deals with a different pairing, friendships factor in so previous main characters pop up and as I'm a series-read-in-order kinda gal I'm glad I've read them from the beginning but no it's certainly not necessary, you won't be lost if you pick and choose or start with Always.
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:Never take an elf’s cookie… even if it is for a good cause.
School teacher Alger loved his job, his town, and his volunteer work at the local children’s hospital. That is until he loses it all with one mistake: he gave away the wrong cookie. Now cursed to be a Krampus and scare children into behaving, he is miserable. Beyond miserable. At least there’s an out to his curse: Find unconditional love. If only it were as simple as that.
Widower single father Jordan is not a fan of Christmas, not since his alpha’s accident. Each year Jordan fakes it, slapping on his best Christmas Cheer persona in the hopes of making it special for his son. Each year it gets a little bit easier. Who knows… maybe one year the holidays will be merry and bright.
When an unexpected blizzard comes to town, Alger and Jordan end up trapped together and learn that there really is magic in Christmas snow.
The Omega’s Krampus Christmas is a super sweet with knotty heat MM Mpreg Holiday retelling of the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast featuring an alpha who accidentally pissed off the wrong elf, an omega who sees the heart within, more Christmas cookies than anyone should eat in a lifetime, a magical sleigh ride that leaves more than just Santa’s bag being filled, the cutest cat ever…as in ever, Christmas wish lists a mile long, a Christmas miracle or two, including an adorable baby on the way. If you enjoy true love, fated mates, a little bit of whimsy, and your mpreg with heart, download The Omega’s Krampus Christmas today.
I gotta start by just saying: WOW!!!
Christmas romance with a twist✔️
Fairytale with a twist✔️
It's that "with a twist" that gives The Omega's Krampus Christmas an extra special level of holiday yummyness. I've always been intrigued by holiday stories that go outside the box by having Krampus involved and Lorelei M Hart really brought the intrigue to the table here. I should add that not only did I find this story to be my favorite of this holiday season's reading but it is also my first mpreg, first omegaverse, and my first Lorelei M Hart read. That's a lot of firsts to venture into especially with a holiday story.
Alger, aka Krampus, and single dad Jordan have an instant connection but after decades of a lonely existence, Alger has built a wall around his heart. Will he let Jordan and his daughter Thea in? As you can probably guess my answer: you'll have to read this one for yourself to discover if Alger opens up. I will say that I couldn't help but love every character in the story, each one played a part, nobody was extra, nobody was page filler they all added to the story and to Alger and Jordan's journey.
There is really not much more I can add without being tempted to divulge too much of the story. I will say that if you aren't fond of mpreg, I still highly recommend this Christmas tale because The Omega's Krampus Christmas is so much more than mpreg. This is a story about seeing beyond the surface, letting someone in, and opening one's heart which is something we all need to do more of and not just during the holiday season. Definitely a delightful, heartwarming holiday gem.
Snow Falling by Davidson King
Chapter One
Christopher
One of my favorite parts of waking up was feeling Snow wrapped around my body like an octopus. Even last summer when the air conditioning had failed and it was so hot, I’d wake to his limbs tangled in a death grip with mine. Every morning for the last five years, that was my morning greeting. So, the fact I’d woken up alone, with no tentacle Snow, made grumpiness settle in my gut.
It all went downhill from there. I stubbed my toe on the toilet, jumped into the shower before it was warm enough, and to make matters worse, after I dressed, I realized my cell phone was dead because I’d forgotten to charge it. Today isn’t going to be a good day.
Grabbing the back-up battery, I headed downstairs, hoping Maggie had made a breakfast that could make me forget waking up so shitty.
Vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee filled my nose and the warmth and familiarity gave me hope this day would turn around.
“That is utterly ridiculous, Snow. I’m not making this a thirteen-tier cake just because Simon is going to be thirteen. This isn’t Cake Wars.” The sound of Maggie’s irate voice as I halted by the kitchen door was like a bucket of ice water poured over me.
“I already said we could hire someone to do it, but no, you had to be difficult and squeeze out a few tears to be the one to make it. I know you, Miss Maggie. You use the fact you’re elderly to your advantage.” A smile played on my lips at Snow’s argument. He loved Maggie, but the two of them locked horns more than anyone.
“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.” I entered at her dramatic gasp.
The kitchen was a sight that would rival an explosion. The blender was whirring, flour covered the countertops and cabinets, there was something dripping down an abandoned silver bowl beside the sink, and Snow and Maggie were covered in all of it. With Snow’s finger extended toward Maggie, he turned to me. His smile was automatic and went straight to my bones.
Snow had changed very little in the five years I’d been with him. Four of those, I’d been married to the man. I thought of that time so many years ago when he had stumbled into my life; he was Simon’s hero, and surprisingly, mine as well. He still wore his t-shirts and jeans, loved his Converse, and I was glad his long-haired phase had ended and he’d cut his hair back to the style he had when I met him. The natural white hair sparkled under the lights, his fire blue eyes gleamed, and his megawatt smile reminded me how much I loved my husband.
In that moment, my crappy morning didn’t matter because the way he looked at me now, and every day of my life with him, made any bad day better.
“Morning, baby,” I said as I rounded the corner and placed a quick kiss on his flour-covered mouth. “Baking, I see?” I made a point of gesturing to the mess. “I missed you this morning.”
“Morning, Chris.” He went to put his cake-covered hands on my suit and, while I loved the hell out of him, I had a meeting that morning and couldn’t risk the mess.
“No, I love the old you,” I said with a laugh as I grabbed his wrists.
“Fine, but I would have been wrapped up in you this morning if this woman right here hadn’t texted me at five this morning to tell me she was forgoing our cake plans.” Snow went back to pointing at an eye-rolling Maggie.
“You want a thirteen-tier cake for Simon?” I asked and he nodded. “And you think that’s insane and can’t do it?” Maggie also nodded. “Snow wanted to hire someone, but you love Simon and it’s a huge birthday and you wanted to bake this for him to show your love?” Again, she nodded and this time, her eyes glistened. Snow scoffed at this.
“Bring on the water works,” he mumbled. “If you need to bake a cake to show you love him, then you failed somewhere, Mags.”
She slammed her hand down, making flour explode over all three of us. So much for being on time.
“You can’t understand, Snow, this is how I am. It’s how I love!”
I had to end this. Those two could go on for hours.
“Okay, I get final say.” They both faced me, hope on their faces thinking they both had won, and they both did win.
“Snow wants thirteen tiers. Maggie can’t do that, likely because of the mechanics of it. So, here’s what you’re going to do.” I took Snow’s sticky hand in mine. “You’re going to go order or buy a cupcake tower that holds thirteen layers. And seeing as the party is tomorrow, you’ll likely have to go get it yourself.” I took Maggie’s hand in my other one. “You’re going to make enough cupcakes to fill those layers and Snow will make sure they balance perfectly.”
Aside from the still-whirring mixer, both were silent for a moment. Until finally, Maggie spoke.
“I think that’s a fair compromise.”
Snow bit his lip and shrugged. “Yeah, that’ll work.”
“Great.” I clapped my hands. “Now, I need to go change before my meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Snow followed me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He waited until the bedroom door was closed to speak.
“You settled that perfectly.” His voice was like a purr, and suddenly, I realized I was going to be very late for my meeting. “It’s like you’re some boss or something, making the hard calls.” He said the word hard with a moan and I knew if I turned around, he’d be stripping off his clothes.
“Snow…” I tried for a warning tone, but it was Snow. He couldn’t be deterred.
“You’re already going to be late.” His hands pressed against my back. “And you’re already going to be naked in a second.” He reached around my waist and began pulling my belt buckle. “What’s a little more lateness, hmm?”
Resistance was futile, so I turned in his arms and smiled at the cheeky, adorable man I loved more than the air I breathed.
“You argue a good case, Mr. Manos, so make me later.”
He chuckled as he pushed me onto the bed, straddling me in all his flour and sugar-covered glory.
I relished in the feel of his mouth over my heated skin, his tongue gliding along my flesh like a paint brush. With my shirt open and my cock freed from the confines of my pants, I moaned as he made me later.
I loved looking into his beautiful blue eyes as we made love. I didn’t trust anyone as much as I trusted Snow. I didn’t love anyone with this all-encompassing love like I did my husband. And when he swallowed me all the way down his throat, eyes locked with mine, I wanted to weep.
“I fucking love you,” I whispered as he devoured my cock, sucking every emotion from me.
When I came in his mouth, he hummed and swallowed every drop, then licked my shaft clean, causing me to hiss when he lapped the sensitive head.
“I fucking love you too, Mr. Manos,” he said as he hovered above me.
“I’d be lost without you.” My fingers slid through his hair, his smile widening at my words.
“I was lost without you and never knew it.” He pressed his lips to mine. We kissed for long moments until he lifted his head.
“We never have to know what being lost feels like again.”
His words were like a balm, but for a brief moment, a tendril of fear creeped around my heart. I didn’t have time to examine it further, because there was a pounding on my door.
“You’re late, sir,” Frank spoke.
“Get to bossing.” Snow slid off me and I watched him until he disappeared into the en suite.
As quickly as I could, I dressed, making sure I looked decent, and rushed out the door, ignoring the smirk on Frank’s face.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Let’s.” Frank followed me down the stairs and I waved at Simon through the library doors. He was on the phone and I didn’t want to disturb him. I was so excited to give him his birthday gift the next morning, and hoped he’d love it as much as I did.
We drove through the gate, pausing to make sure it closed completely before venturing down the road. The meeting I was attending was with the new harbor master. I hoped he’d agree to the same terms as the last one; forcing the issue could become very ugly.
The Guy from Glamour by Skylar M Cates
Chapter One
“PERSONAL MATTER, Captain Pierce. The colonel said to call him right away.”
“Personal matter?” Dean Pierce paused in the middle of lifting a giant weight over his head. He had no personal matters, and he never got phone calls. Ever. Scowling, he racked his brain to come up with a plausible explanation and found none.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, backing away a few steps.
The sergeant had found Dean in the PE tent doing some cross-training exercises that mostly consisted of jumping up and down. It sucked that he couldn’t exercise outside, but despite the Night Stalkers’ secured location, they never knew where a sniper might be hiding. The exercise room was small, with little equipment, and, like most of the men, Dean usually did sets of pushups or jumping jacks there, but today he’d picked up the only available set of twenty-pound dumbbells and had been cranking out a few sets of overhead extensions. He wiped some sweat on the side of his T-shirt as perspiration dripped down his chest to his lower abdomen. Unlike most of the other guys, Dean preferred to skip the usual card games to pass the time, and he liked to push his body to its limits.
Needing to find out what this was all about, Dean ignored the sergeant, put the PE area back into perfect order, and then stomped over to command to take his phone call. He was in a rotten mood already. It had been a long time since he’d seen any action.
Dean really needed to fly, but they’d been holed up all week on a remote mountainside in Afghanistan, awaiting orders for an assault mission. It was where the Night Stalkers spent most of their time between jobs—in one kind of shithole or another—and Dean itched to get on a real assignment already. Major Thompson was busy with two other soldiers when Dean entered the command tent, but he waved Dean over to the SATCOM phone. It looked like a big cell phone, but it was hooked up to a satellite, and it was only used in emergencies. Dean hesitated for only a split second and then took the call.
Five minutes later, managing only a curt “Yes, sir,” Dean hung up and sat there, his mouth drawn tight.
Major Thompson glanced at him. “Bad news?”
“Yes, sir. My sister’s dead,” Dean said in a clipped, hard voice, his face impassive.
He stood up and waited for the grief to come with saying the words out loud, but all he’d felt was pissed off. He couldn’t begin to tap into his feelings about Jenna. All Dean could focus on was that he had to leave his unit, head to America, and desert his men. But there was no question that he’d need to go on at least a two-week emergency leave and figure out what to do. After hearing from the Red Cross about his sister, Colonel Matthews immediately called him. He had pretty much ordered him to go, and when Dean had an order he followed it, plain and simple. He was needed in the States. His sister was gone, and she’d left behind a kid.
“Jesus! I’m sorry to hear that, Pierce.”
Dean didn’t answer. His stomach had twisted into knots.
OVER THE next few hours, in some kind of trance, Dean packed his things and made flight arrangements. Or, more accurately, Lieutenant Aaron Weiss, his bunkmate and only friend, had packed for him. Dean had mostly sat there. Weiss was good at taking care of things like that. He was often in charge of getting the choppers ready, and a pretty good pilot besides.
“Do you want to talk?” Weiss asked.
A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw.
“Right. Of course you don’t,” Weiss answered for him. “Stupid question. Do me a favor, Pierce? When you’re around civilians, try to use actual words. Grunting doesn’t work so well out there. Try to communicate.”
“I’m the flight lead. I tell the men what to do all the time. I communicate.”
“I meant on the actual ground.” Weiss’s eyes lit with humor. He was small and wiry, and Dean towered over him, but Weiss gave as good as he got.
Dean spoke haltingly, “This is a mistake. I’m not some fucking babysitter. I don’t even know why I’m going.”
“But you’re going anyway. Aren’t you?”
Dean said nothing.
Weiss came over and sat beside him. “Try to have a little faith.”
“Not me. I leave all that to the religious types like you.” Although, truth be told, Dean would have liked God on his side, especially in some hot landing zone where he flew in a Little Bird on a direct action mission and the enemy was pounding them.
Or right now.
“Better a rabbi than a redneck.” Weiss gave a sly grin. He was aware of the nickname—the Rabbi—that the other Stalkers had given him, partly because Weiss was the only Jewish guy in the group and partly because he wore his convictions like a compass and never let the teasing bother him. Dean didn’t have a nickname, and he was painfully aware that the other Stalkers didn’t feel comfortable enough to give him one. “And before you tell me how Arizona is cowboys and not rednecks, let me add that there really is only one place to be in America for true civilization, and it has bagels and Broadway and—you’d better stop me before I burst into a Billy Joel song. God, I miss New York. Don’t you miss your home too? Even a little?”
“Got nothing to miss.”
“Oh. Shit, Pierce, that’s depressing. If it makes you feel any better, you’re too good a pilot for the army not to drag you back here. You might even be back in time for the next assignment.”
“I’ll be back before that.” Dean gave Weiss a sharp look. “Count on it.” He grabbed his bag, slapped Weiss’s back in farewell, and left the tent.
Once he got outside, though, Dean slowed down his pace. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sound of choppers as they lifted up into the sky, the helo maneuvering right above him. What the hell would he do without that sound every day?
ONE JEEP ride and two long flights later, Dean was finally headed Stateside. The plane took off, roaring to life, a thousand-pounds-plus of bird flying into the air with a bit of lift. Dean always loved takeoff, but not this time. He couldn’t believe he was going to be in Phoenix soon, an area he’d vowed never to return to. Despite his efforts to move forward, always forward, the place had lingered inside of him. Dean stared out his window. Phoenix like the mythical creature, rising out of the ash. That was his life all right. Returning him to something he’d long ago buried.
The plane hit a patch of rough air, and the woman near him gripped her armrest. It was only turbulence, but Dean could see that a logical explanation might not make any difference to her. He would have smiled at her reassuringly, but her eyes were squeezed closed. A more experienced pilot would have avoided the difficult air. These airline types depended on their computers too much anyhow. Chopper pilots know how to really fly. On a clear day, maybe at dawn, there was nothing better than a sturdy Chinook flaring up, ready to go, its massive spinning rotors zooming through the clouds.
Dean managed a few hours of sleep on the plane but still didn’t feel rested when they landed with a jolt. The line moved slowly, and he was nearly the last one off the plane. At the airport shop, he grabbed a bite to eat, including a pack of licorice and some M&M’s. There were no ATMs where the Stalkers had been in Afghanistan, and it felt odd to use one and to actually buy junk food. Dean bought a book too, a thriller, another luxury, since most of the guys just passed around the few books they had. Then Dean checked the address where his niece was staying. He’d left so quickly that he knew none of the details beyond it. He felt stupid about that now, and it didn’t help his mood any to walk a freaking mile to the tiny shuttle that took him to the car rental agency.
The man in the Hertz office was middle-aged and had stringy brown hair. He pushed a bunch of forms at Dean, explaining that while he understood Dean’s need for legroom—and with that he’d glanced up at Dean’s large frame—he still couldn’t help him. All he had left were smaller cars. He took a sip of his dark coffee and shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Dean would’ve liked to have left it, instead of shelling out his hard-earned money to drive some damn compact, foreign piece of junk, but since a dozen other people were waiting for cars, he took it. As he passed the others, he was torn between feeling lucky to escape and imagining he was going to a worse place. Although he could have tried another car rental agency in the airport, Dean was too tired from the long flight to want to wait in another huge line with no guarantee of a better car. Besides, he needed to get all this over with as soon as possible.
Weiss was wrong. Dean already regretted being there. What could he do to help some kid? Nobody had ever helped him, and he’d done all right. Dean ducked his head, still nearly banging it on the roof of the car, and left the airport. Even with his foot sitting heavily on the pedal, the car barely reached seventy on the highway. Junk. He should have held out for something with some guts. Giving up on the useless car going any faster, Dean chewed some candy, put on some soft rock, and tried to relax. The GPS told him in firm, female tones where to go, and he followed the directions out of Phoenix and onto the highway. Even though he’d grown up in the city, Dean had never really made it to too many places outside of it. He hadn’t seen anything, really, until he’d left for the army, and he’d never even heard of Glamour, the town where his niece was staying, but according to the GPS, it was only a forty-five-minute drive.
As he drove, his shoulder felt a bit stiff, and he rubbed it. For a moment, he contemplated stopping to pick up some ibuprofen, but Dean hated taking any drugs. He’d exercise it later. That usually did the trick. He worried about what his regiment was doing. They weren’t supposed to mobilize for at least ten days, but in Afghanistan, anything could change at any time. Night Stalkers flew. Determined or hungry or terrified, they flew. Dean didn’t want to know if they’d suddenly left on a job without him. Even if they hadn’t gone out yet, they were doing important training. The Night Stalkers were in the middle of testing low-flying capabilities with extra men—each equipped with over seventy pounds of gear—and delivering them safely into the enemy’s backyard. For the Rangers and SEALs depending on the Night Stalkers to transport or rescue them, this training was crucial, and Dean was missing it.
He glanced out his window at the scenery as he turned off the highway. Welcome to Glamour, Arizona! Dean looked around. The sign lied. There didn’t seem to be anything glamorous about Glamour. It was a tiny, dusty-looking town with only a few sparse cacti dotting the streets. It looked more like a place for gunslingers than beauty.
Dean eyed Main Street. There weren’t any fast-food restaurants or discount stores in sight, he’d give it that much, although there had been plenty of them on the road outside the town. Maybe it had a certain charm, Dean thought grudgingly as he went past the post office and Wells Fargo Bank. Most of the other buildings were cutesy little shops of some kind or another, none of them looking as if they were part of any larger chains.
He sped down the main street in less than five minutes. The GPS guided him right past the town and into a more rural area. The houses here were well kept at least, and there was even some life. Dean saw a few kids playing and two women outside watching them. He drove past a slightly curved road and onto the street where his niece was staying. He could see mountains in the distance now, and even with the air conditioner on full blast, he could feel the hot whip of the desert sun.
Turning his car into a small, circular driveway, Dean parked and then sat for a long moment. He was used to pressure. Just last month, he’d been on a recon mission, trying to make it out of the enemy terrain with all his guys intact. Flying the birds with the barest amount of infrared light, bullets zinging off his blades—that was rough. That was pressure. So why was he shaking in his combat boots at the thought of facing his thirteen-year-old niece? Why was he was quaking like a damn baby?
With a shaky breath, he forced himself to get out of the car.
The house was painted a cheery yellow. There were a number of desert plants in the front and a nice-sized porch. Dean stretched, pulling his left arm over his head, and then his right one. He walked toward the front door.
“Crap! Oh damn.” There was a sudden thump. Curious, Dean turned toward the noise and headed to the back of the house. It was a fairly big yard with some well-loved lawn furniture circling a fire pit filled with lava rocks. There was also a lush garden blooming with desert marigolds, sunflowers, and aloe plants. A tiny grotto stood in the center of the garden with a pretty statue of the Blessed Mother there. Dean wasn’t religious at all, but there was something inviting about all the bursts of colorful flowers surrounding the statue. What really drew his attention, however, was the man standing on his tiptoes while facing a shed near the left of the garden, trying to put a cardboard box on an extremely high shelf. The shelf was already jam-packed, and Dean watched him shoving at the box to try to make it fit.
“Crap,” the man cried again as the box started to tumble down at him. Dean moved quickly and grabbed the guy with one hand, catching the wayward box with his other. There was no way that box would fit on that shelf. Why he didn’t simply empty the entire shed out and do it correctly, lining everything inside it up in neat sections, was beyond Dean.
“You should stack these better and they wouldn’t fall,” Dean said, his voice a bit raspy from the long flight and hours of not speaking.
“Um, yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that next time. Haven’t opened up this shed in forever, and I forgot what a family of pack rats we are.”
Dean didn’t comment. He let go of the guy, who immediately rubbed his arm. Dean could see where his fingers had left a red mark.
“Didn’t mean to be rough. Wanted to grab you before that box hit your head.”
“No, that’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” The other man was staring at him, and Dean pulled a little at his collar. He forgot how oddly civilians sometimes viewed the military. He hoped he wasn’t going to get lectured about politics or anything. He had enough on his mind with the kid. Dean put the box down on the grass.
“You must be Nicki’s uncle?”
At Dean’s nod, his gaze swept over Dean’s uniform. Nope, it wasn’t judgment in his face; it was admiration. Dean breathed a little easier. He could handle a lot of questions about the Night Stalkers. This guy would probably go on about all the reasons he’d wanted to join the military but never did. Dean got that a lot.
“I’m Anthony Carrino.”
“Captain Dean Pierce.”
“I’m really glad you decided to be here for Nicki. She’s at the movies with my dad right now, and nobody else is home, but you’re welcome to come in. I’d like to talk with you, actually, before you meet her. She’s a bit fragile. Even before Jenna’s accident, Nicki had trouble in school and—”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“What? Nicki’s trouble?”
“No. The accident.”
“You don’t know the details?”
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair that curled just at the nape of his neck. Dean braced himself for what he’d say.
“It was a car accident. The truck driver had been driving here from Texas and fell asleep at the wheel. He T-boned Jenna’s car as she was coming home from work—Oh God, I’m sorry. This is coming out horribly.”
“It’s all right. I asked you.”
“Still, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine if one of my sisters—” He bit down on his lip.
“It’s fine.”
But Dean could picture it now: the glass shattering, metal twisting, the acrid smell of gasoline, Jenna’s second of pure terror. He was used to death. He’d seen plenty of good men and women blown up or shot at in combat, but this was his sister, and even if they’d lost touch, it still ripped at his guts.
“You know,” Anthony said, giving him a speculative glance, “we didn’t even know about you for some time. Jenna never mentioned having a brother.”
“We fell out of contact. You said the kid was having trouble in school, even before Jenna was…?” He couldn’t get himself to say the words Jenna and killed together. Instead, Dean began to take some of the boxes out of the shed and reorganize them.
He could feel Anthony’s gaze on him again, and he tried to ignore the sizzle of awareness that shot through him. He needed to focus on why he was there and not on this guy’s handsome, almost pretty face and his hard, lean body. Jesus, nothing about this situation seemed real. He wasn’t used to chaos and mess, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Dean gripped one box tightly until his knuckles turned white, then forced himself to let it go. He lifted it a second time and slid it into place. He sorted through a few more boxes, organizing them too.
“We can take this one step at a time, okay? I’ll tell you what. Let me show you the house and her room, and then I’ll be happy to share with you all about Nicki. Mr. Haines, her social worker, and my father, who is Nicki’s temporary foster parent, must be involved in all this too. We can all sit down together and talk.”
“I thought you were her foster parent.”
“Me? No. I’m her guidance counselor at school, and I’ve come to care about Nicki, so when this happened, I asked my dad for a favor.”
“Why?”
“He and my mom have taken in a few kids over the years, and they’ve known Mr. Haines for a long time. Only my mom’s out of town right now and couldn’t help. She’s with my sister, Stacey, who is having a difficult pregnancy. Mom insisted on flying off to New Jersey to look after Stacey’s girls. Stacey told her that she could manage, but nothing stops Mom when she insists on something. Luckily, Dad agreed to take in Nicki for me. Mom will help out too, of course, when she comes back. And God, I’m rambling on about my family. Sorry. I do that sometimes.”
Anthony paused. He looked at Dean expectantly.
“Anyway,” Anthony continued when Dean didn’t speak, “it’s temporary. Mom and Dad stopped taking in kids on a long-term basis a while ago, so we’ll still need to work out a more permanent foster home for Nicki.”
Dean jammed his hands into his pockets. The word “foster home” left a vile taste at the back of his throat.
Anthony motioned for Dean to follow him. “Come into the house. We might as well get to know each other a little more.”
Reluctantly, Dean followed.
He could do this. It would be a week, two at the most. He’d treat it like a job. Go in, do the mission, get out. Then he’d be back in Afghanistan where he belonged.
The minute Anthony opened the back door, a golden retriever puppy bounded right at him, nearly tripping him.
“Oh, hiya, Moose. You crazy dog.” He laughed. “This is the true baby of the house, Nicki’s puppy, Moose.”
“Her puppy?”
“Yeah.” Anthony cocked his head. “Do you like dogs?”
Dean looked at the puppy. Moose had his head cocked too, just like Anthony.
“They’re okay.”
“Oh. Let me put him into his crate. I’m really supposed to be keeping him there most of the day to train him, but he cries so much. The other night, I went down and slept beside him.”
Dean said nothing, and after an awkward moment, Anthony caged the puppy.
It was a pretty nice house, better than most Dean had been inside of, anyhow. The kitchen was big and roomy. It had a big pantry that was half-open and filled to the brim with cereals and chips and pastas. The appliances were stainless steel and very modern-looking. At the end of the hallway was a great room with a damn nice plasma-screen television front and center. But it wasn’t luxurious or cold. The sofa was well used, and the glass table had a small nick in the corner. Somebody had collected or made doilies too. There were intricate patterns crocheted and on display in several places, some tucked under lamps or vases and others hanging in the china cabinet. Dean wondered offhand who sewed them. He had an urge to run his finger down one. He rarely saw anything so delicate. The house was neat but not immaculate. There were magazines spread out on the coffee table and a pair of sneakers by the front door. Still taking it all in, Dean followed Anthony up the stairs. They climbed up to the second floor, which was dimly lit but smelled nice, like roses. Maybe Anthony’s family went in for that potpourri stuff, or maybe it was cleaner. Whatever it was, Dean took another appreciative sniff. Army barracks, even the good ones, didn’t smell like flowers.
“This is where Nicki is staying for right now. It isn’t perfect, but I think she’s comfortable.”
He led Dean down the hallway and opened a door for him to walk through. Funny thing, the way his stomach tightened up. The kid wasn’t even in there, yet Dean had to tell himself to breathe. He strode past Anthony and into the room.
Dean looked around. The walls were a bright blue, and there was a decent bed loaded with pillows. There was also a wall of books. Most of them were about cars or about the lives of various basketball players like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird.
“Is this your room?”
“Yeah. Well, when I was a kid. Up until a few months back, I was living in my own place in Mesa and commuting to work here in Glamour. But my mom never bothered to change it too much.” He looked around absently, gliding his hand over one of the books. “I never imagined I’d end up back here.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Dean turned and inspected the rest of the room. On the desk was a backpack, half-open, crammed with papers and notebooks. It was purple and had some pop singer on the front of it. Pink maybe? Dean wasn’t sure. A bunch of nail polish sat next to it, as though the kid had painted her nails instead of doing her homework, and next to that was a Wii game. At least Dean wasn’t so out of touch that he didn’t recognize Mario.
Dean started to say as much to Anthony when he noticed a tangle of blankets in the closet. He walked closer, seeing an old air mattress in there too. Was his niece sleeping in here and not on the bed? Why? Dean slowly shifted his weight from side to side. Anthony seemed like a good guy, but Dean had lived long enough, had survived enough shit, to know that people were often not what they seemed, and all kinds of things happened behind closed doors. He and Jenna had both learned that the hard way.
“Why is the kid sleeping in there?” His voice came out low and gravelly.
“What?”
“Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Anthony gave him a puzzled look. “We offered her the twins’ old room, but she liked mine. Since I was already set up in our guest room, I was fine with that. She has the bed, of course. But we kept finding Nicki curled up in the closet in the morning. So I blew up that air mattress for her and gave her some blankets. Believe me, I’d rather she sleeps in a bed too, but I guess she needs a small space. I think it feels good to her, safe or something. She’s starting with a therapist soon, and I was going to bring it up. For now, I talked with the social workers, and we all agreed to let Nicki dictate her needs. As long as she’s not hurting herself. I can see this upsets you, but it’s what she seems to want.”
Dean stared hard into Anthony’s hazel eyes, flecked with gold and brown, and he saw nothing but warmth. Unsettled, Dean watched Anthony move a step closer to him.
“I promise you”—Anthony smiled, his lips curving upward—“the only one living in the closet in this house was me, and I came out swinging.” He made a motion as if he had a bat in his hand.
Dean didn’t answer. He’d never really mastered joking with people. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Dean pushed past Anthony and strode into the hallway. He scuffed his shoe at the edge of Anthony’s stairs, feeling pretty ridiculous, and worse, like an ungrateful ass. He shouldn’t have returned to Phoenix. He just didn’t belong there, not in this house, in this town, or with this girl. Dean didn’t belong with regular people. He’d seen too much blood and war. He didn’t know how to be normal; maybe he never had known.
He sensed Anthony coming up behind him and tensed. “She’s all right, Dean. Really.” His voice was soft. “I mean considering what she’s going through, Nicki craving a small space to hide away seemed logical.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? With her sleeping there? With everything? What?”
When Dean didn’t answer, Anthony made an impatient sound. “So why are you so quiet? Or are you upset about what I said before?”
“Before?” Dean turned around.
“About me and the closet? My impulsive, slightly corny joke? You don’t have a problem with my being gay, do you?” Anthony asked, folding his arms at his chest. “Because I’m out at school and here at home, and I plan to stay that way.”
“No. I….” Dean stared at him. He swallowed. “No.”
“Oh, okay.” Anthony’s stance lost some of its hardness. “Good. That reminds me. I forgot to ask you before if you’re involved with anybody. Girlfriend? Wife? I’m asking because of Nicki and how this might fit into things for her.”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“I’m a Night Stalker. Do you even know what that means?”
“I think that you—”
“We’re Special Forces,” Dean interrupted. “We’re the most elite helicopter force in the whole damn world. We fly into enemy territory and navigate our way through it to complete search-and-rescue missions or perform high-risk air assaults. I don’t have time for anything else.” He’d had enough of this bullshit. Dean started quickly down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Anthony at his heels.
As he reached the front door, Dean turned back, and Anthony nearly collided into him. They looked at each other a moment.
“Do you have a hotel yet? You could stay here or I could suggest one. Glamour only has one motel, but there’s a four-star hotel about fifteen minutes from here.”
“No. I don’t need some fancy hotel. A motel close by is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Anthony held up one hand at Dean’s curt nod. “Wait here a second. Let me at least give you a few things.”
Anthony dashed away before Dean could protest. He heard Anthony moving in the house. He heard the puppy whimper. He was tempted to get into his car and leave, but Anthony came back. He thrust a plastic bag into Dean’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, you know, just some things to make your stay more comfortable.”
Dean glanced into the bag. There were soaps, shampoos, a sleep mask, pillowcases, detergent, and a bunch of quarters.
“The motel has a coin laundry,” Anthony said. “Or you could bring your laundry here. And my sisters can spare all the other stuff. Beauty is their business.” He smiled widely at Dean. “We aim to make our guests comfortable here in Glamour.”
Dean didn’t smile back. After a moment, he managed a fast “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened the front door. “Well, I’ll show you where the motel is. You can follow me there.”
“I’ll MapQuest it.”
“Right. Okay.”
Dean took out his phone and Anthony typed in the address.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s clean. You won’t find a carpet that turns your socks black or anything here. And they give you free coffee and a newspaper in the lobby.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need much.”
Anthony looked as though he expected to say more. Dean had nothing to say. Outside of army talk, he rarely knew what to say to people. God, he was failing at all this already, failing to joke, failing to respond to small talk. He should have stayed with the Stalkers. He needed to get out of there, away from Anthony, and think.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
“I could show you that hotel?”
“No.”
“And you will come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be difficult?”
“What do you mean?” Dean was painfully aware of his shortcomings.
“Nothing.” Anthony shook his head, smiling slightly, studying him. “You’re just not what I’m used to I guess.”
Dean stared back.
“Look,” he said. “Maybe this isn’t fully my place to ask, but I need to know. What exactly is your plan here?”
“Plan?”
“For Nicki?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Anthony paused. He smiled ruefully. “Now I’m the one talking in monosyllables.”
“I’m not good at this,” Dean said. He could feel heat rising to his face. “I don’t belong here. I have no plan for the kid. I came to see her and maybe, I don’t know, get to know her because of my sister or whatever, but… I’ll just fuck her up more.” He heard a note of raw panic in his own voice and fought to control it.
“No, you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re worried about it. If you would thoughtlessly hurt Nicki, you wouldn’t be worried. Besides, I’m hoping that in the long run meeting you will help her. Everybody needs family, needs somebody, even if they can’t give you everything you want.”
Dean grunted at Anthony’s naïveté, but didn’t try to argue. Spoken like a guy who came from a decent family. Some family was scum, not worth knowing, not worth having.
“I’ll talk to Nicki. All right? If she agrees, then you can come around eleven?”
“Fine,” Dean grunted. Then, realizing he’d only given Anthony a one-word answer again, he added, “Lunch.”
AFTER HE arrived at the motel, Dean unpacked and went to the pool. The only good part about growing up in Arizona had been that almost every crappy place he’d stayed with Jenna came with a crappy pool, and Dean had been a great swimmer from an early age. Dean’s workout usually involved long, intense swimming with his fins on and then a long run, but he made do with what he had. His swim alternated between high bursts of speed and longer, endurance-building laps. He tried not to dwell too much on the long day, Anthony Carrino, or the girl, Nicki. Fuck. He tried to just swim, pushing his body until his muscles burned and his lungs screamed. Water splashed over the edges of the pool as he increased his turning speed, pounding out lap after brutal lap. It didn’t help, not the way it usually did. His body was fatigued, but his nerves were still all fired up.
He made his way to his room and cleaned up in the shower, letting the water hit his back and still-sore shoulder, and then he wrapped himself up in a thin towel at his waist and flopped down on the bed. He had to admit, Anthony’s soap had smelled nice. Kind of like fresh oranges.
He turned the television on and watched a few cheesy sitcoms, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. Dean shut off the TV and tried to sleep. His long legs hung off the bed, and the mattress was way too soft. He was used to hard bunks or even the bare ground. He’d rather be jumping out of a plane than looking into his niece’s face tomorrow. But he’d try. He would go to lunch, attempt to talk with her, find her a decent place to end up. Dean could see his sister’s sad, pretty face right in front of him. It was the least he could do for Jenna.
The very least, Jenna would’ve said.
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered hoarsely into the darkness. He stretched his hand out to the flat pillow, his sister’s face only a blurred memory. He tried to see her features in his mind more clearly and failed. And now… Jenna was dead. They’d never get a chance to put things right. Dean knew he’d screwed up forever, so he dropped his hand to his side, turned away from the pillow, and struggled to sleep. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
“PERSONAL MATTER, Captain Pierce. The colonel said to call him right away.”
“Personal matter?” Dean Pierce paused in the middle of lifting a giant weight over his head. He had no personal matters, and he never got phone calls. Ever. Scowling, he racked his brain to come up with a plausible explanation and found none.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, backing away a few steps.
The sergeant had found Dean in the PE tent doing some cross-training exercises that mostly consisted of jumping up and down. It sucked that he couldn’t exercise outside, but despite the Night Stalkers’ secured location, they never knew where a sniper might be hiding. The exercise room was small, with little equipment, and, like most of the men, Dean usually did sets of pushups or jumping jacks there, but today he’d picked up the only available set of twenty-pound dumbbells and had been cranking out a few sets of overhead extensions. He wiped some sweat on the side of his T-shirt as perspiration dripped down his chest to his lower abdomen. Unlike most of the other guys, Dean preferred to skip the usual card games to pass the time, and he liked to push his body to its limits.
Needing to find out what this was all about, Dean ignored the sergeant, put the PE area back into perfect order, and then stomped over to command to take his phone call. He was in a rotten mood already. It had been a long time since he’d seen any action.
Dean really needed to fly, but they’d been holed up all week on a remote mountainside in Afghanistan, awaiting orders for an assault mission. It was where the Night Stalkers spent most of their time between jobs—in one kind of shithole or another—and Dean itched to get on a real assignment already. Major Thompson was busy with two other soldiers when Dean entered the command tent, but he waved Dean over to the SATCOM phone. It looked like a big cell phone, but it was hooked up to a satellite, and it was only used in emergencies. Dean hesitated for only a split second and then took the call.
Five minutes later, managing only a curt “Yes, sir,” Dean hung up and sat there, his mouth drawn tight.
Major Thompson glanced at him. “Bad news?”
“Yes, sir. My sister’s dead,” Dean said in a clipped, hard voice, his face impassive.
He stood up and waited for the grief to come with saying the words out loud, but all he’d felt was pissed off. He couldn’t begin to tap into his feelings about Jenna. All Dean could focus on was that he had to leave his unit, head to America, and desert his men. But there was no question that he’d need to go on at least a two-week emergency leave and figure out what to do. After hearing from the Red Cross about his sister, Colonel Matthews immediately called him. He had pretty much ordered him to go, and when Dean had an order he followed it, plain and simple. He was needed in the States. His sister was gone, and she’d left behind a kid.
“Jesus! I’m sorry to hear that, Pierce.”
Dean didn’t answer. His stomach had twisted into knots.
OVER THE next few hours, in some kind of trance, Dean packed his things and made flight arrangements. Or, more accurately, Lieutenant Aaron Weiss, his bunkmate and only friend, had packed for him. Dean had mostly sat there. Weiss was good at taking care of things like that. He was often in charge of getting the choppers ready, and a pretty good pilot besides.
“Do you want to talk?” Weiss asked.
A muscle ticked in Dean’s jaw.
“Right. Of course you don’t,” Weiss answered for him. “Stupid question. Do me a favor, Pierce? When you’re around civilians, try to use actual words. Grunting doesn’t work so well out there. Try to communicate.”
“I’m the flight lead. I tell the men what to do all the time. I communicate.”
“I meant on the actual ground.” Weiss’s eyes lit with humor. He was small and wiry, and Dean towered over him, but Weiss gave as good as he got.
Dean spoke haltingly, “This is a mistake. I’m not some fucking babysitter. I don’t even know why I’m going.”
“But you’re going anyway. Aren’t you?”
Dean said nothing.
Weiss came over and sat beside him. “Try to have a little faith.”
“Not me. I leave all that to the religious types like you.” Although, truth be told, Dean would have liked God on his side, especially in some hot landing zone where he flew in a Little Bird on a direct action mission and the enemy was pounding them.
Or right now.
“Better a rabbi than a redneck.” Weiss gave a sly grin. He was aware of the nickname—the Rabbi—that the other Stalkers had given him, partly because Weiss was the only Jewish guy in the group and partly because he wore his convictions like a compass and never let the teasing bother him. Dean didn’t have a nickname, and he was painfully aware that the other Stalkers didn’t feel comfortable enough to give him one. “And before you tell me how Arizona is cowboys and not rednecks, let me add that there really is only one place to be in America for true civilization, and it has bagels and Broadway and—you’d better stop me before I burst into a Billy Joel song. God, I miss New York. Don’t you miss your home too? Even a little?”
“Got nothing to miss.”
“Oh. Shit, Pierce, that’s depressing. If it makes you feel any better, you’re too good a pilot for the army not to drag you back here. You might even be back in time for the next assignment.”
“I’ll be back before that.” Dean gave Weiss a sharp look. “Count on it.” He grabbed his bag, slapped Weiss’s back in farewell, and left the tent.
Once he got outside, though, Dean slowed down his pace. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sound of choppers as they lifted up into the sky, the helo maneuvering right above him. What the hell would he do without that sound every day?
ONE JEEP ride and two long flights later, Dean was finally headed Stateside. The plane took off, roaring to life, a thousand-pounds-plus of bird flying into the air with a bit of lift. Dean always loved takeoff, but not this time. He couldn’t believe he was going to be in Phoenix soon, an area he’d vowed never to return to. Despite his efforts to move forward, always forward, the place had lingered inside of him. Dean stared out his window. Phoenix like the mythical creature, rising out of the ash. That was his life all right. Returning him to something he’d long ago buried.
The plane hit a patch of rough air, and the woman near him gripped her armrest. It was only turbulence, but Dean could see that a logical explanation might not make any difference to her. He would have smiled at her reassuringly, but her eyes were squeezed closed. A more experienced pilot would have avoided the difficult air. These airline types depended on their computers too much anyhow. Chopper pilots know how to really fly. On a clear day, maybe at dawn, there was nothing better than a sturdy Chinook flaring up, ready to go, its massive spinning rotors zooming through the clouds.
Dean managed a few hours of sleep on the plane but still didn’t feel rested when they landed with a jolt. The line moved slowly, and he was nearly the last one off the plane. At the airport shop, he grabbed a bite to eat, including a pack of licorice and some M&M’s. There were no ATMs where the Stalkers had been in Afghanistan, and it felt odd to use one and to actually buy junk food. Dean bought a book too, a thriller, another luxury, since most of the guys just passed around the few books they had. Then Dean checked the address where his niece was staying. He’d left so quickly that he knew none of the details beyond it. He felt stupid about that now, and it didn’t help his mood any to walk a freaking mile to the tiny shuttle that took him to the car rental agency.
The man in the Hertz office was middle-aged and had stringy brown hair. He pushed a bunch of forms at Dean, explaining that while he understood Dean’s need for legroom—and with that he’d glanced up at Dean’s large frame—he still couldn’t help him. All he had left were smaller cars. He took a sip of his dark coffee and shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”
Dean would’ve liked to have left it, instead of shelling out his hard-earned money to drive some damn compact, foreign piece of junk, but since a dozen other people were waiting for cars, he took it. As he passed the others, he was torn between feeling lucky to escape and imagining he was going to a worse place. Although he could have tried another car rental agency in the airport, Dean was too tired from the long flight to want to wait in another huge line with no guarantee of a better car. Besides, he needed to get all this over with as soon as possible.
Weiss was wrong. Dean already regretted being there. What could he do to help some kid? Nobody had ever helped him, and he’d done all right. Dean ducked his head, still nearly banging it on the roof of the car, and left the airport. Even with his foot sitting heavily on the pedal, the car barely reached seventy on the highway. Junk. He should have held out for something with some guts. Giving up on the useless car going any faster, Dean chewed some candy, put on some soft rock, and tried to relax. The GPS told him in firm, female tones where to go, and he followed the directions out of Phoenix and onto the highway. Even though he’d grown up in the city, Dean had never really made it to too many places outside of it. He hadn’t seen anything, really, until he’d left for the army, and he’d never even heard of Glamour, the town where his niece was staying, but according to the GPS, it was only a forty-five-minute drive.
As he drove, his shoulder felt a bit stiff, and he rubbed it. For a moment, he contemplated stopping to pick up some ibuprofen, but Dean hated taking any drugs. He’d exercise it later. That usually did the trick. He worried about what his regiment was doing. They weren’t supposed to mobilize for at least ten days, but in Afghanistan, anything could change at any time. Night Stalkers flew. Determined or hungry or terrified, they flew. Dean didn’t want to know if they’d suddenly left on a job without him. Even if they hadn’t gone out yet, they were doing important training. The Night Stalkers were in the middle of testing low-flying capabilities with extra men—each equipped with over seventy pounds of gear—and delivering them safely into the enemy’s backyard. For the Rangers and SEALs depending on the Night Stalkers to transport or rescue them, this training was crucial, and Dean was missing it.
He glanced out his window at the scenery as he turned off the highway. Welcome to Glamour, Arizona! Dean looked around. The sign lied. There didn’t seem to be anything glamorous about Glamour. It was a tiny, dusty-looking town with only a few sparse cacti dotting the streets. It looked more like a place for gunslingers than beauty.
Dean eyed Main Street. There weren’t any fast-food restaurants or discount stores in sight, he’d give it that much, although there had been plenty of them on the road outside the town. Maybe it had a certain charm, Dean thought grudgingly as he went past the post office and Wells Fargo Bank. Most of the other buildings were cutesy little shops of some kind or another, none of them looking as if they were part of any larger chains.
He sped down the main street in less than five minutes. The GPS guided him right past the town and into a more rural area. The houses here were well kept at least, and there was even some life. Dean saw a few kids playing and two women outside watching them. He drove past a slightly curved road and onto the street where his niece was staying. He could see mountains in the distance now, and even with the air conditioner on full blast, he could feel the hot whip of the desert sun.
Turning his car into a small, circular driveway, Dean parked and then sat for a long moment. He was used to pressure. Just last month, he’d been on a recon mission, trying to make it out of the enemy terrain with all his guys intact. Flying the birds with the barest amount of infrared light, bullets zinging off his blades—that was rough. That was pressure. So why was he shaking in his combat boots at the thought of facing his thirteen-year-old niece? Why was he was quaking like a damn baby?
With a shaky breath, he forced himself to get out of the car.
The house was painted a cheery yellow. There were a number of desert plants in the front and a nice-sized porch. Dean stretched, pulling his left arm over his head, and then his right one. He walked toward the front door.
“Crap! Oh damn.” There was a sudden thump. Curious, Dean turned toward the noise and headed to the back of the house. It was a fairly big yard with some well-loved lawn furniture circling a fire pit filled with lava rocks. There was also a lush garden blooming with desert marigolds, sunflowers, and aloe plants. A tiny grotto stood in the center of the garden with a pretty statue of the Blessed Mother there. Dean wasn’t religious at all, but there was something inviting about all the bursts of colorful flowers surrounding the statue. What really drew his attention, however, was the man standing on his tiptoes while facing a shed near the left of the garden, trying to put a cardboard box on an extremely high shelf. The shelf was already jam-packed, and Dean watched him shoving at the box to try to make it fit.
“Crap,” the man cried again as the box started to tumble down at him. Dean moved quickly and grabbed the guy with one hand, catching the wayward box with his other. There was no way that box would fit on that shelf. Why he didn’t simply empty the entire shed out and do it correctly, lining everything inside it up in neat sections, was beyond Dean.
“You should stack these better and they wouldn’t fall,” Dean said, his voice a bit raspy from the long flight and hours of not speaking.
“Um, yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that next time. Haven’t opened up this shed in forever, and I forgot what a family of pack rats we are.”
Dean didn’t comment. He let go of the guy, who immediately rubbed his arm. Dean could see where his fingers had left a red mark.
“Didn’t mean to be rough. Wanted to grab you before that box hit your head.”
“No, that’s fine. I was just caught off guard.” The other man was staring at him, and Dean pulled a little at his collar. He forgot how oddly civilians sometimes viewed the military. He hoped he wasn’t going to get lectured about politics or anything. He had enough on his mind with the kid. Dean put the box down on the grass.
“You must be Nicki’s uncle?”
At Dean’s nod, his gaze swept over Dean’s uniform. Nope, it wasn’t judgment in his face; it was admiration. Dean breathed a little easier. He could handle a lot of questions about the Night Stalkers. This guy would probably go on about all the reasons he’d wanted to join the military but never did. Dean got that a lot.
“I’m Anthony Carrino.”
“Captain Dean Pierce.”
“I’m really glad you decided to be here for Nicki. She’s at the movies with my dad right now, and nobody else is home, but you’re welcome to come in. I’d like to talk with you, actually, before you meet her. She’s a bit fragile. Even before Jenna’s accident, Nicki had trouble in school and—”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“What? Nicki’s trouble?”
“No. The accident.”
“You don’t know the details?”
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. He ran his hand through his thick brown hair that curled just at the nape of his neck. Dean braced himself for what he’d say.
“It was a car accident. The truck driver had been driving here from Texas and fell asleep at the wheel. He T-boned Jenna’s car as she was coming home from work—Oh God, I’m sorry. This is coming out horribly.”
“It’s all right. I asked you.”
“Still, I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine if one of my sisters—” He bit down on his lip.
“It’s fine.”
But Dean could picture it now: the glass shattering, metal twisting, the acrid smell of gasoline, Jenna’s second of pure terror. He was used to death. He’d seen plenty of good men and women blown up or shot at in combat, but this was his sister, and even if they’d lost touch, it still ripped at his guts.
“You know,” Anthony said, giving him a speculative glance, “we didn’t even know about you for some time. Jenna never mentioned having a brother.”
“We fell out of contact. You said the kid was having trouble in school, even before Jenna was…?” He couldn’t get himself to say the words Jenna and killed together. Instead, Dean began to take some of the boxes out of the shed and reorganize them.
He could feel Anthony’s gaze on him again, and he tried to ignore the sizzle of awareness that shot through him. He needed to focus on why he was there and not on this guy’s handsome, almost pretty face and his hard, lean body. Jesus, nothing about this situation seemed real. He wasn’t used to chaos and mess, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. Dean gripped one box tightly until his knuckles turned white, then forced himself to let it go. He lifted it a second time and slid it into place. He sorted through a few more boxes, organizing them too.
“We can take this one step at a time, okay? I’ll tell you what. Let me show you the house and her room, and then I’ll be happy to share with you all about Nicki. Mr. Haines, her social worker, and my father, who is Nicki’s temporary foster parent, must be involved in all this too. We can all sit down together and talk.”
“I thought you were her foster parent.”
“Me? No. I’m her guidance counselor at school, and I’ve come to care about Nicki, so when this happened, I asked my dad for a favor.”
“Why?”
“He and my mom have taken in a few kids over the years, and they’ve known Mr. Haines for a long time. Only my mom’s out of town right now and couldn’t help. She’s with my sister, Stacey, who is having a difficult pregnancy. Mom insisted on flying off to New Jersey to look after Stacey’s girls. Stacey told her that she could manage, but nothing stops Mom when she insists on something. Luckily, Dad agreed to take in Nicki for me. Mom will help out too, of course, when she comes back. And God, I’m rambling on about my family. Sorry. I do that sometimes.”
Anthony paused. He looked at Dean expectantly.
“Anyway,” Anthony continued when Dean didn’t speak, “it’s temporary. Mom and Dad stopped taking in kids on a long-term basis a while ago, so we’ll still need to work out a more permanent foster home for Nicki.”
Dean jammed his hands into his pockets. The word “foster home” left a vile taste at the back of his throat.
Anthony motioned for Dean to follow him. “Come into the house. We might as well get to know each other a little more.”
Reluctantly, Dean followed.
He could do this. It would be a week, two at the most. He’d treat it like a job. Go in, do the mission, get out. Then he’d be back in Afghanistan where he belonged.
The minute Anthony opened the back door, a golden retriever puppy bounded right at him, nearly tripping him.
“Oh, hiya, Moose. You crazy dog.” He laughed. “This is the true baby of the house, Nicki’s puppy, Moose.”
“Her puppy?”
“Yeah.” Anthony cocked his head. “Do you like dogs?”
Dean looked at the puppy. Moose had his head cocked too, just like Anthony.
“They’re okay.”
“Oh. Let me put him into his crate. I’m really supposed to be keeping him there most of the day to train him, but he cries so much. The other night, I went down and slept beside him.”
Dean said nothing, and after an awkward moment, Anthony caged the puppy.
It was a pretty nice house, better than most Dean had been inside of, anyhow. The kitchen was big and roomy. It had a big pantry that was half-open and filled to the brim with cereals and chips and pastas. The appliances were stainless steel and very modern-looking. At the end of the hallway was a great room with a damn nice plasma-screen television front and center. But it wasn’t luxurious or cold. The sofa was well used, and the glass table had a small nick in the corner. Somebody had collected or made doilies too. There were intricate patterns crocheted and on display in several places, some tucked under lamps or vases and others hanging in the china cabinet. Dean wondered offhand who sewed them. He had an urge to run his finger down one. He rarely saw anything so delicate. The house was neat but not immaculate. There were magazines spread out on the coffee table and a pair of sneakers by the front door. Still taking it all in, Dean followed Anthony up the stairs. They climbed up to the second floor, which was dimly lit but smelled nice, like roses. Maybe Anthony’s family went in for that potpourri stuff, or maybe it was cleaner. Whatever it was, Dean took another appreciative sniff. Army barracks, even the good ones, didn’t smell like flowers.
“This is where Nicki is staying for right now. It isn’t perfect, but I think she’s comfortable.”
He led Dean down the hallway and opened a door for him to walk through. Funny thing, the way his stomach tightened up. The kid wasn’t even in there, yet Dean had to tell himself to breathe. He strode past Anthony and into the room.
Dean looked around. The walls were a bright blue, and there was a decent bed loaded with pillows. There was also a wall of books. Most of them were about cars or about the lives of various basketball players like Michael Jordan and Larry Bird.
“Is this your room?”
“Yeah. Well, when I was a kid. Up until a few months back, I was living in my own place in Mesa and commuting to work here in Glamour. But my mom never bothered to change it too much.” He looked around absently, gliding his hand over one of the books. “I never imagined I’d end up back here.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Dean turned and inspected the rest of the room. On the desk was a backpack, half-open, crammed with papers and notebooks. It was purple and had some pop singer on the front of it. Pink maybe? Dean wasn’t sure. A bunch of nail polish sat next to it, as though the kid had painted her nails instead of doing her homework, and next to that was a Wii game. At least Dean wasn’t so out of touch that he didn’t recognize Mario.
Dean started to say as much to Anthony when he noticed a tangle of blankets in the closet. He walked closer, seeing an old air mattress in there too. Was his niece sleeping in here and not on the bed? Why? Dean slowly shifted his weight from side to side. Anthony seemed like a good guy, but Dean had lived long enough, had survived enough shit, to know that people were often not what they seemed, and all kinds of things happened behind closed doors. He and Jenna had both learned that the hard way.
“Why is the kid sleeping in there?” His voice came out low and gravelly.
“What?”
“Don’t deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Anthony gave him a puzzled look. “We offered her the twins’ old room, but she liked mine. Since I was already set up in our guest room, I was fine with that. She has the bed, of course. But we kept finding Nicki curled up in the closet in the morning. So I blew up that air mattress for her and gave her some blankets. Believe me, I’d rather she sleeps in a bed too, but I guess she needs a small space. I think it feels good to her, safe or something. She’s starting with a therapist soon, and I was going to bring it up. For now, I talked with the social workers, and we all agreed to let Nicki dictate her needs. As long as she’s not hurting herself. I can see this upsets you, but it’s what she seems to want.”
Dean stared hard into Anthony’s hazel eyes, flecked with gold and brown, and he saw nothing but warmth. Unsettled, Dean watched Anthony move a step closer to him.
“I promise you”—Anthony smiled, his lips curving upward—“the only one living in the closet in this house was me, and I came out swinging.” He made a motion as if he had a bat in his hand.
Dean didn’t answer. He’d never really mastered joking with people. His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. Dean pushed past Anthony and strode into the hallway. He scuffed his shoe at the edge of Anthony’s stairs, feeling pretty ridiculous, and worse, like an ungrateful ass. He shouldn’t have returned to Phoenix. He just didn’t belong there, not in this house, in this town, or with this girl. Dean didn’t belong with regular people. He’d seen too much blood and war. He didn’t know how to be normal; maybe he never had known.
He sensed Anthony coming up behind him and tensed. “She’s all right, Dean. Really.” His voice was soft. “I mean considering what she’s going through, Nicki craving a small space to hide away seemed logical.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? With her sleeping there? With everything? What?”
When Dean didn’t answer, Anthony made an impatient sound. “So why are you so quiet? Or are you upset about what I said before?”
“Before?” Dean turned around.
“About me and the closet? My impulsive, slightly corny joke? You don’t have a problem with my being gay, do you?” Anthony asked, folding his arms at his chest. “Because I’m out at school and here at home, and I plan to stay that way.”
“No. I….” Dean stared at him. He swallowed. “No.”
“Oh, okay.” Anthony’s stance lost some of its hardness. “Good. That reminds me. I forgot to ask you before if you’re involved with anybody. Girlfriend? Wife? I’m asking because of Nicki and how this might fit into things for her.”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“I’m a Night Stalker. Do you even know what that means?”
“I think that you—”
“We’re Special Forces,” Dean interrupted. “We’re the most elite helicopter force in the whole damn world. We fly into enemy territory and navigate our way through it to complete search-and-rescue missions or perform high-risk air assaults. I don’t have time for anything else.” He’d had enough of this bullshit. Dean started quickly down the stairs, taking them two at a time, Anthony at his heels.
As he reached the front door, Dean turned back, and Anthony nearly collided into him. They looked at each other a moment.
“Do you have a hotel yet? You could stay here or I could suggest one. Glamour only has one motel, but there’s a four-star hotel about fifteen minutes from here.”
“No. I don’t need some fancy hotel. A motel close by is fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Anthony held up one hand at Dean’s curt nod. “Wait here a second. Let me at least give you a few things.”
Anthony dashed away before Dean could protest. He heard Anthony moving in the house. He heard the puppy whimper. He was tempted to get into his car and leave, but Anthony came back. He thrust a plastic bag into Dean’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, you know, just some things to make your stay more comfortable.”
Dean glanced into the bag. There were soaps, shampoos, a sleep mask, pillowcases, detergent, and a bunch of quarters.
“The motel has a coin laundry,” Anthony said. “Or you could bring your laundry here. And my sisters can spare all the other stuff. Beauty is their business.” He smiled widely at Dean. “We aim to make our guests comfortable here in Glamour.”
Dean didn’t smile back. After a moment, he managed a fast “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He opened the front door. “Well, I’ll show you where the motel is. You can follow me there.”
“I’ll MapQuest it.”
“Right. Okay.”
Dean took out his phone and Anthony typed in the address.
“It’s not much to look at, but it’s clean. You won’t find a carpet that turns your socks black or anything here. And they give you free coffee and a newspaper in the lobby.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need much.”
Anthony looked as though he expected to say more. Dean had nothing to say. Outside of army talk, he rarely knew what to say to people. God, he was failing at all this already, failing to joke, failing to respond to small talk. He should have stayed with the Stalkers. He needed to get out of there, away from Anthony, and think.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No.”
“I could show you that hotel?”
“No.”
“And you will come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be difficult?”
“What do you mean?” Dean was painfully aware of his shortcomings.
“Nothing.” Anthony shook his head, smiling slightly, studying him. “You’re just not what I’m used to I guess.”
Dean stared back.
“Look,” he said. “Maybe this isn’t fully my place to ask, but I need to know. What exactly is your plan here?”
“Plan?”
“For Nicki?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Anthony paused. He smiled ruefully. “Now I’m the one talking in monosyllables.”
“I’m not good at this,” Dean said. He could feel heat rising to his face. “I don’t belong here. I have no plan for the kid. I came to see her and maybe, I don’t know, get to know her because of my sister or whatever, but… I’ll just fuck her up more.” He heard a note of raw panic in his own voice and fought to control it.
“No, you won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re worried about it. If you would thoughtlessly hurt Nicki, you wouldn’t be worried. Besides, I’m hoping that in the long run meeting you will help her. Everybody needs family, needs somebody, even if they can’t give you everything you want.”
Dean grunted at Anthony’s naïveté, but didn’t try to argue. Spoken like a guy who came from a decent family. Some family was scum, not worth knowing, not worth having.
“I’ll talk to Nicki. All right? If she agrees, then you can come around eleven?”
“Fine,” Dean grunted. Then, realizing he’d only given Anthony a one-word answer again, he added, “Lunch.”
AFTER HE arrived at the motel, Dean unpacked and went to the pool. The only good part about growing up in Arizona had been that almost every crappy place he’d stayed with Jenna came with a crappy pool, and Dean had been a great swimmer from an early age. Dean’s workout usually involved long, intense swimming with his fins on and then a long run, but he made do with what he had. His swim alternated between high bursts of speed and longer, endurance-building laps. He tried not to dwell too much on the long day, Anthony Carrino, or the girl, Nicki. Fuck. He tried to just swim, pushing his body until his muscles burned and his lungs screamed. Water splashed over the edges of the pool as he increased his turning speed, pounding out lap after brutal lap. It didn’t help, not the way it usually did. His body was fatigued, but his nerves were still all fired up.
He made his way to his room and cleaned up in the shower, letting the water hit his back and still-sore shoulder, and then he wrapped himself up in a thin towel at his waist and flopped down on the bed. He had to admit, Anthony’s soap had smelled nice. Kind of like fresh oranges.
He turned the television on and watched a few cheesy sitcoms, but he couldn’t concentrate on them. Dean shut off the TV and tried to sleep. His long legs hung off the bed, and the mattress was way too soft. He was used to hard bunks or even the bare ground. He’d rather be jumping out of a plane than looking into his niece’s face tomorrow. But he’d try. He would go to lunch, attempt to talk with her, find her a decent place to end up. Dean could see his sister’s sad, pretty face right in front of him. It was the least he could do for Jenna.
The very least, Jenna would’ve said.
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered hoarsely into the darkness. He stretched his hand out to the flat pillow, his sister’s face only a blurred memory. He tried to see her features in his mind more clearly and failed. And now… Jenna was dead. They’d never get a chance to put things right. Dean knew he’d screwed up forever, so he dropped his hand to his side, turned away from the pillow, and struggled to sleep. He had a bad feeling about all of this.
Maple Sugar Mixup by Kallie Frost
Chapter One
Jace
The flyer caught my eye and I stopped to study it. A bake sale auction to benefit the children's wing of the hospital! Well, that sounded like a great cause.
While I was reading it my friend and co-worker – if you could consider our very different jobs as co-working – walked by.
“Hey Jace,” he said. “Gonna make something?”
“I think so, Paul,” I said, glancing at the flyer again.
“What are you going to do for the date?”
I double-checked the date of the auction. “It’s on February 14th,” I said.
Paul chucked. “No, the date.”
I looked at him in confusion.
“Read the fine print,” he suggested.
I turned back to the flyer. Sure enough, there was something I had missed; the auction wasn't just for baked goods, it was for a date with the baker.
“Oh,” I said in disappointment. Count me out of this one. “Nevermind.”
I readjusted the way I was carrying my armload of medical files and stepped away from the bulletin board. It was a shame. I didn't have any spare change lying around to give to the hospital, but they were doing great things in the children's wing and I would have loved to be able to support them somehow. Baking would have been a good way to contribute.
“You’re single, aren’t you?” asked Paul.
“By choice,” I said.
“It’s just a date,” he laughed. “Not a commitment.”
“I know…” I took one more look at the flyer.
Sure, it wasn’t a commitment, but as the alpha hosting the date I’d be expected to pay and I sure as hell didn’t have that kind of money. Even if I did have enough to scrape together for a date, there weren’t a lot of omegas who would be very happy with an alpha who could barely afford a night out. It was an alpha’s duty to care for his omega, not to mention their future family.
I hated to admit it, but I could hardly take care of myself. There were days where I ate all three meals in the hospital cafeteria because I couldn’t afford groceries. What omega would want a guy like me?
“You know I can’t afford a fancy date,” I muttered.
Paul may have known, but I was still embarrassed, especially since he had a sweet scholarship that paid for his med school tuition and I knew what he was making now as a doctor.
“It doesn’t say it has to be fancy,” Paul pointed out. “Do something cheap.”
I looked at him skeptically. “Did you see where it’s being held? It’s like the fanciest place in town. Any omega there bidding on a date is not going to be impressed with something cheap. They’re all way out of my league.”
“You're so old fashioned,” Paul snorted. “There are plenty of omegas out there who earn more than their alphas.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, shaking my stack of medical files in his direction. “You’re already happily married to a stay-at-home-omega.”
“I didn’t go traditional by choice; we fell in love and that’s just how it worked out,” said Paul. “Believe me, Jace, when you meet the right omega, he isn’t going to care how much money you have.”
He was right; I knew that, I really did. But my parents had been strictly traditional when it came to alpha and omega roles. The idea that I would be the one providing for my omega had been drummed into me since I was old enough to know what an omega was.
My parents would have been absolutely mortified if I even considered being with an omega who was financially above my station. Then again, they would also have been mortified by my current living conditions, which were well below the standards they would have set for an alpha. On the bright side, they weren't around anymore to know.
And on the other side of that, their untimely deaths had come with a lot of unforeseen financial complications that left me scrambling to make ends meet before they were even in the ground.
“I should get back to work,” I said, adjusting my pile one more time.
“I’ll bid on you,” Paul said just as I started off.
“What?” I asked, turning back in confusion.
Paul laughed and pointed to the flyer. “I was going to donate anyway. Allie isn’t big on baking and I think she’d be pretty jealous if I tried to set up a date with an omega for myself… so, you bake something, put it on the auction table, and I’ll bid on it. Then we both get to contribute and you don’t have to go on a date.”
“You don’t have to do that to make me feel better.”
“I guarantee I'll spend more bidding on whatever you make than I would just flat out donate. Hell, I’ll keep a number in mind and if I end up bidding less, I’ll donate the remainder anyway. And if it costs me more, everyone wins.”
I did want to do my part and help out. And there weren’t many other ways I could contribute, short of kicking ass as a receptionist.
“Tell you what,” I said, not quite believing I was agreeing. “You promise to place the winning bid and I’ll do it.”
“Deal,” said Paul. I heard a beep and he pulled out his phone and checked it. “Gotta run.”
“Later, Doc.”
~~~***~~~
Before I knew it, the day of the auction arrived and I headed over with my chosen treat: maple candy.
As soon as I saw some of the fancy selections, I knew I had made the right choice. My maple candy was plain and boring; exactly what I needed to avoid people bidding on it. The only decoration, if you could call it that, was the ivy leaf shape mold I used. My grandmother had spend years wasting time with a maple leaf mold that only made six at a time. When she found an eighteen-piece mold, she was so excited she didn’t realize it was ivy and not maple leaves. Her baking partner, and best friend, had loved them, so they turned it into their own little inside joke and kept using them. The pan had been passed down to me and I was happy to keep using it.
I smiled fondly at the memory of standing over the stove with Grandma Sophia; eager to lick the spoon when she was done. She always brought a jug of fresh maple syrup when she came to visit and we made the maple candy together.
“And this is?” asked the woman checking me in.
“Maple candy,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow at me, then wrote it down. I wondered if everything else had a fancy name. Good, one less thing to attract an omega.
“What’s your designation?”
“Alpha.”
“And the date?” she asked.
“Um… It’s February…” I started to pull out my phone to check.
“No,” she said, stifling a laugh. “The date for the auction.” She jabbed her pen toward one of the cards on a fancy basket.
I leaned over to read it.
Roasted Almond Toffee Chocolates. Dinner at the Opera House.
Crap. I racked my brains, trying to think of a date that would be that would be unappealing. Not to mention cheap. If, for some reason, Paul couldn’t bid or something I needed a date I’d have to actually be able to follow through with.
I thought immediately of my favorite coffee shop. It had free refills, as long as you were drinking black, and tons of used books to peruse. They were rarely crowded and almost never kicked you out before closing to make room. Better yet, when I knew the barista – and I usually did – they’d refill my coffee even if I had something a little fancier and a free unsold baked good or two before closing.
“Coffee and sandwiches at the Mill Street Coffee Shop,” I said. “Tomorrow night.”
Short notice was good too, to minimize bidding.
“The Mill Street Coffee Shop…” she echoed. “And… then?”
“That’s it,” I said, forcing my smile to stay fixed.
“Okay…”
“When they call yours, you go up on stage for the bidding,” she started to say.
“I’m not staying,” I said quickly. “I uh… have to work.”
“Right,” she muttered. “And I need your contact information so the omega can contact you for the date details.”
I sighed and gave her the information, then pushed out through the well-dressed crowd. With any luck Paul would place a decent bid and make this all worth it; I’d contribute to the Children’s Hospital and I had an excuse to make Grandma’s maple candy.
I headed back to my crummy apartment and, with nothing better to do, decided to read some old favorite, comfort books. Since I was thinking of my grandmother, I grabbed a mystery novel by Victoria Peppers. Although I had never been fortunate enough to meet her, she had been my grandmother’s best friend – the same one she baked maple candy with, in fact. They were so close that Victoria had even given her some of her manuscripts, long before she was published.
Grandma Sophia used to read them to me and passed her love of mystery books on. Not only did I devour them, but I also tried my hand at writing them. Of course, none of my crappy stories would ever see the light of day, especially the ones that borrowed Victoria Peppers’ sleuths and settings. Okay, so maybe I didn’t write books, so much as fanfiction.
Nevertheless, I still read every Victoria Peppers mystery as it came out, even though she had passed some years ago and her daughter had taken over writing them. In my opinion, they were just as good as the originals.
Tonight, however, I chose one of the old classics Victoria had written by herself; one my grandmother had loved.
Once I was settled in and reading, with some extra maple candy to snack on, I almost forgot about the auction.
Then my phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number, but I answered anyway in case it was the hospital; it wasn’t uncommon to get called in to help with busy shifts. With all of the ice and snow we had been seeing an increase in patients.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jace Wagner?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Ashton Basque. I won your maple candy and was calling to uh…”
My stomach dropped out from under me. “I’m sorry, what?” I said.
“I bid on your maple candy at the auction. For the children’s hospital? I won and was told to contact you to arrange the date.”
I clenched the phone and sucked in a sharp breath. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!
“It’s tomorrow night. Um, at eight. At the Mill Street Coffee Shop. It’s in the—”
“I know where it is.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said reluctantly.
“See you then.” There was something flat and wholly unenthusiastic about his voice.
I hung up and nearly chucked my phone across my small apartment. “Are you kidding me?!” I spat instead.
I quickly dial Paul's number.
“Dr. Sullyfield.”
“Paul, what the hell?!” I demanded.
“Sorry?”
“An omega just called me! He said he won my maple candy and wanted to set up the date.”
“Oh,” Paul groaned. “I was gonna call you, I guess he's on the ball.”
“On the ball?” I snorted. “What happened?!”
“He outbid me.”
“You promised!”
“I know,” Paul groaned. “It was just…”
“Tell me this wasn’t some complicated scheme to rope me into a date,” I growled.
“No, no. He was a former patient and he really wanted the maple candy and… Look, I’m sorry, really. It’s just one date. He’s sweet.”
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“One date. It won’t be the end of the world.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you at work.”
I hung up with a groan. Who was this omega? I had the plainest candy and the cheapest, most boring date, and he bid on it anyway?
Not to say an evening in a quiet coffee shop wasn’t an ideal date in my opinion, but I didn't think it would have been that appealing to most people. This was going to be nothing short of embarrassing.
With a sign, I sagged down onto my couch, trying to avoid the spots where the uncomfortable springs poked up. I tried to remind myself that Paul was right; it was just one date. One night and then done. With that in mind, I sought out the last couple pieces of maple candy and munched on them to make myself feel better.
Always by RJ Scott
Chapter One
Cam
“He was lucky to get away with seven years,” Jim, my exhausted counsel, and only real friend took a seat opposite me in the small room off the main corridor of the courthouse. I hadn’t been able to afford a lawyer of my own, and when Jim had turned up at my door, telling me he was my court-appointed liaison, I was horrified. I needed better representation, but how would I pay for any of it?
Turned out he was the best thing to happen to me. He’d done everything to keep me from being dragged into the case by the DA who insisted I must know things I wasn’t revealing. Hell, I wish I had known something that would help put my husband behind bars because his actions had put Finn—my son—in danger.
How could I know anything when I’d coasted through the last few years in a daze of uncertainty, lies, and pain?
Finn hiccupped a sob into my neck. I held my son so tight that I hoped he felt safe. He didn’t need to hear anything else about what his other dad had done, or how hard Jim had to fight behind the scenes to exclude paper thin lies created by my husband’s team.
The defense had painted Graeme as a solid family man who’d simply found himself caught up in things he had no control over. They’d been lying. If there was one thing the court case had shown everyone it was that Graeme had had all the control all of the time. Over money, and people.
Over me.
Graeme had been born into a rich family, given more money than he knew what to do with and went on to hold a respected position with a group of investment managers who’d courted him as if he were a king. He was a smooth talker, able to con even the most normal of people. Even me.
Pathetic. Idiotic. Blind. Me.
Falling for Graeme had just been step one in a tragic story. I’d fucked up, and I should never have fallen under Graeme’s spell or allowed him to control me as he had.
I’m a strong, principled man who knows right from wrong. I’m a good dad.
Repeat as needed.
“There’s nothing lucky about what happened to us,” I whispered back, aware that Finn, huddled into my side, could hear everything I said, and some of it I never wanted him to know. Thankfully, Finn hadn’t been in court for the long closing statements, sitting instead in this small room with a kindly court officer who’d played computer games with him and fetched him lunch. I’d been on my own to listen to the defense as they lied to explain away what Graeme had done as trying to please his money-obsessed husband. It was apparently my fault. He loved me too much. He wanted to please me. Me? I’d never wanted a single dime of his money.
I wanted a family, a husband who didn’t fuck about on me, a dad for Finn who cared enough to be at home. I didn’t want money, or maids, or a chef who lived half the week in our house, or private schools and exotic holidays, although that was how I was painted. They argued that the pressure on Graeme was intense, and the defense team cited me wanting Italian marble tiles in a bathroom as the straw that broke the camel’s back. I never said anything about a bathroom, let alone tiles.
The lies were many, and through all of it I could see the way people stared at me, one of them, an angry white-haired man, never took his eyes off me. Simon Frederickson had everything going for him—a newly retired pension fund manager he was expecting a retirement full of good things. But, he’d bet everything on Graeme which was the start of his downfall. He’d been a key witness for the prosecution and had given gut-wrenching testimony about how he’d lost everything, his money, security, family, his entire life—and it had all been Graeme’s fault. Simon had become my touchstone in this whole thing. From watching him I could see the lies that would be believed, and the way the jury was slowly buying into the defense’s rhetoric.
It was somehow all my fault, and the way that the witnesses stared at me, Simon included, showed me what they thought.
I could see the point where every single one of them thought I was getting away with hiding money, living the life, and that I needed to pay as well. My only blessing was that there was not a single shred of evidence to say I was involved.
There wouldn’t be, because I wasn’t part of what Graeme had done, unless my naïveté counted. I just wish I could push the guilt away, because they were right in one way—I should have known. Finn shifted in my hold, but it wasn’t to move away, it was to bury himself even closer and I smoothed my hand on his back.
“What next?” I asked Jim, staring right into his eyes, able to see the very moment where optimism and relief died, replaced with defeat.
“The house is gone,” he said.
“We knew it would be.”
The house was where I’d thought we’d be happy, where I thought I could give Finn the life he deserved, where I’d fallen in love. But now, all I could recall was Graeme in the kitchen holding a knife, a lifeless body next to him, as he held a pity party for one where he blamed everything except himself for cold-blooded murder.
How does a man kill another person and not end up behind bars with a life sentence?
The prosecution had wanted him put away for anything they could find. They’d settled for a plea bargain, in exchange for passwords to a multi-million dollar bitcoin account, and now Graeme was locked away for seven years for the white-collar crime of embezzlement. Seemed to me as if other people’s money had helped him again, and I could feel the weight of everyone staring at me in court.
“There’s no money in any accounts, it’s all gone.”
I nodded. Every cent that was legitimately mine was in my backpack—all five thousand dollars that I’d stashed away over the last six months from helping out on small renovations in my spare time. It wasn’t enough to start over, let alone even rent a place, but it would get us a bus ticket away from here.
He held out his hand, and I managed to shake his without dislodging Finn. “It’s been a pleasure working on your behalf.” He crouched in front of us, his round glasses reflecting my image. “Finn?”
Finn stirred in my arms and finally peeked out of my coat, his dark hair mussed and his eyes red from crying. “Yes, sir?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. You look after your daddy if you can, but also, let your daddy look after you. Pinkie swear?” He held out a pinkie, and Finn didn’t hesitate to offer his as they shook, and then Finn buried himself again. With a smile that softened his normally stern face, Jim patted Finn’s knee before nodding to me. “You know how to reach me if you need any advice.”
“Thank you for all you did, Jim. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“You’re welcome—I’m not bad for court-appointed counsel, right?” His eyes twinkled, and I winced, recalling our first conversation where I’d told him outright that we needed a real lawyer who could look out for me and Finn. He’d been better than any high priced lawyer I could’ve imagined.
“Not bad at all,” I turned the joke back on myself, and we exchanged smiles. He was filing divorce paperwork as a favor, and I knew I’d never be able to pay him back in this lifetime.
“This is for you,” he held out a large envelope, and I took it without hesitation, used to being passed this and that, and long past questioning anything. “It arrived by courier to our office, but it’s addressed to you. Is it something I need to deal with?”
I needed to open it and see, so sitting on the hard bench with my nine-year-old son crying in my arms, I managed to open the envelope, and pulled out a handwritten note. I skimmed to the name at the bottom—Nick. My chest hollowed with pain. Why was Nick writing me notes when I’d told him to stay out of my life? What did Nick have to do with me right now? As far as I was concerned I’d burned any bridges between me and my best friend a long time ago.
“Cam? Are you okay? You look pale. Do I need to get help?”
I shook my head. “It’s from an old friend.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Only when he was gone did I pull the note out again to read it.
Dear Cam,PLEASE READ.I found a place for you to stay. I promise Finn will be safe from the media circus there. All the details are in the other envelope.Don’t be stubborn about this. Don’t run. You don’t even have to see me. Just come home.Nick.
Inside the other smaller envelope were details of someone called Adam Williams, and an address in La Jolla, San Diego, not far from where I’d grown up in Carlsbad in the same neighborhood as Nick.
Nick had started as my childhood nemesis, then become my very best friend, and even my boyfriend for one night, until a kiss had determined that we were better off as brothers than boyfriends. He’d been the one to support me when I’d adopted Finn—I’d asked him to be Finn’s godfather—that was how much he’d been part of my life. I’d been unnecessarily cruel to Nick when he’d called me just after Graeme had been arrested. He’d asked if I wanted help. I’d still thought my husband was some kind of innocent victim, and with hindsight I’d acted in an emotional form of self-defense. The last thing I needed was Nick to say I-told-you-so because he’d never liked Graeme at all.
I’d asked him to leave me alone, irrationally distrustful and harsh. He’d backed off… so why was he contacting me now? Shocked, worried, uncertain about what I was reading, I sat for the longest time, hugging my son, and spiraling back to that last conversation with Nick when I’d told him that he couldn’t understand what I was going through and to leave me and Finn alone.
How could I face him? Was it even possible that San Diego was the right place to stay for a while? Was it time to go home? Finn and I had been living out of suitcases in a cheap motel, sharing a room for so long it had become our normal, we spent most of our time dodging journalists and people hurt by what Graeme had done. At times I feared for our lives.
So, what is keeping me in New York?
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What do we do now?”
I didn’t have a clue. New York was nothing to us. No friends. Nowhere to live. No money. And, worst of all, the media frenzy around us that wouldn’t abate for a long while. And in the middle of it all, Finn.
“I think we need to head home.”
He stiffened in my hold, and pulled back. “I don’t want to go there. Can’t we go back to the motel?”
We wouldn’t be going back to that motel now, everything we’d left there was going to stay, not that it was much. I’d already put a plan in place for us to slip away, but never with a destination fixed in my mind. I pressed a kiss to his head. “We already talked about this, you don’t have to worry, we’re not staying in New York and we have plans, right?”
“A horse place in Montana with a river.”
“And a new job for me.”
“And I can get a dog.”
I side-hugged him. “Yep, a dog of your own. But we can’t do that straight away, we need to…” hide, avoid the press, lick our wounds. “… just take some time. Back to my old home, California, then it will be you and me against the world, Finn.”
He processed the information with a frown, his eyes red from crying and his hair in tufts where he’d hidden in my hold. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck, tight as he’d done since last June, over a year ago. Everything in his world had been destroyed, he wasn’t going back to the private school. He didn’t have friends here. It was the two of us, starting over.
“You and me against the world, Finn,” I repeated, and felt his tears hot on my skin.
I’m not sure either of our hearts would heal from this.
But we had to try.
Security guided me to the exit, but determined journalists had gathered outside, a whole mess of them waiting, and I hovered inside, hiding Finn behind me. I could see the road to the train station, and if we could just get there then we could make it anywhere.
I crouched in front of Finn, zipped up his coat, pulled up his hood, and clicked the snaps so that the lower half of his face was hidden and the furry hood shielded his eyes. I did the same with my coat, and then I gripped his hand and pointed out of the front window.
“You remember what we’re doing now.”
“Running away,” he said with renewed confidence.
“It’s the last thing we have to do. Just as we planned, okay, we’re heading for McDonald’s. Can you see it?”
Finn nodded, and swiped at the tears on his face with his free hand.
“Don’t let go of me,” I said. “If you get scared I’ll carry you.”
He was nine, small for his age, I could easily carry him, but he pushed his shoulders back and shook his head.
“No carrying.”
“That’s my boy,” I praised, even as my chest tightened.
Then, we opened the door.
“Cam! Where’s the money?”
“Cameron Hastings! Did you agree with the sentencing?”
“Can you give us an interview, Mr. Hastings?”
“Cam! Over here! Over here! Did you lie for your husband?”
“Is your son okay?”
“Cam! Cam! How is it possible that you don’t know where the missing money is?”
It broke my fucking heart that I didn’t know about the money, or where it’d gone, and that I couldn’t give back what Graeme had stolen. It killed me that people had lost everything, and that somehow I was part of the awful loss they’d experienced. If I’d seen what was happening then maybe I could have done something—stopped him. A blanket of despair settled on my shoulders, and for a second I indulged the hopelessness, before shoving it away. I was going to give Finn a new start, and it didn’t matter about the rest of it—Finn had seen too much, and he needed a safe place where he could learn to be a kid again.
“You fucking asshole!” Simon Frederickson was there, eyes sparking with temper, his lips twisted in a snarl, reaching for me and Finn, and yelling in my face. This wasn’t the first time he’d come at me, but this time I had Finn at my side and I moved to protect him.
“Sir!” Security moved in.
Everything inside me snapped, and I reached out to grip Simon’s arm. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. You have to believe me.”
“I have nothing!” he screamed in my face, and next to me Finn buried himself in my side.
“I wish I could help you.”
“I will make you pay, you fucking lying piece of shit.”
“Sir!” Security bundled him off me, my hold on him ripped away, and then with utter determination I shoved through the crowd. Other security attempted to keep the media away but god knows who else was in this crowd who hated us. I couldn’t breathe until we made it through the barrier which trapped the journalists long enough for us to get to the crossing, over the road, and into McDonald’s. The media followed us, I glanced back to see Simon face down on the sidewalk, the cops there, and I wanted to go back and plead with them to take care of him. He had a family—a wife undergoing cancer treatment, two kids with families of their own, and he had no money. He’d been destroyed more than I was.
Please don’t hurt him. I almost went back.
“Dad?” Finn tugged my sleeve, and that dragged me back from compassion to fear in an instant. I had to keep Finn safe. We took the side door, went through a book store, left via the rear exit, hid in a Starbucks for a few minutes, doubled back on ourselves, and finally I felt we might be free from being followed. Cautiously, I headed for the station, Finn holding my hand, blending in with the tourists, and went straight in with a group to find the lockers, opened the one we’d rented the month before and pulled out our bags. Once inside the bathroom I messed up my styled hair, pulling it down to frame my face, then shoved a scarlet NY beanie on, took off my coat and dumped it on the floor, and then set about helping Finn to reverse his two-sided jacket, adding a matching NY beanie. I changed out of my suit into jeans and a jersey, and then, with Finn watching, I hacked away at the beard I’d let grow long, taking it back to smooth skin as much as I could. All I had in the bags was a couple more change of clothes, all the cash I had left in the world, our passports, and as many of Finn’s baby photos as I could fit.
I don’t know what was in Finn’s bag—I’d let him pack it himself, to take reminders of our old life that would see him through enough until we could go home one day and get more.
Home? It’s not our home anymore.
“You remember what to say if anyone talks to us?” I wrapped the suit and coat in a bundle and pushed it into a plastic bag. I’d drop it with one of the homeless guys outside, surely I could do one more good thing before we vanished.
Finn blinked up at me, his eyes full of tears, but his shoulders were back and determination was written in every line of him. My little man was so brave, even after everything I’d allowed to happen. “I remember. I have to say we’re going to visit family, and I can’t talk to anyone about anything else. Oh, and my name is Finn Bellamy, not Finn Hastings anymore.” He worried at the zipper on his coat and I knew he had something else he wanted to say. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Will people ever stop hating you?”
I thought of all the people searching for someone to blame and turning their gazes on Finn and me. They were right to accuse me of being naïve, they could harass me and call me every name under the sun, but they weren’t touching Finn. I just knew they weren’t going to stop for a long time.
“They will do one day, I’m sure,” I lied, and then patted his head. “Ready for an adventure?”
“I don’t know, Dad, I’m scared.”
My heart cracked and I cradled his face, staring into his dark eyes and wondering what was the best thing to say. I couldn’t exactly say I would never let anything happen to him because I had so let him down, and I couldn’t promise him that everything was going to be okay, because I didn’t know that. So I went with what Finn’s counselor had said—that honesty was the only way to go.
“I’m scared as well.”
His eyes widened, and he grabbed at me. “You are?”
“How about we both pretend we’re not scared, and get on a bus or a train and head away from here?”
He tugged me close for a hug, almost unbalancing me.
“Okay, Dad.”
I hugged him, then bopped his nose and smiled, waiting until he gave me a returning smile, and only after he did was I ready to leave the confines of the bathroom to find a seat on a train or a bus heading anywhere. For better or worse, we had a destination now—San Diego.
One day Finn and I might return to a life in New York, after all it was a big city, but there was something so warm when I thought of heading west to the place I’d been born. All I had in New York was a shit-ton of miserable memories, and a marriage that had gone to hell, catching Finn in its destructive force. I was happy to leave.
We headed out and tried to lose ourselves again, and it was only when we were on the train that I could even think of relaxing a little.
“Hi, is this seat free?” I looked up and all I saw was white hair. My mind made the connection to Simon Frederickson and fear gripped me. My heart raced, but it was just a random guy looking for a seat, that was all. I was losing my shit—seeing phantoms.
“Yeah, sure.”
The man smiled, then sat down and immediately put in ear buds before closing his eyes. Thank goodness he didn’t want to sit and chat because that was the last thing I needed right now.
I just needed time to think. Finn and I could hide out together for a few months, just while I planned a fresh start and got my head straight. Simon wouldn’t know where we were, nor would others like him whom Graeme had wronged. Neither would the media, or the senders of the hate mail that arrived every day, not for a while at least. I hoped we could be anonymous, to give ourselves time.
“Let’s get this adventure started.”
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
Prologue
Alger
Once Upon a Time
Teaching school paid next to nothing, but I had cheap lodgings and some of the families made me meals from time to time, which helped keep body and soul together. Some did not consider teaching a man’s job, one that could support a family, but at least for the time being, my pleasure in helping to form young minds superseded any other factors.
Especially at the holiday season. On the last day of school before the Christmas vacation break, we suspended regular classes to bring all the classes together in the decorated auditorium for a holiday recital and festivities before sending the children to their frolics until the New Year.
This year, our class would be singing a selection of Christmas carols and I, dressed in the red suit of Saint Nick popularized by Clement Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit from Saint Nicholas would appropriately read that story to close the event. As I prepared for my reading, a little sadness tugged at my heart. It was easy to pretend I had enough time with these children during class terms, but on holidays, when they were with their real families, the loneliness seeped in. Maybe I should have aspired to another career.
Sitting in the armchair placed at the front of the stage, with my students seated on the floor around me, my heart warmed. Sometimes the poverty many of them lived in daunted their spirits, but now smiles of pride at their performance lifted the corners of their lips. They’d indeed done well, and Santa Claus might have taken notice from his North Pole residence. I cleared my throat, bemused at my suspension of logic. Christmastime always made me sentimental, reminded me of my parents and brother, grandparents, all those who’d already departed this realm. They would celebrate the birth of the Christ Child with the angels in heaven, while I sat in my rented room eating whatever someone thought to bring me from their holiday table.
Even my landlady, who often included me in her holidays, would be away. I’d put her on the train myself, this morning, laden with presents and baked goods she’d prepared. I didn’t resent her good fortune this year. Her married daughter had remembered she had a mother for the first time since my arrival and invited her for the festive season. Mrs. Dougherty’s excitement had been contagious, buoying my spirits as I waved until the train disappeared down the tracks.
Such a good soul, she deserved happiness. A tug on my trousers reminded me of where I was, and I began the poem. I recited more than read the beloved verses, putting as much heart into them as possible. My gift to the children whose faces I gazed into every school day, who learned their letters and numbers at my tutelage.
I taught the youngest of them, tasked with giving them a love of learning as much as any specific knowledge. If they had that love, they would do well going forward.
Finishing the reading, I closed the large book on my lap and chuckled as I thought Saint Nicholas might have before going up the chimney after laying out the gifts for the children of the house in the story.
Silence for a moment had me worried I’d not done justice to the tale, but then appreciative applause reassured me. The book was one my mother read the same story to me from, precious in its faded covers and holding just as much magic now as then. After I finished, the headmaster stood from his seat at the back of the stage and made a short speech. The same speech, word for word, as last year and the year before. But it suited the occasion and sent everyone off with a smile and a wave.
A few other teachers and I supervised some of the older boys putting the auditorium to rights before closing the school for two weeks. When we were done, and all the handmade decorations removed, it looked so dull. But clean and ready for the events of a new term.
As we were leaving, I spotted a bit of litter near the stage, so I bid the others goodbye, said I would lock the doors as I went, and crossed the room to pick it up. Alone, I looked around again. Just an hour or so ago, it had been filled with singing and laughter and bright colors both in the decorations and the students’ and their families’ holiday best attire.
Now, there was just me, in my brown jacket and trousers, not one sprig of greenery or red ribbon in sight. And since we’d turned down the furnace, the warm air in the room was being replaced by a distinct chill.
Time to go home.
I was about to leave the building when I saw a small boy sitting on a chair by the door, kicking his feet and staring at the floor. Little Timothy from my class. All by himself. I approached him and took the seat beside his.
“Timothy, did your fathers leave without you?” All the families were invited to the holiday recital, filling the auditorium with their appreciation for their children’s performances.
“No, Mr. Bobell.” His legs slowed their kicking but did not stop. Nor did he look up from his focus on the black-and-white tiles.
Oh. “They were unable to attend today, then.” He looked so sad.
“They never come. Like they didn’t come on Meet the Teacher night. Or our spelling bee or...or anything. Sir.”
I didn’t always get to speak to every parent when they came. Some were shy or just never made it to the front of the room for one reason or another. But from the children’s reports, nearly all their parents or guardians attended when we invited them. Making the invitations was always a fun and popular activity for our art class the week before, and I had some very talented artists in my room this year. Timothy was one of the best. “Sometimes parents are very busy with their responsibilities and cannot take time to enjoy themselves. It’s a shame. But we must try to understand.”
He did lift his eyes to mine at that point, and they held all the pain and disappointment no child should have to experience.
“I have to lock up now, Timothy. Can you see yourself home?” Some did, and some others had a parent or older sibling to walk them.
“Yes, sir. I always go home alone.”
Alone. I had a feeling he often arrived into an empty house. His worn shoes and everyday clothes had stood in stark contrast to most of the other children’s holiday outfits, but poor didn’t mean abused or neglected, and not all had new clothes. But his sad loneliness said it all. How had I not realized just how bad things were? Maybe because we were not allowed to interfere with students’ outside of school, and parents had absolute authority there. Knowing they had it rough made it even harder to do my job and treat all the children equally.
Still.
Timothy stood and started for the door, but on a whim, I stopped him with a question. “Timothy, what is your wish this Christmas?” If it was within my power to grant it for him, I would, even if it meant I skipped a meal or two.
“A cookie,” he replied. “Like my grandma used to make before she died.”
My heart squeezed so hard, I gasped for a moment before recovering my breath. My mind worked furiously. Where had I seen cookies? A big cookie on a plate! “Timothy, do not leave. I will be right back.”
I dashed down the hall to Mr. Samberg’s class where, on his desk, sat a plate with a large, perfect, dark-brown molasses cookie. A single delight that might bring a smile to a young man’s face. Mr. Samberg was gone already, and by the time we returned from our holiday, it would be gone anyway, food for a stray mouse.
Timothy was still there when I returned, and I gave him the cookie, thrilled to see the sadness retreat from his expression while he studied the marvel in his hands. “This is all for me? This whole cookie?”
“Merry Christmas, Timothy.” I held the door open, turned off the lights, and followed him outside. “Be a good boy, and I’ll see you after New Year’s.” I locked the door and by the time I turned to leave, the little boy was nowhere in sight. I wished I had so much more to give to this child and to the others who might have less-than happy Christmases for different reasons this year.
Like me, many had lost relatives in the Spanish Flu epidemic a few years before, others had folks who were out of work or had debt that made it impossible to buy things for a festive meal or gifts.
Saddened by the thoughts that not all the children I taught would have what all children should have for Christmas, I trudged away from the school building.
“Hey, you. I have a bone to pick with you, Mr. Teacher.”
That couldn’t be...but it was. An elf.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Skylar M Cates
Emotional, Roller-Coaster Romance
Skylar M. Cates loves a good, heartfelt romance, especially ones that are both steamy and emotionally satisfying. She is quite happy to drink some coffee, curl up with a good book, and not move all day. Her novels feature strong, passionate characters who care about their friends and family. Skylar loves to craft stories where people are challenged by vulnerable situations. Although lately the laundry room is the farthest place she has visited, Skylar still loves to chat with people from all around the globe. Contact her on Twitter, Facebook, or through her newsletter.
Kallie is the pseudonym of a USA Today Bestselling Author who normally writes young adult fantasy and dabbles in paranormal romance. She loves animals of all kinds, so she loves reading and writing books with shifter themes. Her favorite time to write is late at night when her husband and kids are asleep and everything is quiet. During the day she can be found chasing her boys, baking, and talking to herself.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Lorelei M HartLorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Davidson King
Skylar M Cates
Snow Falling by Davidson King
The Guy from Glamour by Skylar M Cates
Maple Sugar Mixup by Kallie Frost
Always by RJ Scott
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
The Omega's Krampus Christmas by Lorelei M Hart
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