скачать книгу бесплатно
“Sure.”
“Thank you, too, for the new trash bin. It’s big enough that even the neighbor’s Dalmatian can’t tip it over.”
How could he politely tell her he had no interest in small talk? Even though the two of them had never so much as shared an inappropriate glance when she’d been with Tom, the fact still weighed on Deacon that she’d been with him first. He couldn’t have explained why, but when Tom had been alive, the former hookup hadn’t been a big deal. Now it was.
“I’m, uh, glad to finally get a chance to talk.” She sipped her white wine.
“Lord, Ell…” Head tipped back, Deacon released a long sigh. He couldn’t do this. He could go days without sleep, food or shelter, but facing his best friend’s widow? Wasn’t happening. “I really don’t have anything to say.”
“That’s fine.” She nodded toward a more secluded area of the deck. “I’ll do all the talking.”
“What about Pia?”
“Ada’s with her. Please, Deacon….”
He made the mistake of meeting Ellie’s tear-filled gaze. Her blue eyes mesmerized, while at the same time made him feel like the world’s biggest jackass for even thinking of skipping out on her, regardless of what she had to say.
“Why is it so hard for you to talk to me?”
“You know why.” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being overheard. “Last thing I want any of these people knowing is that I slept with the widow. Sure, it might’ve been before you met Tom, but it bugs me.”
“You think the fact doesn’t bother me? I’d give anything if we could take back that night, but we have to—”
“For whatever you feel you must say, now’s not the time or place,” he interrupted. “If it’s waited this long, as far as I’m concerned, it can wait indefinitely.”
Ellie was so shocked by Deacon’s rejection, she couldn’t react quickly enough to stop him from walking away. This was the second time that day he’d refused to talk to her. What was wrong with him? Was he missing a vital sensitivity gene?
Why ask? She already knew the answer. After their one wild night together, he hadn’t invited her to spend the morning with him, or even asked for her number. He’d merely thanked her, before explaining he had a long-standing date with the gym.
Determined to once and for all get her most closely guarded secret off her chest, Ellie tried chasing after Deacon, but was cut off by the base commander and his wife.
“This has been such a great day,” the portly, white-haired man said. “Paula and I think of Tom often.”
“Thank you.” Ellie was momentarily too consumed with her anger at Deacon to think straight, resulting in her blabbering the first thing to pop into her mind. “Tom thought highly of you. Just before he died, he quoted your Independence Day speech.”
“Oh?”
Dabbing at tears with a tissue, she said, “He was playing with Pia when he reminded her, ‘True bravery stems not necessarily from those with the biggest muscles, but the biggest hearts.’” Flashing a misty smile, Ellie added, “Only to him would that quote seem apropos, while purposely losing a game of tug-of-war with a baby.”
The older man chuckled, and tears filled his wife’s eyes.
“Where’s Deacon?” Commander Duncan asked. “This anniversary must be hard on him, too.”
“He, um, was here just a minute ago.”
From the driveway came the muted, yet unmistakable revving of Deacon’s Harley.
“Don’t you worry, dear.” Paula gave her husband’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll find him.”
Good luck, since the weasel is at this very moment fleeing the premises.
* * *
ELLIE WAS BEYOND GRATEFUL for the day to finally be over. Tom’s parents meant well, but remembering happier times in the presence of so many people had been harder than Ellie would’ve thought. Toss in her botched attempts to finally come clean with Deacon, and the afternoon had been an epic failure.
Out on the deck of her weathered, shingle-sided Cape Cod home, with a briny breeze drifting from the Atlantic, Ellie set the baby monitor on the side table, along with a freshly uncorked bottle of merlot. She’d long since lost the strappy heels that matched her floral sundress, and had freed her long, dark hair from the ponytail she’d resorted to while on the beach.
Tom had loved her hair down… Seated on his favorite lounge chair, the wine bottle resting between her breasts, she closed her eyes, imagining him there, leaning in close for a kiss, whispering how much he loved her and would always protect her and—
The pain balled in her chest was too much to bear.
Tears gushed, hot and stinging, until Ellie had difficulty breathing. This couldn’t be happening. Even a year after the fact, she had a tough time believing her husband was really gone. The anniversary had dredged up too many painful memories. Of all their plans—not just for raising Pia, but projects for their home… Near the back picket fence, the one Tom had trained sweet pea vines to trail along, they’d talked about putting in a water garden. Ellie had wanted a trickling fountain. He’d wanted a train set that he could run with his angel, Pia.
Pia.
Such a huge burden her sweet baby unwittingly carried.
Tears started flowing again and Ellie upended the wine bottle, guzzling to find temporary relief where there was none. She dropped the bottle to the wood decking, and rolled onto her side, drawing her knees to her chest. She needed her husband so badly. With Tom gone, she didn’t begin to know what to do. He’d completed her, and ever since his passing she’d felt empty and raw.
The French door opened and shut, startling Ellie. She glanced in that direction, only to have her heart sink. “What are you doing here?”
Deacon, still wearing the khakis and polo shirt he’d donned for the party, shrugged. “Wish I knew.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Wishing for that, too, but…”
As much as she’d wanted to once and for all tell him everything, Ellie wasn’t capable of dealing with him now. Not after the day she’d had.
“I was on the beach, thinking about all the shores I’ve been on with Tom, and somehow I ended up here.” Hands in his pockets, Deacon shook his head. “I needed to be with someone who loved him like I do—did. Whatever. Tom was the greatest man I’ve ever known, and for the life of me, I can’t figure why the big guy had him take that bullet instead of me. Literally six inches to the right and this would’ve all played out different. You’d be sitting here with him, shooting the breeze about me, and—”
“Stop,” she begged, folding her arms tight. “You might’ve been with him when he died, but I was with him when he lived. I’d give anything if I could take back the night you and I shared. Most especially, I’d pray for Tom to be Pia’s father instead of—” Clapping her hands to her mouth, she was thankful she’d stopped herself from confessing the secret she’d planned on delivering in a much saner way.
Deacon’s dark eyes narrowed, his expression dangerous in the flickering light of a citronella candle. Ellie knew that, with a man as sharp as he was, she had already revealed too much.
“What are you saying?” he asked. “Tom wasn’t Pia’s dad?”
“Let it go, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” After grabbing the tipped wine bottle from the deck, Ellie stood, intending to go inside. She’d wanted to have this conversation earlier. The coward in her that had waited a whole year thought there’d be safety in revealing the truth in a more controlled setting.
“Then what did you mean?” He took her by her arm, spinning her to face him.
“Let me go,” she said from between clenched teeth, struggling like a caged animal against the grip of a man who’d once given her the kind of hot, crazy, taboo sex she hadn’t known existed outside of fiction. On that night, she might’ve been dazed with need for Deacon, but not now. Now, she knew him for the bad-boy, full-on disaster he was.
“Not until you come clean with me. She’s mine, isn’t she?” Releasing Ellie to run his hands over his face, he leaned against the deck rail.
She nodded.
“Wow…” He took the two steps down from the deck to pace the yard. “And Tom never knew?”
Hugging herself, tears falling in cold trails down her cheeks, Ellie shook her head.
“And that’s what you wanted to tell me today? In front of everyone we know?” The look he cast her was indecipherable.
“If you don’t mind,” she replied, adopting an all-business tone, “I’d like to keep this between us. Helen and John will always be Pia’s grandparents, but more and more, I’m seeing she needs a father. It’s not fair for me to keep this from either of you.”
Deacon sharply exhaled.
Arms crossed, he faced the sliver of glittering Atlantic visible from the yard. The view had been one of the things she and Tom loved most about the house.
What was Deacon thinking? Was he angry at her for not having told him sooner? She felt sick at how she’d handled everything.
“I owe you a massive apology,” Ellie said, her voice small in the chilly breeze. “But from the second Tom learned I was pregnant, he was so happy. I couldn’t take that from him—from myself. You know what kind of family I grew up in. I never wanted the same for my own child.”
A sharp laugh escaped Deacon. “You’re saying the right things, but all of a sudden, I don’t even know you.” Striding purposefully, he returned to the deck, only to open one of the French doors. Was he going to look in on his daughter?
“Please don’t wake her.” Ellie trailed behind him. “Pia’s exhausted from playing. She needs her rest.”
The dark look Deacon cast over his shoulder stoked the firestorm in Ellie’s stomach. “You drop this bomb on me, then not five minutes later have the nerve to dictate my every move?”
Chin raised, she said, “Forget everything you just heard. As far as I’m concerned, Pia’s true father is dead.”
Chapter Two
Deacon pushed his Harley to one-ten on his favorite lonely stretch of Shore Road before being forced to back down because of a tottering raccoon. Killing the engine, he climbed off, rolling his ride to the shoulder before dropping the kickstand to asphalt. At 3:00 A.M., he was pretty well guaranteed privacy until base commuters started pouring in.
After dropping his helmet to the seat, he ignored the burning behind his eyes and mounted the small dune standing between him and the angry Atlantic. What had been a soft breeze in town was now a wind whipping sand against his cheeks. Deacon liked it. Liked the pain.
One year ago today, it should’ve been him taking that bullet.
Aside from his SEAL team, he had no one in his life. His folks had long since written him off, and he couldn’t say he blamed them.
Not bothering to remove his clothes or even his shoes, Deacon trudged into the surf, fighting his way out to black water, where the swells held him as surely as a lover. He generally saved this sort of thing for missions or triathalon training, but after tonight’s chaos he needed the comfort found in the familiar. Out here, he knew where he stood. He’d been trained to handle any contingency with either sheer strength of will or ingenuity. What he wasn’t equipped to deal with were his emotions.
What the hell was he supposed to do with this ache in his chest, making it so tight he feared it would explode? How did he look past images of his best friend dying in his arms, asking him to care for Ellie and his baby girl? Deacon had promised Tom he would, and he had, but he doubted his friend would have asked him if he’d known Deacon was the biological father of Tom’s child.
With every stroke through black water, Deacon told himself it wasn’t true, that Pia couldn’t be his. But in his heart, he knew. Maybe he always had, but didn’t want to admit it out of respect for the sanctity of his friendship with Tom. In certain areas, Deacon might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’d always done great at remedial math. As much as he’d tried forgetting the things he and Ellie had done, the way she’d unwittingly made him so crazy to have her he hadn’t even used a condom, the memories were still there, colliding with the respect he’d had for her husband. His best friend.
When Deacon’s body finally got around to telling his brain he was hungry, cold and tired, he sliced his way to shore. He had to be on base by 0800—preferably with his head in some semblance of a good place.
* * *
“YOU REALLY DIDN’T NEED to come in this early,” Ada declared, shortly after 9:00 A.M.
“Thanks,” Ellie said, hugging her friend and boss. “But yes, I did. You’re not going to believe what happened after you left.”
“Not sure if I like the sound of this.” As usual, Ada looked runway ready, her makeup and hair flawlessly done. She’d retired from modeling to marry an NBA superstar, but when she caught him with a cheerleader, she’d been the last one laughing—at least from a financial perspective. The divorce settlement had afforded her the elegant boutique, where she designed several of the store’s bestselling garments. “But you know me, always ready for a good story, especially if it’s calorie free.”
Having stashed her purse behind the counter, after leaving Pia at the part-time nursery school she loved, Ellie took the white leather armchair opposite her friend. “Deacon knows.”
Ada covered her mouth with her hands. “Weren’t you going to wait until the munchkin was a little bigger?”
“Yeah, well, I saw him yesterday and had a change of heart. Too many people told me his last mission was dicey. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him and he never knew Pia was his. I tried telling him twice at the party, but both times got interrupted. Then what happens? He shows up at my house. One thing led to another, and instead of the calm, rational conversation I’d hoped for, I blurted it out.”
“Whoa. Good thing we don’t open till ten.” Shifting in her chair, Ada asked, “What are you going to do?”
Ellie sighed. “I guess try to as smoothly as possible introduce Deacon into Pia’s life. She already knows him, but not like a daughter should know her dad.”
“Where do Helen and John fit in?”
“If Deacon has any respect for Pia or myself, he’ll keep all of this on the down-low for at least a little longer. There’s no way I’m ready for my in-laws to know. The news would crush them. They live for Pia.”
“What about you? You’re pretty attached to John and Helen, too.”
“Granted. Last thing I want is for anything to rock that boat. Tom might be gone, but they’re still my family.”
“What about me?” Ada teased.
“Of course, you, too. But last I checked, I haven’t given you just cause to disown me.”
* * *
THAT NIGHT, after an endless day of firing drills, the last person Deacon wanted to find at his apartment door was Ellie, holding Pia in her arms.
Without so much as a hello, she asked, “You alone?”
“At least until Woof and Grinder get back with pizza and beer.”
Behind her dark sunglasses, he imagined, she was rolling her eyes. More times than he could count, he remembered her voicing her dislike of grown men calling each other by nicknames. Woof happened to be Garrett Solomon, who had the uncanny knack of being able to puke like a dog one second, then be up on his feet, firing off rounds, the next. No physical discomfort fazed him. Grinder, aka Tristan Bartoni, had earned his name from downing six of the meaty Italian sandwiches in under ten minutes during their first leave from BUD/S training. The man ate more than any horse Deacon had ever met.
“We have to talk.” Brushing past him, Ellie sat on the brown leather sofa. Since the three men were hardly ever in residence, the place was sparse, but held all necessary conveniences for a well-equipped man cave. Three recliners. Supersize, wall-mounted flat screen. Xbox, PlayStation and a fridge stocked with beer and the homemade boiled peanuts Southern boy Tristan had his mama send him each and every month. He’d once been married, but his wife couldn’t handle his SEAL lifestyle and had bolted a few counties away with his son.
“If this is about last night,” Deacon said, closing the door behind her, but preferring to stand rather than join her on the sofa, “I’m still processing, and this isn’t a good time for hashing it all out.”
“That’s just it,” she said with a brittle laugh. “There’s nothing to hash out.” She set Pia on the cushion beside her, only the kid promptly scooted off the sofa, making a beeline for Woof’s brightly colored comic collection.
“Hey, whoa!” Deacon swooped to deter her. He hadn’t meant to end up holding her, but now that he was, he took a good look. He and Tom had both been dark-haired, but Pia was a cotton top, much like Deacon’s big brother, Peter, had been at that age. Her big brown eyes were like his, but Tom had also had the same shade. Ellie had hit the jackpot when it came to Baby Daddy Bingo. Had she not confessed that Pia belonged to Deacon, he’d never have been the wiser. He may have had questions, but considering he needed a kid about as much as he needed a hole in his head, he never would’ve asked. “Those comics aren’t toys. Captain America set Uncle Woof back eight hundred big ones.”
“Ridiculous,” Ellie said under her breath. “All of you are hulking man-children with permission to use guns.”
“And? You married one of our best.” Deacon set Pia on her feet, pointing her in the opposite direction from his buddy’s collection.
“Tom was different, and the jury’s still out on what I feel for you.” Ellie clenched her hands in her lap.
“Then why are you here? Because I’m not exactly feeling warm fuzzies for you.” He wore desert camo fatigues with beige combat boots, the laces of which Pia tugged, then giggled.
“Up!”
He glanced down to find the toddler trying to climb his leg. Something about the stern set of determination in her jaw struck a familiar chord deep within him. Did she have his drive to succeed in whatever she started? But Tom had had the same drive. How was Deacon supposed to tell where his traits began and the ones she’d learned from Tom left off?
