Читать книгу Call To Honor - Tawny Weber - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

DIEGO HAD BEEN to a lot of places. Stinking slums and baking beaches, crowded cities and ice-crusted mountains. He’d served with people from all walks of life and had gone through most of the states in the union. But he couldn’t recall ever actually bunking down anywhere he fit in less than the exclusive Riviera Enclave in Santa Barbara.

Throttling his Harley back from a roar to a grumbling purr, he prepared to stop as he neared the guardhouse. But for the first time in the three days he’d been here, the orange-and-white-striped gate rose at his approach.

Well, well. How about that, he mused as he rolled right on through. Maybe it was a sign.

His first day he’d had to register both himself and his bike. When he’d come through a couple of hours later with his gear, the same guard had made him show his ID all over again. Same the next day, and the one after that.

A hint of satisfaction worked its way through the fury-filled frustration that had fueled his every waking moment for the last four days.

He’d be happier if it stemmed from, oh, say, hearing that Jared had made a breakthrough in hacking Ramsey’s email accounts. Or better yet, seeing Ramsey himself stroll up the sidewalk, as alive as can be. He’d even settle for the extraction team finding DNA in the dust they’d scooped up from the mission site and proving that Ramsey was well and truly dead.

But Diego had served on enough missions to know that success was built one small triumph at a time. And that he needed to take what he could get.

He kept his speed under twenty. There weren’t any of those signs posted warning that children were playing, probably because they weren’t allowed to. It was that kind of neighborhood. Rich, upscale and exclusive, the lawns were all perfectly maintained, the birds chirped in sync and the few people he’d actually seen looked like something off a movie set. Pretty and Perfect, he decided the film would be titled as he slowed his bike to a crawl.

He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes locked on his target as he pulled into the driveway next door. Sun-pinked adobe and gleaming rod iron were accented by arched windows, a covered front patio and fat clay pots overflowing with jewel-toned flowers. The green sweep of lawn was intersected by a curving walkway decorated with pebbles the same color as the house. Next to the sidewalk and at odds with the picture-perfect landscape a little blue wagon tilted drunkenly to the side, its front wheel missing.

So far Diego’s recon hadn’t done more than confirm the information they had. Ramsey’s ex lived in the house with their son. She worked from home, led a supposedly quiet life and drove an aged Camry.

He needed more.

And he wasn’t going to get it watching from the outside. He just hadn’t found his way in.

Not yet.

His orders were specific.

Watch and wait; engage only if engaged.

Damned if following orders wasn’t a pain in the ass sometimes.

But then, as if someone had decided to cut him a break, a movement swept up the sidewalk in the form of a kid pushing his bicycle.

Diego let himself smile. Why not? He might have just found his angle.

He’d been watching the house and occupants for three days, so he knew at a glance that the slight figure with tousled blond hair and scuffed orange high-tops belonged to Ramsey’s kid, Nathan. This could be it. His entry to Ramsey’s woman.

Taking it slow, Diego parked his bike and removed his helmet before swinging his leg over the seat. All the while, he kept his eyes on the kid and tried to figure his opening. By the time he removed the keys, he knew the drizzle of sweat skating down his spine had nothing to do with wearing a leather jacket in hotter than usual May sunshine.

Approach an admiral? He had that down pat. He knew the protocol on engaging a working girl on the docks of a foreign country, a militant with a nervous expression or a snitch in the Afghan mountains.

But a kid?

Diego grimaced. He didn’t like to admit that he was totally clueless. But reality was reality. And yeah, he was clueless. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he watched the boy push his bike closer.

The kid raised his hand to shield his eyes. Even from a dozen yards away, it was easy to see him slide a glance toward his front door, then back Diego’s way.

Giving the door a considering look himself, Diego had a brief vision of Lansky’s theory being true. That Ramsey was inside there, alive and well, kicking back with a beer. Would he be flashing that shit-eating grin of his, looking as if he owned the world? Or would he take one look at Diego and shoot him dead, destroying yet another piece of the brotherhood that the team honored so highly?

Diego’s teeth clenched tight and hard as he turned toward the door of his current abode instead of kicking in the neighbor’s door to find out.

“Hey, mister,” the young voice called.

“Yeah?” Shoulders braced, he froze halfway between the sidewalk and the door. After a long moment, he turned his head to look. That’s when he noticed the bicycle’s chain dangling, its greasy loop of metal scraping along the sidewalk.

“You know anything about bikes?” The kid jerked his chin toward the Harley. “That’s yours, right? So you probably know how to fix ’em and stuff, maybe?”

“You need help fixing your bike?”

The kid looked at him, then at the chain drooping sadly on the sidewalk. Didn’t need to be a mind reader or have jack worth of experience with kids to hear the unspoken “duh” loud and clear.

Diego snorted, amused at his previous hesitation.

“Sure. I can help.” He strode over to take the bike in hand. His gaze tracked the larger sprocket the chain was hanging from, noting the damage to the smaller one behind it.

“This is supposed to be hooked over here,” he pointed out, poking at the chain. He noted the broken teeth, figuring that’s why the chain had slipped.

“I keep putting it there, but it won’t stay.” The kid nudged the chain with a worn tennis shoe, but his eyes stayed on Diego. “I thought you knew bikes.”

“I know how to fix that one.” Diego tilted his head toward the Harley. “We’ll have to see what I can do with yours.”

He dropped into a crouch, flipping the bike to rest upside down on the cement. A couple of tweaks of his fingers had the chain in place.

“It’s not going to stay there,” he noted. “You need to replace this part.”

“Can’t you fix that, too?” The boy’s eyes slid toward his house and whatever he saw there had his bottom lip poking out. “Can’t you try?”

“Why?” Diego followed his gaze, then gave the kid a closer look. He was clean, well-dressed and had an open, easy expression. None of that said abuse to Diego. But, again, what did he know about kids? “You gonna get in trouble over it?”

“Maybe.” One of those sneakers scuffed at the sidewalk as the kid wrinkled his nose. “Can you tell how it got broke just looking at it? Could it have just sorta, you know, fell off?”

“Could these teeth on this sprocket have just sorta fell off?” he repeated, tapping the part in question.

“Yeah. Could it?” His brows drawn tight enough to furrow his freckles, the kid fingered the sprocket. Testing the other teeth, probably.

“Your parents stupid?”

“My mom’s not stupid.” The kids eyes shot back up, flashing with a protective kind of heat that Diego recognized, having felt it often enough over his own mom.

“Didn’t say she was. But it’s gonna take stupid to believe that pieces of metal just sorta fall off.”

“Oh.” The kid frowned at the sprocket again, then at his house. Then he gave Diego an easy smile. “Okay. Why don’t you show me how to fix it, maybe? Then I can do it myself if it falls off again.”

“Better plan,” Diego agreed, skimming a finger under the chain to dislodge it. “Here’s what you do.”

He proceeded to take the kid through the steps, then walked him through how to replace the sprocket.

“Your dad should be able to replace it, no problem,” he added, tossing out a line. “But this way you know how, too.”

The kid wasn’t biting. His eyes stayed locked on the chain for a few seconds; then he shrugged.

“It wouldn’t do any good to take it apart unless I had the new, what’d you call it?” He raised clear blue eyes.

“Sprocket.”

“Yeah.” After contemplating for another second, he shook his head. “Even if I had enough money, I’d still have to ask Mom for a ride to the store. So she’d know.”

“Moms usually do.”

“Yeah.” The kid tossed off his gloomy expression. “Still, thanks for the help, mister.”

Damn.

“Hang on. Maybe I can tweak it a little.” Telling himself it was just a way to keep the kid talking until he mentioned his father, Diego unlatched the saddlebag on his Hog and pulled out a few tools.

“You’re cool. Thanks tons. You got any kids?”

“I’m not married,” Diego answered automatically, watching the kid out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction.

“Okay.” The expectant expression didn’t change. After a second, his blue eyes flashed with impatience. “So? You got any kids?”

Laughing under his breath, Diego shook his head.

“So you live here alone?” The boy glanced toward the house, a small line creasing his freckled brow.

“For now.” Diego tilted his head toward the kid’s house. “You live there alone?”

“’Course not,” the boy said with a laugh, shaking his head at what was obviously a stupid question. “It’s me and my mom living there.”

“Just the two of you, hmm?” Was it wrong to lead a kid on? Diego knew his motives were solid. Still, the boy was so open and, well, sweet, that Diego had to twitch his shoulders to shake off the sudden discomfort.

“Just us now. Used to be Andi and Matt, but we were here a lot cuz mom was decorating things. Then Matt moved out cuz he had issues and it was us and Andi. Then Andi went to live the high life, so it’s me and Mom.”

Andy and Matt? Two guys? Diego blinked and rocked back on his heels. He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed that the kid had blurted that all on a single breath or at the insight into Ramsey’s ex’s sexual habits. Remembering the photo of the blonde on the beach, he pursed his lips.

“’Course Andi’s still here all the time. Except for trips to Greece for obligation visits. My friend Jeremy is going on a trip, too. He’s going to camp. Have you ever gone to camp, mister?”

Camping, was it? After indulging the image of an oil-coated threesome in his imagination for another second, Diego gave the kid a nod.

“Sure. I’ve camped.” Sleeping in a tent in the Afghan desert counted, right? “So you’re going camping?” With who? Maybe your late, not-so-great father?

“Nah. I can’t go. I want to, cuz Jaermy is my best friend and it’d be fun. And his dad’s gonna chap’rone, too, cuz his mom’s paranoid. That’s what his dad said. That his mom won’t let him go unless his dad is there to make sure he doesn’t fall out of a tree or drown or something. That’d be cool, huh?” The kid looked pretty excited about those possibilities. “Do you got any pets? You know, like a dog or a cat or even a bird? If you’ve got a cat, it could have kittens, right?”

Blinking as the kid jumped tracks, Diego shook his head.

“No pets. But your bike is set.” Diego rose. With a quick flip of one hand, he righted the bike, then gave it a little shake for good measure. When everything stayed in place, he nudged the kickstand down and let the bike rest on it. “That should hold it for a while.”

“You’re the best, mister.” The kid had to get his smile from his mother, Diego decided. Because not once could Diego remember Ramsey’s smile making him want to offer one in return.

“Diego,” he said after a second, figuring talking was better than standing here on the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. “You can call me Diego.”

“Cool. I’m Nathan. I’m seven. I’m gonna be a stuntman when I grow up. Or a veterinarian. I’d rather be a Jedi warrior, but Mom says we’ll see about that one. She says that about a lot of stuff. We’ll see. What are you?”

Huh? Was that a question? The kid’s expression said it was, so Diego did a mental replay.

“I’m in security,” he said, using the cover Savino had decided on.

“Bet you’re good at it.” Grabbing the bike by the handles, the kid gave it a good shake, then grinned when the chain stayed in place. “You’re good at fixing things, too. Maybe you could teach me to fix some things?”

Diego didn’t have much experience with kids—hell, he didn’t have any experience. Despite that, he had to figure this one was something special.

Before he could answer him, a delivery truck rumbled its way to a stop in front of the kid’s house. Something he’d noticed was a regular occurrence. At least once, sometimes twice a day.

“You sure get a lot of deliveries,” he observed, watching a guy in shorts carry a stack of boxes toward the door.

“Yeah. Mom gets tons of stuff. She decorates for people’s houses. She orders pillows and bowls and things like that. Sometimes she gets material and things to help her decide colors.”

Convenient. Or it would be if Ramsey were running drugs or stolen goods—that’d be a solid cover. But unless he’d shipped himself home in an ash can, it probably wasn’t pertinent. Lansky would claim otherwise, though, so Diego made a note to mention it in his next report.

He caught a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. All it took was a casual glance toward the house to send him rocking back on his heels.

Damn.

Not even signing for a slew of packages and fending off the flirtations of the delivery guy were enough to keep Harper Maclean from sending her son a protective frown.

So far his glimpses of her had been at a longer distance than the twenty feet currently separating them. Her photos didn’t do her justice. He’d known she was a looker, but no way he’d have thought fully dressed in person could trump that bikini shot, even if that bikini shot had been kind of blurry.

He’d have been wrong.

Even glaring at him, as if she thought he’d get greasy cooties all over her sweet little boy, she was gorgeous.

From the tip of her tousled blond hair to the toes of her strappy high-heeled sandals, she screamed California girl. She was too far away to see many details, but he knew from the file Lansky had compiled that she had strong features. A wide mouth with its generous bottom lip and dark brows that arched over big blue eyes.

Diego wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d just taken a kick to the solar plexus. He’d never gone for the good-girl look, and there was nothing particularly sexy about what she was wearing. The turquoise pleated skirt flared in a way that made her waist look miniscule and her cream-colored top looked like a silky T-shirt, but both were a little too generous with the fabric for his tastes.

Which didn’t matter, he reminded himself as the woman walked from the front door to her courtyard’s arch. Sexy or dog ugly, she was a means to an end. And that end had nothing to do with getting her naked, more’s the pity.

“Hey there,” he called in what he figured was a friendly manner.

From the way she frowned and hugged one of the delivery boxes to her chest, she didn’t seem to agree.

“Hello,” she responded after a moment. “Nathan, you need to come inside.”

“But, Mom—”

“Now, please.”

With that uncompromising edict and one final stare at Diego, she was gone. Leaving an open front door and a whole lot of curiosity bouncing through Diego’s head. Only some of it having to do with his mission.

“Guess your mom’s not much on being neighborly,” he murmured.

“She’s not mad. She’s just, you know, suspicious about me talking to strangers. I had to call when I left Jeremy’s house, and she times it, you know? She’s probably watching now through the window.” The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s the paranoia. That’s what Jeremy’s dad says. Moms are paranoid about stuff happening to their kids. He says you gotta indulge the paranoia sometimes.”

Wrinkling his nose, the kid grabbed the bike by the handlebars. “What’s that mean? Do you know?”

It meant that Jeremy’s dad better watch out or one of those moms was gonna kick his patronizing ass.

“What do you think it means?” Diego asked instead of sharing that opinion.

“I dunno. I asked my mom, and all she said was that even Neanderthals had their uses. What’s that mean?” Never taking his eyes off Diego, he straddled his bike. “Isn’t a Neanderthal a guy who rides dinosaurs?”

Diego grinned at the image of a caveman saddling a T. rex for a ride through lava flow.

“I suppose your mom meant that some people’s attitudes are stuck in the dark ages. That their brains haven’t grown much since the caveman days.” After half a second, Diego added, “Maybe you shouldn’t say that to this guy, though. People who think that way tend to dislike being called on it.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugged. “I’ll see you again, right? Cuz we’re neighbors now.”

“Yeah. We’ll see each other again.”

The boy flashed a bright smile and waved one grubby hand before riding away.

Diego watched the boy drop the bike against the side of the house in clattering disregard before running toward the front door, pausing to toss another friendly wave over his shoulder.

The kid had talked more in that ten minutes than Diego had in the last ten days. And that, Diego realized, was a certified entry into Ramsey’s world.

As he strode toward his fancy new barracks, he assessed the neighborhood’s security and debated various means of getting to see that kid again. Another twenty minutes, half hour tops, and he’d get all the intel he needed to clear Ramsey or nail his ass to the wall. And maybe, just maybe, get a little more info on the sexy blonde and who had apparently a very creative sex life.

It wasn’t until he stepped through the front door that he realized he was grinning.

* * *

HARPER COULDN’T RELAX.

Not even after Nathan was inside, safe and sound.

Feeling like she’d been punched in the gut, she could only stand in her kitchen and stare at the box from Petty Officer Dane Adams. Apparently the man thought she, or rather, Nathan, would want some of Brandon’s effects.

Why?

They’d done just fine without a single thing from him—other than DNA. Why would that change because he was dead? She’d figured it didn’t matter. Even after she’d received notice of Brandon’s death, she’d decided she’d set it aside to tell Nathan later, when he was older and might better understand.

She glared at the box, hating it and everything it represented. She wanted to ignore it. Her gut told her to ignore everything, to continue to pretend that it didn’t exist. That he didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

Once, when he’d been four, her sweet little boy had asked why he didn’t have a dad like some of the other kids in his preschool class. All she’d been able to come up with was that the man had made a choice and gone away. That must have been enough for Nathan, because he’d never asked again, and she’d been happy to leave it that way.

Harper pressed her hand against the churning misery in her belly. She’d told herself she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Really, she’d been ignoring it, and quite nicely, too. And it had been working just fine.

A part of her wanted to continue ignoring it, to throw the box in the trash and be done with the entire issue. Taking a deep breath she tore open the plastic packing slip envelope. Inside was a simple note.

Ms. Maclean,

Brandon Ramsey was a hero. A man to be proud of. His death is a blow to his friends, to his team and to the country. It’s important that we honor our heroes. Please pass on these things to his son, so he can honor his father.

Dane Adams

So not only had Brandon known about Nathan, and where to find them, but his friend did, too. Which meant she couldn’t ignore this. Not until she was sure that the Ramseys with their high-powered attorneys weren’t going to show up next. She forced herself to cut through the packing tape. She unfolded the flaps and, cringing only a little, lifted aside the neatly folded tissue paper.

On top was a large envelope with her name on it, and beneath that what looked like a small leather-bound book or photo album. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. She set it aside to look at the rest. A rosewood box of ribbons and medals. At least a dozen bound certifications for things like marksmanship and diving. Even a cap, the white fabric and black plastic formal and stiff.

She didn’t know this world. She didn’t know the man who’d belonged in it. Why was she bringing it into her son’s life?

Because she didn’t have a choice, she realized with a sigh. Eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, Harper tucked the box under the kitchen desk, then tossed the note and large envelope addressed to her on the built-in kitchen desk to deal with later. She wanted to toss the box out the door but refrained.

Did she need this right now? She stormed through dinner prep like a woman riding a tornado. Oil heated, lettuce ripped and—screw it—the oven door slammed on frozen French fries.

Wasn’t it enough to have to deal with Nathan going away on his first trip longer than an overnight sleepover? Not only away, but away at camp on a tiny island in the middle of the freaking ocean. Okay, not quite the middle, but it was an island and it was surrounded by Pacific waters.

She was handling that, wasn’t she? Granted, she hadn’t told him that he was going yet. Once she did, she wouldn’t be able to change her mind. This morning Andi, with her usual efficiency, had forwarded the email showing the camp registration fee paid in full. Now Harper had no choice. But she hadn’t had a tantrum about that, had she?

Had she climbed onto the roof, yanked at her hair and screamed her throat raw yet over Brandon’s dramatic reentry into her life? Leave it to him to force his presence into Nathan’s life in a way she couldn’t stop. He would have known she’d tell him to take a flying leap if he’d contacted her about meeting Nathan, about being a part of her son’s life. He’d had his chance. He’d made his choice.

Now he’d never get to change his mind, or try to change hers. Her gaze slid to the red-and-blue-striped priority shipping box that’d been delivered an hour ago. She’d shoved it under the small kitchen desk, half-hidden but all too visible.

Harper grabbed her drink. Her teeth clenched tight on the straw as she sucked down a long sip of lemon-infused water and tried to settle the flood of emotions pouring through her. The water cooled her throat, but it didn’t help with the confusion storming through her chest.

Was she supposed to be sad? Was she supposed to grieve? And how did she tell her son that the father she’d never once mentioned was dead? Would he care? By trying to keep him from getting hurt, had hiding Brandon from Nathan actually hurt him?

And how was that for a convoluted guilt trip? Harper closed her eyes to the pain she didn’t understand and took a shaky breath. A part of her wanted to gather Nathan and run, hide. The rest wanted to climb in bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend that none of this was happening.

Since Harper was made of stronger stuff than that, she did neither.

Instead she finished dinner preparations.

“Mom, I’m starving. Like, I could eat a whole Tauntaun,” Nathan announced as he ran into the kitchen.

“I didn’t have time to stop by the planet Hoth for Tauntaun, so we’re having chicken instead.” Harper forced a smile. She had to struggle with some of the Star Wars references, but anything from the first three movies, she was solid on. She pointed a finger at her son before he could slide into his chair. “Wash. Then set the table.”

“’Kay.” He hurried to the kitchen sink, nudging the stool in with his foot and turning the water on before she could remind him of her opinion on kicking the furniture. “Chicken is way better than fish. Jeremy said his mom is making him eat something called hall butt tonight because he’s going to adventure camp.”

“Halibut.” Harper’s lips twitched and just like that, the bulk of the stress drained away. “And you hate eating fish.”

“I’d eat it if I went to adventure camp. It’d be different there, cuz I’d be catching it and all that stuff. Jeremy says they go fishing and hiking and all sorts of cool things. They even learn how to tie knots.” Nathan jumped down, not bothering to move the stool aside before hopping over to gather the dishes she’d already set out on the island. “Do you think they tell ghost stories around a campfire, too? That’d be cool. I know some good stories.”

Harper let the questions roll over her as she tried to figure out how to tell Nathan that his father was dead. Did she explain that before she told him he was going to camp? Or did she start with the camp news and let him revel for a while before she burst his happy little bubble?

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” Forcing herself to shake off the what-ifs and focus on what mattered—Nathan—Harper brought the salad to the table.

“Those are guy things, aren’t they?”

Guy things? She replayed the conversation as she handed Nathan a bowl of salad, then arched one brow.

“Are you trying to say that a woman couldn’t hike or fish or sail?” she asked, dishing up her own salad while giving her son a narrow look.

“Sure. Girls can if they want.” He stabbed a chunk of cucumber, then shot her a wicked smile. “Not you, cuz you don’t like anything that’s dirty or slimy. After we tried camping last summer, I heard you tell Andi that you’d rather eat slugs than sleep on the ground again. But I suppose some girls prob’ly like dirt and slime. It’s okay that you don’t.”

“Smart boy,” she murmured. Andi was right. She couldn’t be enough for Nathan. Not by herself, she admitted as a wave of guilt washed over her. This guilt was as familiar as her own skin. It’d come with the pregnancy hormones and never left.

“Eat your salad” was all she said.

“I met the guy who’s living at Mr. Lowenstein’s house.”

“So I saw.”

Oh, yeah. She’d seen the guy. A muscle-bound, Harley-riding guy with an intimidating stare, and most likely an IQ lower than he could bench-press. Starting on her own salad, Harper told herself to relax. She was sure he wasn’t dangerous. The Riviera Enclave was an exclusive gated community and the Lowensteins were vigilant in their screening. Added to that, the longest they ever sublet was a month. So the man might be a little intimidating, but he wasn’t likely to have any real impact on their lives.

“His name is Diego. He fixes things and secures stuff. He doesn’t got a kid, but he likes pets.” With the look of wide-eyed guile that he’d perfected, Nathan smiled at his mother. “That’s a good thing, right? In case we ever had to go on a job that’s overnight like the one you did in San Diego last summer for that music lady, there’d be someone next door to feed a pet. If we had one, I mean.”

Nicely done, Harper thought, appreciating how many creative ways he could make that pitch. While he rambled on about the care and needs of a kitten and debated the cuteness factor of gray tabbies versus orange, she pulled the warming chicken and finished fries from the oven.

“Chicken fingers?” Nathan exclaimed, pausing in his recital of possible cat names. His excitement slid into a frown as he noted the potatoes she was scooping onto the royal-blue Fiesta platter. “And fries? Why’re we having Saturday food? Isn’t today Wednesday?”

“Sure it is. But you’ll be at camp on Saturday, so we’re having Saturday food today instead.” Nathan’s jaw dropped. He gave a war whoop at the same time he shot out of his chair and launched himself into her arms.

His grateful enthusiasm was almost enough to drown out her concerns.

“You’re the best, Mom. The absolute best. Thanks. I’m gonna call Jeremy. Can I? Can I? I want to tell him so we can bunk together.”

“After dinner.” Harper held on a moment longer. Then because she knew she had to start getting used to it, she slowly let go. She scooped her fingers through the wavy mass of his hair, then tilted her head toward the table. “That way the two of you can talk as long as you like.”

That he’d still have words for later was just one of those things that always amazed her about Nathan. He’d talk through the meal about everything from camp to the LEGO project he was working on to baseball and back again. Unlike his mother, he never ran out of words. Never had to search for them.

But she was searching now. For the words, for the right way to tell him what she had to share. As he scooped his last fry through his ketchup, she still hadn’t figured it out. But like most of motherhood, she realized she’d have to figure it as she went.

“Leave the dishes for now, Nathan.” She laid her hand on his arm to keep him from jumping up from the table. “We need to talk.”

“Am I in trouble?” His face creasing, Nathan settled into his chair again.

“No, sweetie,” she rushed to say, sliding her hand down to mesh her fingers through his smaller ones.

He was growing so fast. Once, those fingers had been tiny as they’d wrapped around hers, his just-born eyes staring into her face as if she were his world. Those fingers had gripped hers as he’d taken his first teetering steps; that hand had held tight the first day of school.

She’d spent her entire life trying to protect him. To give him the best and keep him as happy as she could. Now she had to hurt him. God help her, she blamed Brandon.

Harper took a deep, shaky breath as she tried to fight back the tears clogging her throat, then gave her son a reassuring smile.

“You’re not in trouble. I just need to tell you something.”

“Something bad?” he ventured when she bit her lip, trying to gather the words she still hadn’t found.

She wanted to assure him that it wasn’t bad. She wanted to continue ignoring Brandon’s existence. His death shouldn’t change that.

Except that she couldn’t. And it did.

Once again, Brandon had managed to turn her entire world upside down, and once again, he hadn’t stuck around to watch the fallout.