Warrior (First to Fight #1)(13)
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice firm and implacable. He throws a reassuring arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to his side.
I sigh, content. After I was adopted it took me a long time to warm up to my new family, my new house…my new life. Dad would always take me on the front porch and talk to me—about nothing really. Life, the stars, the bats that swoop down catching bugs. After a while, I started talking back. Some of my favorite memories take place at night on a porch swing.
“I don’t exactly know how to tell you,” I start.
He doesn’t push or prod, just rubs my arm and gently rocks the swing with one booted foot.
“I’m going to have a baby,” I blurt. “You’re going to be a grandpa.”
His arm stills and tightens on my shoulder for one significant pause before the swing rocks unsteadily as his feet thump to a stop. He throws his burly arms around my neck and squeezes the breath out of me.
His breath catches in his throat and I hear the soft rumble of his voice in my ear. “That’s good news, honey. That’s good news.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. If adopting you taught us anything it’s that children are always a blessing.” He pulls back and cups my chin in one hand. “When your mother learned she couldn’t have any more children she was heartbroken. The day you came into our lives proved to her—and to me—that even when it seems like there isn’t any hope, there will always be something to prove you wrong. So yes, it’s good news. Do I get to know the lucky dad, too? Or should I pretend I haven’t been seeing Ben dancing around you since you were a girl?”
I laugh and squeeze Dad tight, my nose filling with the scent of grease, sweat, dirt and cologne. A scent I will always associate with happy childhood memories. “Yes, Ben’s the father. I haven’t had the chance to tell him yet, so don’t go spilling the beans to the Harts until I can.”
He gestures over his mouth. “My lips are sealed.”
“Now the part you’ll probably be upset about is that I’ll be looking into finding my birth parents.”
Dad’s hold on me loosens and he releases a long breath. “I knew this day was coming,” he says. “I’m not going to say I’m happy about it, because I’m not, but I will say I understand.”
“Thank you, Dad, I appreciate it. Is there anything you can tell me that will help? Was there anything you were told when you adopted me.”
He shakes his head. “The only thing we were told is that your biological parents were short on money. It was a rough time and they couldn’t take care of you the way you needed. I don’t wish hard times on anyone. After all, it brought you to us.”
“I just want you to know that I’ve always considered you and Jack and Mom to be my real family. And you’ll be this baby’s family. They’ll never mean as much as you do to me, but it’s just something I need to do.”
“Don’t sweat it, girl. Your mom and I never wanted to hide your past from you. I’ll look through my office at home and get you the adoption papers. I’m not sure how much it will help, but—”
“Was this the swing you were talking about, Henry?” Melissa takes a few steps on the porch and stops. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
I smile. “No problem. Yes, he put it up for my birthday. Why don’t you two sit for a spell and I’ll refresh our drinks?”
I leave them on the porch and retreat to the kitchen. One Walker male down, one to go. My stomach churns just thinking about telling Jack.
The gym where Jack trains and teaches on his off-time now that he’s separated from the military used to be the place I went to for answers, guidance. A retreat. As funny as it sounds, it’s one of the places where I feel truly at home. For the first time in my life, I dread walking into the familiar warehouse-turned-rec center aptly named, “The Pit.”
I doubt I will find much comfort today.
My father owned the gym for twenty-five years before he passed management on to Jack. If I’m lucky, today is one of the days Dad shirked his responsibilities to go fishing. As it is a Saturday, I’m counting on the call of beer, bait, and bass to be too strong for him to resist. There isn’t a man I know who can say no to that. He’s supportive of the pregnancy, but telling Jack is something I feel I need to do alone.
I don’t see his truck, but I do see Jack’s. I look in the rearview mirror as I pull into the parking lot. I am as white as a sheet. Is this what I have to look forward to? Seven more months of ghost-face and nausea. The joys of motherhood. My stomach is pitching like it has a serious case of the butterflies. I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or the leftovers from today’s morning sickness. Probably a healthy combination of both.
It is a dreary September day. The kind that makes everything gray and gloomy. The sky is blotted with dark clouds, and it’s been raining off and on for hours. The lack of sunshine is like a void, sucking all the color from the landscape. Even the bright lights and sign on the gym’s face are dull.
Water from puddles in the cracked pavement soaks through my flip-flops and jeans, chilling me to the bone. Shivers rack my body as I push through the double doors. I rub my hands over my slightly rounded belly in an attempt to calm myself. Familiar scents and sounds wrap around me like a comforting blanket. I’d spent all of my teen years trailing after Jack and my father, participating in all the classes they didn’t explicitly forbid me from taking, training with champion fighters, sleeping on the worn couch in the office. I’m almost surprised by the sense of ease that washes over me. I should have known that if there would be one place in the world where I feel at home, centered, it would be here.