I haven’t been out of a job or military duty since I was a kid myself. The only time I ever slowed down was with my ailing, estranged Charli.
Not a happy time.
Not a time I care to brood on because I’ve got nothing better going on.
Cleo’s eyes flash in the shadows, blue and violent dusk.
“Sounds hard,” she says softly. “She’s so young, but she’s growing up, piece by piece.”
“Ten years old. Far too young. Or maybe I’m just a paranoid old hawk who doesn’t want to let her go until life pries her out of my hands.”
“But it will. I’m no mom, but I know life steps in sooner or later.” She laughs a little. “It’s sweet that you care so much. She’s lucky. Me, I was counting down the days until I could get away from Dad and Portland. I couldn’t wait to get into more trouble.”
“She’s a lucky girl,” I agree, knowing she means it sincerely.
She rakes her nails lightly along my jaw absently, like she isn’t aware she’s doing it.
“So what about Kit’s mom? If it isn’t top secret, I mean.” She asks so gently my heart shouldn’t start pounding, but it does.
She’s waiting for me to close up again. Testing fences to see if I’ll chuck her out of this room and lock the door.
A sick, damaged part of me wants to.
But hell, I’ve put off this conversation for too long. Running comes easy when there was never anyone who cared, anyone I could trust.
“She’s not around anymore. Not for a long time,” I say slowly.
Cleo stays quiet, waiting intently.
I sigh.
“Charli was my high school girlfriend,” I say. “We reunited in my twenties after I left the Marines and came home to Portland. She was… difficult.” Fucking understatement. I run a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling.
“Difficult?” Cleo echoes.
“She was a mess, and so were we,” I whisper. “We moved too fast. She wound up pregnant before I could blink. I thought we’d deal with it; we’d figure our shit out. Only, she was hell-bent on chasing her music career—even though it was failing. Kit was a happy accident. Best thing to ever come out of my time with her.” I shake my head, hating how ugly it sounds. “She just took off one day before Kit was a year old. I spent a couple years begging—fuckingbegging—her to come back and give us a chance. Just try. If not for my sake, then for her daughter’s.”
“Holy crap. And she didn’t?”
“I kept promising a thousand different ways we’d make it work. I’d work to keep them up, whatever it took to keep her passion alive. But she wasn’t interested in Maine or me. She left me with a baby, a letter, and she ghosted my calls for months.”
I exhale, feeling that angry pit in my bones yawning, swallowing my vital organs.
Back then, I didn’t have a clue what to do with a baby, much less daycare when someone had to keep us up. Thank God my parents were around.
“A letter?”
“Yeah. Short, frigid, basically ‘I can’t do this, I’m not made for it, good luck.’” I’m so lost in memories I barely notice theway Cleo inches closer. “Like I said, I didn’t give up. I tried to bring her back. Did what I could to reconnect, but she bounced to Denver, then San Diego, and then…”
I stop cold. Hearing it out loud, it’s a miserable story, and I don’t want pity. That sadness in her eyes can’t undo anything.
Then Nile’s little hand falls on my arm, warming me.
“That’s so shitty, Holden,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She came back eventually when she had no other choice.” Even after all this time, my heart sinks like a stone.
Fuck fate and it’s warped, sick sense of humor. I’ll go down cursing it until my dying day, but until then, I’ll live like it doesn’t matter. Like my life wasn’t the punchline to some cosmic joke.
