And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.
Chapter 2 - Sierra
I'm trembling so badly I'm surprised Ruby hasn't noticed, but she's too focused on the man standing frozen in the doorway: her father, who looks like I just punched him in the chest and knocked all the air from his lungs.
Which, to be fair, I basically did.
Eight years of silence, and I show up at his workplace with the daughter he didn't know existed. Mother of the Year material right here.
"Are you really my dad?" Ruby asks again when Cade doesn't answer, and I feel her shift slightly behind my hand, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
That seems to break whatever spell has Cade paralyzed. He blinks, his throat working as he swallows, and I watch his knuckles white where he's gripping the back of that chair like it's the only thing keeping him upright.
"I—" he starts, then stops. His eyes, those blue eyes that I've seen every single day for seven years in our daughter's face, move from Ruby to me, and there's so much in them I can't breathe. Shock. Confusion. And underneath it all, something that looks like devastation.
Behind him, five other men have crowded into the doorway. They're all massive, wearing firefighter gear, faces streaked with soot, and they're all staring at me like I'm a particularly complicated house fire they're trying to figure out how to contain.
"Holy shit," one of them mutters, a younger guy with sandy hair who can't be much older than I am. "Did she just say—"
"Rowan." The oldest one, silver at his temples, captain's insignia on his uniform, cuts him off with a single word, but his eyes areon me. Assessing. Not hostile, exactly, but definitely protective of the man I just ambushed.
I want to sink through the floor. This was a mistake. A huge, monumental, catastrophic mistake. I should have called. Should have written. Should have done literally anything except show up here with no warning and a seven-year-old bombshell.
"We should give you some privacy," the captain says, already backing up, gesturing for the others to follow.
But Cade speaks before they can leave, his voice rough and strained. "No. Stay." He's still staring at Ruby, and I watch his hands shake before he shoves them in his pockets. "Just give me a minute."
The silence that follows is excruciating. Ruby's fingers find mine, tangling together, and I can feel her nervousness matching my own. She's been so excited for the entire drive, talking nonstop about meeting her dad, asking a thousand questions I couldn't answer. Does he like animals? What's his favorite color? Will he like me?
Now she's quiet, picking up on the tension in the room, and I hate myself for putting her in this position.
"Maybe we should—" I start, ready to grab Ruby and run, to get back in the car and drive home and pretend this never happened, but Cade finally moves.
He takes a step forward, then another, until he's close enough that I can see he's even broader than I remember. Eight years of carrying people out of burning buildings will do that. His dark hair is shorter than he used to wear it, and there's a scar on his chin I don't recognize, but his eyes, those are the same.
Haunted. Even now, even in his shock, there's that shadow I remember from after the fire. The one that made him flinch at sirens and wake up screaming. The one that made him leave.
The one that made me let him go.
"Ruby," he says, and my heart cracks at the way he says her name, like he's tasting it, testing it out. "That's a pretty name."
Ruby lights up despite her nervousness, standing a little straighter. "Mom named me after a flower. Well, technically a gemstone, but there's a flower too. The ruby daylily."
"I didn't know that," Cade says, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "About the flower."
"Most people don't." Ruby is warming up now, slipping into her default mode of information-sharing. She does this when she's nervous, rattling off facts like they're a shield. "Daylilies are very hardy and they come in lots of colors. We have some in our garden. Mom lets me take care of them."
"Does she?" Cade's eyes flick to me, and I see the question there. The hundreds of questions. Eight years' worth.
I force myself to meet his gaze, even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away. "She's good with plants. Good with anything that needs taking care of, really."
"She gets that from you," he says, and the intimacy in those words, the acknowledgment of what we were, what we had, makes my happy that he still remembers.
"Jesus Christ," one of the men behind Cade breathes, and I tear my eyes away to see them all watching this unfold like it's a television drama.
The younger one—Rowan—has his hand pressed to his mouth. Another one, built like a tank with close-cropped dark hair, looks like he can't decide if he's shocked or impressed. A third keepsglancing between Cade and Ruby, probably cataloging all the ways they look alike.
They're gossiping. Silently, but definitely gossiping, their eyes communicating what their mouths aren't saying. And judging me. I can feel it, the weight of their assessment. This woman who showed up out of nowhere and turned their friend's life upside down.
