Page 11 of High Water

I nod. “More or less.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes she sounds like you.”

He curses softly, scrubbing a hand over his face as his emotions overtake him. I can hear it in his voice, too, when he tries to speak. Raspy with effort, and rich with a longing to finally know the truth and the girl behind it.

“I want to… I want to know her. I don’t deserve her. I fucked up by leaving, and I hurt you. I can’t take that back. I can’t fix it. But I want a chance to try. I want to know my daughter.”

“I hoped you would feel that way.”

“You did?” He seems surprised.

“Yes. Whatever I feel about you or the hurt you caused, that’s all separate from her. If she wants to know you, I want you two to have a relationship. She deserves that.”

“I feel a but coming on…”

“But she needs time. This divorce has wrecked her. She’s furious with me. She’s angry with Ethan. If we foist this on her too abruptly, I don’t know how she’ll feel about any of it. I told her she could take her time when we first told her years ago. I wanted the decision to be hers—for her to tell me when she was ready.” I sigh, realizing how much has changed since then. One dad gone and another back from the dead. “That was when I didn’t think you were ever coming back. And now you’re here. But I still want to be sensitive to her needs. And frankly, you need to prove you’re going to stick around first. I need to know what kind of expectations we should be setting for her.”

“I get that. Of course. You’re her mom. You lead on this. I’m not trying to cause trouble, Jones. But it’s been all I’ve been able to think about since that night. When I was lying in that hospital bed, I just wanted to get back here to talk to you. To know for sure.”

“You could have called.” I state the obvious.

“Didn’t feel like this was a conversation we should be having via a phone.”

He has a point there, but I’m still caught off guard by his approach. And his presence in my bedroom.

“I’m not sure the middle of the night is the right time either.”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to talk in front of your brothers or their fiancées; this was the best I could come up with on short notice when you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Who gave you my number anyway?”

“Levi.”

“What did you tell him you needed it for?”

“He didn’t ask.”

“So he knows.” The thought hits me hard, especially because he hasn’t said a word.

“Or he suspects,” Bishop counters. “And is waiting for one of us to confirm it.”

“I’ll tell them. My brothers, I mean. It’s long overdue. Do you think you can keep this between us a little longer until I have the chance to pull them together? I don’t want to hear Grant complain that we told Levi first or Ramsey ask if he’s chopped liver. I’d rather rip the Band-Aid off wholesale. Well, right before I swear them to secrecy again anyway.”

“Like I said. I’ll follow your lead on this.”

“You never were very good at that,” I grumble. I shouldn’t. He’s being kind in this moment, but I remember the much younger, reckless version of him.

“I’m happy to prove I’m capable of doing it now.”

“I hope so.”

And I do truly hope for it. Whatever his faults might have been, however much he might have torn my heart out, at his core, Bishop is one of the best men I’ve ever known. I’ve always hated that Fallon missed out on knowing him. I hated even more that he never got to meet her and see that we made the most perfect daughter I could have ever asked for—we could have ever asked for.

FOUR

Bishop