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“Striker.” She comes into the living room with her arms crossed. “You’re being paid to track down that guy in the gray truck and keep us safe until we can figure out what he’s up to. You’re not being paid to set up a nursery or childproof your whole house.”

I set the outlet cover down and take a minute to order my thoughts before I respond. Communication matters, and it’s also not my fuckin’ strong suit.

“You and your little girl are gonna be under my roof a while. No matter whether it’s a few weeks, a few months, or even longer, she oughta have what she needs to have a normal life. I want to see you both comfortable while you’re here. I have the means to keep you both in comfort, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Beth’s expression softens for a few seconds. But then she catches herself and I can literally see the walls come up between us again. She opens her mouth, probably to object but then Josie comes downstairs. Her legs are almost too short to move from one step to another. She wobbles, sticking close to the guardrail. One little hand grasps onto each spindle as she moves. I find myself rushing over to the stairs to stand guard in case she stumbles.

She has sleep-rumpled hair that’s sticking up in every direction. And she’s dragging along a stuffed something I can’t quite identify with her free hand. She’s so small and cute that it makes my heart squeeze. I’ve been around Jinx’s baby and half a dozen other brothers’ kids. That’s how I learned about dolphin cartoons. Josie is smaller than any of the others, though, and for some reason, she seems more delicate and fragile.

“Josie’s small,” I say, hovering as she jumps off the last step. “She takes after you, I reckon.”

Beth’s still standing there with both arms wrapped around her stomach, as Josie runs over to the big pile of toys.

“She was born early,” she explains. “Her lungs weren’t fully developed. She spent her first weeks in the NICU. She’s been small for her age ever since and might never catch up to kids her age.”

“She’s smart though,” I tell her, following Josie back into the living room. “I’ve seen enough to know that much.”

“You’re right. Thankfully, her cognitive development is fine. She does have asthma, though, so let me know if you hear her wheezing or coughing. She’s been off her inhalers for a while, the doctors think she’s grown out of it, but we have to be watchful.”

“Okay,” I say. “If she starts breathing funny, I’ll let you know right away.”

Josie is standing in front of the pile of toys I bought for her with her mouth hanging open. When I come close, she looks up at me. “Is it my birfday?”

I smile at her cute mispronunciation.

“No, it’s not your birthday,” I tell her. I don’t have a clue when her birthday is, but I’m damn sure if it were soon, then Beth would have said something. I add, “It’s just time to buy stuff we need. All the toys and kid stuff is for you.”

I’ve never seen a kid dive into a pile of toys so fast in my entire life. She literally wallows in them, though most of them are still in boxes. I can’t help but smile at her shenanigans. I reach down and pick her up along with a cardboard box containing a tea set. Tossing her over my shoulder, I tell her, “You can play with this one while your mommy and me make breakfast.”

She flails wildly on my shoulder, kicking her feet and gigglin’. When I sit her down in a chair, I realize she’s somehow managed to hang onto that large stuffed animal that I now realize is a bunny. So, I reluctantly pull up a chair for her bunny. I open the box before going to the fridge to take out eggs.

Beth swipes them from my hand. “You’d better let me do the eggs before you hurt yourself.”

I grab the butter and begin buttering bread for toast, trying to work out what she meant by that. I’m a fairly decent egg maker. I scramble them. You can’t beat a nice plate of crispy scrambled eggs.

When we settle down to eat, I realize why Beth didn’t want me making the eggs. Her version of scrambled eggs is light, fluffy and delicious. Compared to her eggs, mine taste like roadkill. I wolf them down before realizing I need to get back to all those questions that came to mind earlier.

“Josie clearly likes your eggs. But what else does she like to eat?” I ask. “What does she like to do for fun? How does she sleep? What sets her off? What scares her? What do I need to know to make sure she has an okay day?” I make myself keep going even though I can feel Beth’s surprise from across the table. “I don’t want to guess at it and get it wrong. I’d rather ask you and know.”

She side-eyes Josie, who seems oblivious to our conversation. She’s too busy tryin’ to cram toast into her bunny’s non-existent mouth. When she answers, it’s grudgingly.

“Josie eats anything that isn’t green. Getting her to eat anything green takes a little finesse. She goes down at seven and has to have a story or two to fall asleep. She sleeps with her bunny and a night light. She’s scared of the vacuum and the drain in the tub because she doesn’t understand they’re not going to suck her up along with the dirt and water. She’s scared of men who talk too loud.”

I take all of it in, noticing that she doesn’t explain why her daughter is afraid of men with booming voices. I turn the conversation on to more mundane topics. Although I want to know if she needs anything for herself, I don’t dare ask that because I know she would see that as rude. In her mind, I’m clearly the hired help right now. And I need to get on with fixing that.

After Josie toddles off to explore her pile of presents, I go over and start helping Beth load the dishwasher. I’ve got something important to say and now is as good a time as any to say it.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I owe you a real apology.”

Her hands go still on the sponge she’s holding. She doesn’t look up when she speaks. “You’ve already admitted you were wrong. I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“That ain’t good enough. You deserve better than a half-assed apology from me.” I force myself to say what’s been weighing on my mind. “I accused you of workin’ for the feds. And usin’ me to get close to my club. When you explained that you were working with them because your boss was money launderin’, I called you a liar. I let my anger get the better of me and I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. You trusted me and I betrayed your trust in the worst way. I want you to know that I’m so fuckin’ sorry for doing that to you. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong and didn’t deserve the way I treated you that day.”

She slowly turns to look at me. “You didn’t just say cruel things, Striker, you actually believed that our whole relationship was a con job.”

“I know. I used everything I’m good at to build a case for betrayal instead of usin’ it to understand what was really happenin’.”

Her eyes tear up, but she holds herself together. “You should have at least talked to me before you decided our whole relationship was just one big manipulation.”