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Phil was already on his third beer when Hank took a seat in a booth by the door, a clear view of Annie's ex at the bar. He settled in to wait. Though his pulse quickened with anticipation, a familiar calmness settled over him. Nursing a beer, he let his mind wander as he analyzed the layout of the Banjo Lounge. His days as a sniper were long behind him, but Hank could still imagine the heft of his rifle in his hands. Though his target had changed, he recognized the stillness that descended over him while he assessed his target. Studied the periphery. Tested the wind.
He was doughy around the waist. Something he probably hated in himself, but had likely taken out on her. Hank had seen plenty of his type. An extremely average guy who only felt big when he was picking on someone weaker. There was a hint of cruelty around his lips—as though they perpetually formed a sneer. His gut tightened when he remembered Annie's fear. Her deer-in-the-headlights expression had told him more about Phil than her words ever could.
She was beautiful to him, her body reed slender, golden hair lending an air of fragility to her features. But, it was Annie's smile that had captured him two months earlier. Shy, yet sassy at the same time. After the violence she'd endured at Phil's hands, her smile confirmed how resilient she was. Even on the run, she’d never given up. Raising two great sons; adapting to ever-changing circumstances. Maintaining pride in a job well done, no matter that her career had been shut down. A strong, free-spirited woman. Once they dealt with the Phil problem, she'd be damn near unstoppable. Lord willing, she would be with him.
It was another hour before Phil finally decided he'd had enough. Ten o'clock, Hank acknowledged. A little earlier than the previous night, likely because of his rough day. The bruises the cops had inflicted were probably making him feel stiff about now, though the aches would be muffled by the alcohol in his system. Running a hand over his hair, Hank hid his smile. He wouldn't want to be him in the morning.
Though McKenna had slowed down, Hank counted seven beers. Nice and tipsy for his ride home. He likely drank at The Banjo because it was so close to home, believing he'd get there on auto-pilot.
Like most opportunities, timing was everything. Waiting precisely two minutes after Phil paid his check, he rose from his seat as Annie's ex stumbled through the door. The Banjo was nearly empty. His gaze trailed Phil's progress through the window as he paid his tab before heading out into the balmy night. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he trailed Phil meandering to his car. The bastard shouldn't be driving. It was only a matter of time before he hurt someone.
"Excuse me, Phil?"
He turned, instantly wary of the footsteps behind him, but likely too wobbly to defend himself if needed. "Who wants to know?"
He read the belligerence in a flaccid face—knew it was his default expression. And again wondered how she'd endured it for so long. "I'm Hank. I want to talk to you about Annie."
His eyes widened. "Who—you’re the guy from the park." Taking a step, Phil straightened up. "Stay away from my wife."
"Ex-wife," he corrected. Phil had followed them. "I'm here to remind you to leave her alone." Fist clenched, he willed himself to remain calm. "Don't go near her."
Phil's attempted laugh erupted as a drunken giggle. "Who's gonna make me? You?"
Hank stared at him, every cell in his body poised to attack. To rain down blows until he lay in a heap at his feet. But—brief satisfaction wouldn't resolve a long-term problem. He needed to get through to him. Though a long shot, maybe gain his cooperation. "Yeah. Me."
Phil took a wild swing, stumbled and caught himself, his pride at stake. "You and what army, Pop?"
Time for some truth. "I am the army, Phil. I've been following you for two days. I've been watching you."
Red-rimmed eyes widened as Hank's words slowly registered. "I know where you drink every night." He nodded to the Banjo, light spilling from the windows onto the half-empty gravel lot. "After you beat up Betsy two days ago, I know you're on thin ice with the cops, now."
"They can't prove anything." Wary eyes belied his attempt at humor. Hank had his attention.
"Stay away from Annie," he repeated. "Stay away from the boys."
"Or else what?" Belligerence apparently his default position.
"Or else, you deal with me." He leaned in, reading the flash of fear in Phil's eyes. Apprehension had killed some of his buzz, but the stench of stale beer seeped from his pores. "I'm Army, Phil. I can take you out a hundred different ways."
"Like the Army means shit now?"
I could choke him. The hazy image hung before his eyes. Watch the life wheeze from his useless, flailing body. Bury him in the woods . . . Forcibly, Hank released it. He wanted Phil to suffer—but, he wanted Annie and the boys more.
"I made most of my kill shots from over half a mile away," he said conversationally. "In the right wind, sometimes up to a mile." He heard the hitch in Phil's breath. "It means when I take you out, you'll never see me coming."
"Y-you . . . can't just say that and get away with it." Phil stood his ground. "I'll call the cops."
"Yeah, they love guys like you—who stalk their ex-wives." He smirked. "Guys who get busted for attacking an innocent woman at the shelter. Who got hauled in one day ago for beating up Betsy."
A flash of surprise behind bleary eyes. "I don't have to listen to this." Phil turned, stumbling in his haste to reach his car. Seconds later, he stopped when he saw the man leaning against the fender.
"Goin' somewhere?" Pete grinned as he rose to his full height.
Hank raised his gaze to the sky. "Damn it, I said I'd handle this."
"What the hell is this?" Phil's eyes looked ready to bug out. "Who's the circus freak?"
Big mistake. "You got a problem, little man?"
Phil recoiled, sensing his immediate danger. He was about to get pounded. "Both of you—g-get away from me."
As amusing as the situation was becoming, Hank wanted to wrap it up and get home. He'd missed Annie the past two days. Was eager to see her in the morning. Maybe convince her to spend the coming weekend at his place. To be able to offer welcome news—that soon she’d be safe to leave the shelter. He could begin the loving task of convincing her how great their life could be. Grabbing Phil by the shirt, he hauled him back around to face him.
"Listen carefully—you go anywhere near Annie, and I'll hunt you down." Making sure the idiot was taking it in, Hank lasered in, his gaze never wavering. "I'm prepared to make your life a living hell.” He jerked him back against the car. "You're gonna square up your child support. And you’re going to stop harassing her."
Phil snorted. "Dream on, bud. I sure as hell ain't payin' for two whiny-ass kids I never wanted."
"What if I told you I could make that go away?" Hank dangled the carrot, curious whether Phil would remember any of their conversation the next day. "What if you could sign a form and make all the money problems go away?"
"I’d say you’re nuts."
"You can relinquish your parental rights." Part of him prayed the bastard would sign it. And part of him recoiled at the thought of anyone doing it willingly. "Sign the document—and you never pay another dime."
"There's no way-" He waved him off. "I don't have time for this."
"Or you can sober up." Hank gave him a little shake. "Pay your bills. Support your kids." His hands tightened on his shirt, remembering how Betsy had looked when they found her.
"Or I could kill the bitch and finally-"
Hank slammed a fist into his face, sending him careening back against the car door, only to have his flailing body ricochet back at him. He punched him again, a cold, dormant fury rising from the pit of his stomach. Each time his fist connected with Phil’s battered face, he saw Tommy—protecting his brother. Spilled milk.
He could kill him. His brain on auto-pilot. Muscle memory returning. His years in combat. The stillness. The methodical slowing of his breathing. The clinical detachment necessary to focus. I could get away with it, he thought hazily, consumed with the vision of Annie—beaten. Broken. He wanted Phil to taste the fear he’d stained her with. To entertain the possibility—that this night might be his last. "You'll never touch her again."
He felt Shea’s hand jostle his shoulder before jerking him back. "Cowboy up, Hank. We’re not here for that." Pete sent a menacing glance to Phil. "Not tonight, anyway."
Concentration broken, Hank shook off the residue. "Your life's about to get miserable."
"I'm already miserable."
Surprised, he experienced a nanosecond of understanding—for the despair in his eyes. He knew that expression—as though not a single thing remained on earth to tether you there. Of each breath exhaled like a knife wound in your back. When Gayle died . . . he'd been as close to becoming a guy like Phil as he'd ever been. Instead, he'd thrown himself into his work at Specialty. And he’d survived.
"Dude, you still have a life." Pete finally spoke. "Quit drinkin' and quit blaming everyone else for your problems."
Blood oozing from his nose, eye nearly swollen shut, his facade was crumbling. Pride still warring with commonsense, Phil cursed him—before remembering Pete's size. "Or what?"
"You'll go to jail." Hank closed the distance. "Or you'll be dead."
"You're threatening me?" His voice wavered on the edge of bluster and fear.
"I'm stating fact." Staring him down, Hank finally stepped aside, allowing him to get in his car. A minute later, they watched him drive away. Thumping Pete's shoulder, he smiled up at his stubborn friend. "I thought I made it clear I'd take care of this."
Pete shrugged. "He was too easy to track. I couldn't resist."
"How'd you get here?"
His smile widened. "Me an' the steel erectors have negotiated a temporary truce. Crazy Albert gave me a ride."
Nodding toward the fading tail lights, Hank sighed. "Think any of that worked?"
"Doubtful." Shea nodded. "He’s on the edge of a cliff. In that situation, you got two choices. Turn around and start the long walk back . . . or jump." He stared down the empty road.
Spoken like a man who'd been tested. Hank resisted the urge to question him.
"What you can't do—is keep standing there. Eventually, you just fall off." His face creased in a sober smile. "Maybe you’ll get lucky. I'd get the papers drawn up," he urged. "Don’t give him too much time to think about it."
He'd call Specialty's attorney in the morning. "Come on, big guy. I'll give you a ride home."
***
BY THE TIME ANNIE FOUND Henry the following morning, he was buried in paperwork in his makeshift office in the conference room. "You never stopped by for your coffee refill." She set it on the table, reassured by his broad smile as he tossed his pencil aside.
"I got here early." Massaging the back of his neck, he yawned.
"How early?" The hallway still quiet, she moved behind him. Sliding her hands down his neck, she planted a kiss at his hairline.
"Around five-" He groaned. "That feels amazing."
"I missed you," she whispered against heated skin. She continued to stroke his knotted muscles.
Relaxing under her fingertips, he turned in his chair to pull her into his lap. "God, you feel good."
Annie enjoyed the sensation of being cuddled in a chair that was far too small to do justice. The brief flash of worry over possibly being discovered in his lap was outweighed by the overwhelming urge to kiss him.
When she finally drew back, her smile dissolved. "Henry—you look exhausted. Did you sleep?"
He grinned up at her when she struggled to stand. "Not as well as I do with you."
"Someone's coming." Flustered, she bolted up from his lap at the sound of footsteps echoing in the hall. "Seriously, are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," he dismissed, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Sweet, anyone walkin' in right now would know something's up. You blush so pretty."
Which only made her face heat to inferno level. "I think you should take tonight off in the daycare center." She studied the fine lines of weariness around his eyes. "Go home after dinner and get some rest."
"And miss out on time with you and the boys?"
She wished they could do something fun. Take the boys to the park again. But—Phil. One day, she promised. Soon, there would need to be a confrontation. A resolution. Because she was tired of waiting. Impatient to move on with her life. The one she wanted to build with Hank. "They put in the last window yesterday," she remembered. "Robin is busy picking out paint colors for that wall."
"That's great news. I didn't think they'd get to it until next week." His brain seemed to be calculating a new schedule. "We can caulk it tonight. Then, I'll knock out the trim and the boys can help me build out the window seat. In a week or so, we'll be nearly done until we get the carpet guys in."
"Actually—I have a surprise." She sank down in the chair across from him, happiness strumming through her. He was back—and she'd missed him. The last two nights, she'd eaten dinner with the boys—as she'd done countless times over the past two years. From shelter to shelter. A room crowded with people. But, the last two nights, she'd felt—lonely. She'd missed Henry's presence next to her. Missed talking with him. His conversations with the boys. Knowing he enjoyed them as much as they did.
He sipped the coffee she'd brought him. "Tell me."
She grinned, still proud of herself. "The boys and I . . . sorta did the caulking for you last night after dinner. And whether it needed it—Tommy sanded all the window edges."
"No way." His face lit with a smile. "I can't wait to see. I'm sure y'all did a fantastic job."
He'd never uttered a negative word about the work they'd done. Certainly, it could only be passable. Two little boys and a woman who'd only become handy by necessity. "I figured if we screwed it up, you could always go over it again tonight." Reluctantly, she rose to her feet. "I should get back."
He stood, too. Leaned in. Gave her a lingering kiss. "I missed you, too, love."
She sighed, his gruff voice raising goosebumps on her skin. "See you at lunch?"
"It's a date."
***
"THERE'S NO OTHER WAY?" Hank glanced up from his phone conversation to see Jeff's shadow looming in the doorway. He listened to Deborah, Specialty's long-winded, but very knowledgeable attorney relay the details he'd have a hell of a time convincing Annie to go along with. "Okay—plug my name in there for now." Disconnecting with her, he sighed.
"I know, right?" Jeff slung his bag on the table. "She says two hundred words instead of twenty. But, she knows her stuff." His eyes held a question mark. "Parental rights?"
"Yeah." He ran a hand over his hair. "Annie's gonna think I'm crazy."
"Why?" He withdrew his tablet. "I thought it was pretty straightforward."
"Maybe for you—because Hector doesn't have a father listed on the birth certificate."
Jeff sat back in his chair. "But, if Phil signs off-"
"In Virginia, if there are two parents, Annie has to find a financial substitute for the parent giving up rights."
"That's ridiculous. He's not contributing now. And he's abusive." Jeff shook his head. "Like—the mom who's doing it all . . . wouldn't continue supporting them?"
"The state is hedging it's bet," he repeated Deborah's reasoning. "Kids are less likely to become wards of the state if two people are financially responsible." Hank leaned back in his chair. "Hell, I'd be fine with it," he admitted, rubbing his aching jaw. "I want to be their dad—whenever Annie's ready." But, Annie would think he was crazy. Hell—she wouldn't consider moving in with him until she had a job. Until she could support herself.
"What's Annie say?"
"She doesn't know yet." The notion that an abusive, non-existent father who never paid support—a man who'd stalked her and made it impossible to earn a living—was better on paper than her alone—a loving, hardworking, determined single mother. The revocation agreement would make her feel like a failure. And that was before he'd get the chance to explain his role. Him—stepping in to make everything all better? Hell, no. "She'll see it as me trying to insert myself into their lives."
Traynor's expression was puzzled. "You could always wait—live together a while. See if Phil gets any better."
Move in. Get married. Eventually convince Annie to sign it. But, that meant the Phil cloud lingering over them. Possibly for years. Phil's only enticement was the get-out-of-child-support card Hank could leverage. Without it, he'd worry what Phil was plotting. Waiting for more charges to pile up against him. Until the courts could be forced to act. "We'd be in the same situation as Marisol." He glanced at him. "How long?"
"Three years." Jeff's eyes were solemn. "And counting."
A headache gnawing at him, Hank was no closer to a solution an hour late. Standing in the lunch line with Pete, he chewed over his options. Annie signing off on the revocation was the best of the lot. But, that likely wouldn't happen. He couldn't blame her for wanting stability. For wanting to regain her confidence. Her earning power. And he—didn't want the role of her savior. He wanted to be her partner. Until she could view herself as equal, she likely wouldn't budge.
Forcing aside his troubled thoughts, he caught her gaze. She flashed her beautiful smile. Eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed pink. He wanted to . . . carry her out of there. Take her home with him. Talk all night. Make plans. Make love until they were exhausted. And then do it all again.
"Hi Pete. Hello, Henry." Annie flashed by on the other side of the counter, hustling trays of dishes. Replenishing the line like a pro.
"Hello, Miss McKenna." To him, Pete lowered his voice. "You tell her yet?"
About what? The list of topics was exhaustive. His two-day hunting trip? Bribing and then beating her ex the previous night? The revocation document that would belittle her years of parenting effort? "Not yet."
Pete chuckled behind him. "Sorta glad I'm not you."
"I'll try to catch her after lunch," he muttered. In the ten minutes they'd get to talk. Or later that night—when they'd work in the daycare with the boys—with never enough time to discuss anything serious. He'd drive home late, fall into bed, then get up and do it again. Maybe Saturday—his exhausted brain whispered. If he could convince her to come out to the farm again.
He startled when Annie touched his hand across the stainless steel counter. "I have a surprise for you after lunch." She winked and was gone before he could respond.
Pete flashed a knowing smile. "Me? I'm hopin' it's pie."
***
"HURRY, HENRY." HER honeyed eyes flashed with excitement. "We're on the clock."
"Love, we shouldn't be doing this." Hank's protest was half-hearted. His brain cells had begun incinerating on the torturous journey to the second floor. Her long legs hurrying up the stairs in front of him. Gorgeous, curvy hips swaying before his eyes. Hips he'd held onto for dear life, only three days earlier—as she'd taken him to heaven.
"I don't want you to get in trouble- " His breath quickened as Annie unlocked her door, his cock already heavy and aching. By the time she pulled him into her room, his fatigue was forgotten.
"No time for talking." In seconds, her mouth was sealed to his. His control in shreds, Annie swallowed his groan as her tongue slid into his mouth. She took the kiss deeper, her whimper sending his heart over the ledge where his sanity clung. The thunder in his chest like the reverberation of an M-16. When she left him a moment later, Hank bit back his protest. His brain on life support, his eyes registered her shirt—tossed in the vicinity of the folding chair.
She returned to him, warm, fragrant skin against his chest. I need to feel her. Forgetting the rules. Forgetting decorum. Forgetting the dining room full of people one floor below them, Hank tugged his shirt over his head. He needed her skin. Hot against his. Her lips, clinging to his. Backed against the door, she lifted her leg to curl around his.
Her beautiful, curvy butt in his hands, he hoisted her skirt to her waist. Annie was with him all the way, her golden eyes smoky with passion. She unhooked her bra, allowing him to feast on a perfect, pink-tipped nipple.
"Henry-" Her head rolled back on her exquisite neck, her fingers moving to the zipper of his jeans. "Please-" He tugged harder, reveling in the hard, pebbled tip. Her gasping moan nearly making him come.
Until his cock sprang free, into the warm hands of the woman he'd lost his damned mind over. "Baby, don't-" His warning was more of a plea as she moved to kneel before him. "I won't last ten seconds," he rasped. Instead, he hoisted her into his arms. Turning, he braced her against the wall, muffling his groan against her breasts as he buried himself inside her. I love you. Gritting his teeth to keep from shouting, he sank into her again. Love you. Love you.
Annie gasped, her shudder rippling through him like a current. As her body welcomed the hot, hard violation, she clenched around him. His mouth sought her skin. Her drugging scent surrounding them, he nipped the pale, delicate collarbone he loved to nuzzle.
"Hank—I'm-" Her breath released on a gasp as she tightened her hold on his shoulders, her nails scoring him as she rocked against him.
"No moaning, love." He stared into glazed honey eyes as her tremors started, realizing she wasn't hearing a damn thing. As his vision faded to sharp points of light, Hank prepared for the mortar to detonate. Leaving her beautiful breasts, he moved to cover her mouth, his tongue thrusting against hers as she stiffened. He swallowed her sharp cry as her body fisted in an unrelenting orgasm. Inhaling a sharp breath, he bit back his groan as he finished deep inside her. Come home with me, Annie. Live with me and never leave.
He wanted desperately to say it aloud. To remind her how important she'd become. To push her for an answer. But—she knew how he felt. He couldn't pressure her to feel it, too.
His legs quivering with sudden exhaustion, he slumped against her, her limp body still pressed to the wall. Her panting breath striking his cheek. Afraid he might not have the strength to move, he prolonged the pleasure-pain for several moments. Her lush breast . . . only inches from his mouth.
"Henry." His name, whispered on a relaxed sigh. Her body still squeezing him, her nipple suddenly tightened under his tongue. Restless, she moved against him. "I love you, Henry."
As sparks shot through him, he forgot the pain in his knees. His body taking over for any shred of logic, he stirred inside her. A minute later, his breath coming hard and fast, it rolled over him, like a fast moving storm. His hoarse cry muffled against her breast.
Several minutes later, they staggered to her little bed. Annie slid, boneless, to the floor. None too steady himself, Hank held her arm as she sank down on the bed. "We should have started here."
Eyes gleaming, her hair tumbling down, her red lips bruised and swollen, she kissed him. "I need a nap, now."
"I need-" His brain finally re-engaged, he checked his watch. "Hell—to get back downstairs. I've got a meeting in twelve minutes." She smothered her laughter. The joyous sound made him smile, his chest heating with it. Two people, alone for too long—finding each other. It was an incredible gift. One he couldn't let slip away. However long it took—he would wait for her to realize how good they would be together.
Her sanity returning, her gaze darted to the door. "How loud do you think we were?"
Adjusting his pants, Hank reached for his shirt. "Loud." He met her gaze, smiling over her blush. Annie was a loving, sexy puzzle. A gorgeous woman, down for a quickie at lunch—and then embarrassed by the wildest, happiest sex he'd had in years. "Hopefully, no one was up here."
Stifling a yawn, she reluctantly rose from the tiny bed. "I'll be down in a minute. I should be working."
Hesitating by the door, Hank turned back. "Do I look okay?"
She closed the three step gap between them. "Except for your shirt being inside-out?" Her fingers trailed over the seams. "You look well-loved, Mr. Freeman."
Yanking his shirt over his head, he paused. Well-loved. Hopefully, those words would be permanent . . . soon. He wanted her. He wanted her boys. He wanted all of it. "As long as it's by you—I'll take it."
Lifting up on tiptoes, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Only me."
***
LATER THAT EVENING, they'd finished up work in the daycare center. Annie sat at the kids' painting table, nursing her animosity after her conversation with Henry. "So, you're saying that even if I could get Phil to sign away his parental rights-" She swallowed around the painful knot of frustration. He'd given up any rights the first time he'd hit Tommy. "If I could find him—and have an actual conversation . . . without him attacking me," she added. "If all that could be accomplished, then—the state won't allow it?"
What was the point in trying? Maybe she'd be better off with a lifetime of restraining orders. Learn to protect herself. Live a low-profile life. And hope Phil eventually lost interest in punishing her for his problems.
Unusually quiet, Hank gathered his tools to leave. "Or you can find a new partner to substitute." He stared at her, the obvious question in his eyes. Why not him? "Then Phil goes away for good—with the least amount of court intervention."
"It's too much. You know I can't accept it." Her voice hoarse around the painful admission, she didn't know how to explain her reasons—without appearing as though she were rejecting him. Rejecting his love. The kind, loving man standing before her was offering a lifetime guarantee. Yet—she'd never felt less worthy of it. She hadn't earned it. Didn't deserve it.
Hank didn't sit down next to her. He continued cleaning up . . . as though he, too, was feeling overwhelmed. "You have the right to your reasons. You have the right to solve your own problems." His voice was dangerously neutral. "To choose a life with me—or decide against it. To think about it . . . for as long as it takes."
"That's what I'm trying to do." Her voice choked. "Juggle twenty life-altering problems. To somehow rank them . . . in order of importance. To choose any one I can act on with my limited resources."
"I'm offering a suggestion that can resolve the biggest issue." His eyes glinted with stubbornness. "Buying Phil off might not even work—but, it's an opportunity with a limited window. Before he does something worse that takes it off the table."
"With you absorbing the entire burden? That's not me solving my problems." She shook her head. "How could you think I'd let you do that? Waste your hard earned money . . ." On her? The perpetual failure?
Hank lifted his gaze to the ceiling, a hand to the back of his neck as though it ached with the strain she was causing him. "I'd hoped . . . you would consider my assistance as part of the package. Of me loving you . . . and you loving me." His throat rippled around a painful swallow. "That you would trust I'm capable of making my own decisions. To help you. That I'm not doing this out of pity. Or charity."
"It's too m-much," she whispered, hot tears scalding her throat.
"So, you say." The flash of sadness in his eyes made her heart stop. "Is anything too much—to protect the person you love?" He nodded to the door, where the sounds of the boys' laughter reached their ears. They'd been lured to the kitchen with the promise of a cookie. "To protect the boys—from a monster?"
His jaw set, he released a ragged sigh. "I love you, Annie. That means all of you. And . . . if you love me—you get all of me. The good and the bad. It means when I fall down . . . I'll be counting on you to help me up. It means when you have a problem, my heart is going to ache until I can help you resolve it."
"Hank-" Heart pounding, she had the strangest sensation of loss. Of her blood seeping from her body. Of wanting to cry, but too afraid to look away.
"What about today?"
She bit her lip to keep from crying. "What do you mean?"
His wry smile unfamiliar."Upstairs? When neither of us even thought about protection."
She drew in a sharp breath. "I—forgot."
"Does that mean . . . if you became pregnant, I should only pay for that baby?"
"Henry, no-"
"I should ignore the boys—because they're not mine?" He studied her, an expression on his face she could no longer read. He moved to the door. "This isn't about jobs or finances or who carries what load. And if that's all it is to you, then . . . maybe we're feeling different things."
"No-"
He glanced over his shoulder. "I guess we both need to do some thinking." His brisk tone sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm tired, love. I'll see you tomorrow."
He left, pausing in the hallway to wave to the boys. To shift his tools when Jason insisted on a hug. The sudden stillness in the daycare, broken by her panicked breaths. By the roaring in her ears. By the vice clutching her jack-hammering heart. Why couldn't she accept what he so freely offered? "What do I want?" More important—what had she done?
***