Over the next two days, my head is so fucked up that I can’t even go to her. If I did, I would have come in like a storm and destroyed her.
She wasted her prayers on me? Wasted? I was a waste to her?
In my head, her saying those things, those hurtful fucking things, has to mean there is no chance one of them is mine.
Chance. Chance Thomas. It could be a coincidence. Ava and I both have dark hair and blue eyes. T had blue eyes, right? Maybe the speculation is just that. Maybe Ava knows our families are speculating, and that’s why she stays away from them all. Maybe Ava is simply grieving, and they can’t see the pain they are causing past what they see in a baby that could be mine. Maybe it’s the silver lining they see, that if he is mine, it will bring her home to them.
Mom called me the day I left. She thought I was heading to see Lilian and her boys. I didn’t confirm nor deny it. I simply told her I need to take care of some things I have been neglecting. I do plan to do just that...when I finish here. When I have my head on straight, I will go see them. I owe them.
What a fucking mess.
Regardless, I am working on something, a new mission.
Yesterday, I went in and talked to the building’s super about their inadequate security, feeding them a bunch of shit. Somehow, it landed me a job in installing the new security system. I wasn’t looking for a fucking job, but I took it. At least then I knew it would get done right. Plus, I now have the master key to every one of these places, including the top floor.
I have been listening in on Ava’s almost daily phone conversations with the police, who can’t give her closure on who the hit and run driver was who killed Thomas Hardy. What the police don’t know is that my new friend, Nan, isn’t making enough to pay her bills, so she is running a site from her home where she dresses up and acts a part for the sick fucks who can’t go out to get a piece of ass. Instead, they pay her to video chat with them, and she plays a role.
I know she shot from a location that faced the window, and with any luck, I will see something the police didn’t that might shine some light on who the killer is. When I have my lunch date with her tomorrow, I’m going to get into her hard drive and see if I can’t salvage some footage. It’s a long shot, but it’s something to keep me busy.
When I first knocked on Nan’s door, she opened it, all smiles. When I told her what I wanted, she really thought I would keep my mouth shut if she pushed her tits in my face. Clearly, she had no idea that tits don’t faze me. I’m an ass man. Had she offered that up, I would have laughed. I am not just an any ass man. I like a round ass.
Fucking Ava.
Nan then put on the tears when I demanded what I wanted. Tears don’t faze me much, either. Hell, I knew they were put on.
I didn’t stop there. I also scouted the stores in the area, hoping the police missed something, though I doubt they did, not when the victim was a fucking rock star.
Am I bitter that I watched hundreds of men die who never got a mention in the media? That their families got a flag and a thank you, maybe a “we’re so sorry for your loss”? That these men and women died fighting for the safety and security of our nation? That millions of Americans lie under the protection of our military and dare say we shouldn’t be overseas fighting someone else’s war, and that they are so fucking ignorant that we are there stopping it from coming to our soil? That instead of a worldwide memorial broadcast over the internet, television, radios, and newspapers, all the men and women in uniform get is a name on a cold stone slab? No. Annoyed, maybe. Bitter, never. We do it because we are called, not because we want a spotlight.
What we get is the knowledge that death is a greater possibility than the average person. That’s a given in the situations we choose to be part of for the greater good.
What happened to...him was a tragedy. What Ava is putting herself through is debilitating. I know. I did the same damn thing.
No more.
I sit outside her place, trying to force myself to just go in. I need answers.
There is dim lighting in the window on the top floor. I know from the last few nights I have sat here watching that this is the time when the lights start to go out, and I can safely assume she will be asleep soon.
It’s time.
I get off the elevator and slowly close the gate. Then I walk toward the room I know is the babies’.
When I walk in, the soft glow of the sunshine nightlight and the moonlight from the window lights up the room.
I walk to the cribs and stop. Looking at them, I am immediately tense. My heart slams against my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
They are Ava’s children. They are Ava’s beautiful babies that grew inside of her.
The girl is blonde. She looks like him, like T, the man who broke Ava more than I ever did. There is no longer any doubt that they are his.
Hope also looks like her mother: her little, heart-shaped face; plump, pink lips; and her eyes, her fucking eyes that are looking at me, unafraid and almost expectantly. There is peace in them, and the peace is addicting. I could stare at them forever.
She’s an angel.
For the first time, I don’t hate Thomas Hardy. I fucking wish I could bring him back for them, for Hope and for Ava. They need a man to take care of them. I can see it in Hope’s eyes. And, as much as Ava is trying to hide her emotions from me, I know how easily she gets hurt, and how hard she tries to hide it. People like Ava feel ten times more than any one person should.
Something comes over me, and I reach inside the crib and lift Hope up, holding her against my heart that is beating so hard I’m sure the sound will wake Ava, who will lose it. For some reason, though, I can’t help it.
Hope nuzzles into my neck, and I can’t help holding my lips to her head. There is a feeling that comes over me unexpectedly. I have felt it before. It’s kept me strong for years.
Protective.
I close my eyes and inhale a familiar scent as calm and comfort wash over me.
Ava. She smells just like Ava does when she walks past me, acting as if I’m not there, yet letting me know she is well aware I am.
This is not about Ava, I tell myself, but it is. It fucking is about Ava and you, little Hope.
Her breaths slow, and she becomes completely limp, sound asleep. I take in a deep breath of peace, of calm, and of comfort before lying her back down in her crib, the way she was when she awoke.
Next to her crib is his. I look at him, and my chest squeezes so fucking tight I am sure it will burst. Tears, fucking tears, fill my eyes, and I swallow hard, begging them to stay at bay.
He looks nothing like T, and even if he had one shred of resemblance, it wouldn’t fucking matter. This boy is pulling out emotions that have been, not just buried, but entombed deep inside of me.
As much as I keep telling myself I need to gain Ava’s trust, she has now totally fucking lost all mine.
I feel my hands tremble as I reach for him. I lift him up and feel the wet tears rolling down my face. I’m wrecked by the intense amount of love I feel instantaneously, and the insane amount of hate that comes from lies.
Her lies.
Her fucking lies.
He inhales and nuzzles into my neck, just like little Hope did, and in that moment, love overshadows anger and hate.
I close my eyes and hold him a little bit tighter, turning toward the door and considering walking the fuck out with him.
“Please don’t,” I hear Ava whisper. “Please, Luke, please don’t do this to me, to him, to Hope. Please.”
I look over my shoulder to see her standing up from the bed she was curled up on, tears streaming down her face. My jaw twitches.
She scrunches her eyes shut and pleads in a whisper, “Please, Luke. I have nothing if I don’t have them.”
I freeze in place. “Go to sleep, Ava.”
“Promise me you won’t take him, Luke. Promise me.”
It hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. Chance is mine, and Hope...Hope is his, and she damn well knew it.
“Answer a question?” I try not to sound as pissed as I am.
“Okay.”
“Would you have ever told me about my son?”
She sharply intakes a breath, and I turn to fully look at her. She looks down and shakes her head before covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobs.
“Go back to bed, Ava. We have a lot to discuss in the morning,” I tell her as I walk toward the window with Chance in my arms, sitting down in the rocking chair and closing my eyes.
“You promised,” she whispers.
“I know.”
With that, she lies back down, but I know damn well she won’t fall asleep. Still, I will be damned if I put down my son, my child, the one I would never have known about if she had it her way.
I must have sat there for a couple of hours, rocking him and looking out the window at the moon before he begins to squirm a little.
I look down at him as he looks up at me.
“Hi, Chance,” I whisper. “Hi.”
I hear Ava move and look over at her.
“He needs to eat.”
“I’ll feed him,” I tell her, not wanting to let him go.
“Luke, he nurses at night.” She walks slowly toward me like she’s fucking terrified of me.
I stand up when she holds her arms out for him and force myself to hand him over. When she takes him, she hugs him so damn tight, and a whimper escapes her.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn and walk toward the door.
“Luke,” she whispers from behind me.
I turn around.
“You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”
“I’m fine,” I say, beginning to walk away again.
“Luke, you can’t keep sleeping outside in your truck.”
I stop and turn around again. “Slept in worse places, Ava.”
She walks back into the room, closing the door behind her.
Outside, I climb into my truck and reach across the seat, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. I pop three in my mouth, swallow them down with the bottle of water sitting on the seat, and then recline back.
My body is in pain from sleeping in the truck for three nights, but I have been in worse pain. A hell of a lot worse.
When I was loaded into that fucking copter, torn to hell, I saw a light, and it was hard as hell not to go toward it, but I needed to know that Killshot was okay. I needed to know Trigger was okay. I needed to make sure they got home to their families.
When I heard Trigger screaming obscenities, I knew one of the two bodies I had pulled out of the fucking building was going to be okay, so I took a step toward that light, ready to meet my maker, to answer for all I had done, but then I waited until I heard Killshot. I waited and waited, and by the time I heard his name, I was in the fucking Army plane, heading to Germany.
His wife thanked me for making sure his body was returned to them. She thanked me. I wished like hell it was me and not him. He had two kids, two boys who will grow up without their father, two boys who knew what a damn good man their father was. I would have traded places with him. I would have given him my life so he could have watched his boys grow into men. I would have done it in an instant.
For months, I have simply existed, but something finally pushed me harder than I have ever been pushed before. Something pushed me to get up and walk. Something twisted my head and mind in circles, and my stomach in knots. Tonight, I found out for sure what that something was.
For months, I have looked up at the ceiling in a bed, or outside up at the stars, all the time wondering where God had been during all the hell that surrounded me. I found out tonight, when I held my son in my arms for the first time.
***
I sit in my truck, my hands shaking in anger and confusion. I started the engine several times, wanting to just drive away, get a hotel, and try to sleep in a fucking bed so maybe tomorrow I will wake up and have less pain and more clarity. I kill the engine each time.
I see her as clear as day in my head. Fight or flight. I saw it in her eyes, but I am not running. I have run for long enough, dammit. If she thinks I am leaving, she is wrong. My son will know me. He will learn from me. He will be part of my life. Come hell or high water, this is the fucking truth.
The military allowed me to be the man I am supposed to be: a protector, a fighter, and a man who will take care of others above himself.
Fucking cold, I reach over and grab my military-issued sleeping bag, when I hear a tap on my window. Ava.
I crack the window open, telling her, “Now is not a good time, Ava.”
“You’ll freeze,” she gets out before the sobbing begins anew. “Just come in.”
“No. If I do, you won’t like what I have to say.”
“I’d rather get it over with now, than when they’re awake.”
She wants her punishment now? I haven’t even figured out what it’s going to be.
“How fucking dare you?” I snap as I push open the door. “You knew all along, and you—”
“Shh...Jesus, Luke,” she scolds, looking around.
“Do I look like a man who gives a fuck what anyone around here thinks, Ava?” I scream. “Do I!”
“I hope you freeze,” she sneers before she turns to storm back into her building, but then she freezes.
I wait for her to turn around. Then I realize she is staring at something. Her body begins to shake, and I know damn well it’s where...he died.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble as I roll up the window. Then, slamming the door shut, I walk toward her and grab her arm.
She looks at me in the way she did as a kid: hurt feelings, lost little girl, and expecting—no, demanding, I take care of her.
“Let’s go,” I tell her with as much care as I can muster. When she doesn’t move, I tell her honestly, “I can’t carry you again, Ava. You’ll have to walk this time.”
Tears cascade down her face as I pull her toward the door, using my key to get into the lobby, and then again to gain access to the elevator, taking her to her place.
When we walk in, she wipes her fingers under her eyes then wipes her nose, turning toward me and asking, “What do you want from me?”
“What do I want? What the hell do I want?” My voice grows louder with each word.
“Shh...Please, they’re sleeping.”
I have no idea how to answer her question. I have so many of my own.
“Why the fuck did you keep him from me? Because of Thomas fucking Hardy?”
She reaches out and slaps me across the face with the force of a woman who has held in her anger for months.
I grab her wrist and tell her, “You ever slap me again, you better make damn sure I have it coming.”
With her other hand, she tries to slap me again, but I catch it this time.
“You are such a fucking bitch, Ava.”