Living with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 4)

by Whitley Cox

  They left the police station at exactly one thirty and were home shortly before two. Sophie had been a trooper through the whole thing, hardly squawking at all once her diaper was changed and her belly was full.

  And Isobel had been un-fucking-believable.

  That woman had titanium balls hidden somewhere, because the entire time they were at the police station, she didn’t break down once. She was steady and coherent, giving a rock-solid account of everything that transpired from the moment she stopped in front of the jewelry store to the moment the police arrived.

  Obviously, because Aaron was rescuing Isobel and Sophie and the man he’d beaten to a bloody pulp was a felon, there were no assault charges—thank God.

  But that didn’t stop the cop who took their statements from reading Aaron the riot act about going all vigilante rather than calling the authorities.

  Aaron had clamped down hard on the inside of his cheek with his molars and simply nodded rather than ask him where he and his buddies had been in August when a psychopath with an AK-47 ran into the Emerald City Mall. He’d never trust cops. Never. But he did have to tolerate them.

  No sense adding punching a police officer to the report. Besides, his knuckles were killing him.

  Isobel’s car was being towed to a body shop, and they would hear later in the week whether the damage was fixable or not.

  Aaron held the door open for her, and she stepped inside the house, both of them still damp, and now she was shivering.

  “Go jump into the shower,” he said, shutting the door behind them. “I’ll tend to Sophie. You need to warm up.”

  She nodded. “My parents will be here shortly.”

  “Okay.”

  He was chilly but not freezing like she seemed to be, so he changed into some dry clothes, then tossed Sophie into the wrap on his chest and went about making a quick pot of soup.

  Earlier that summer, he and Dina had gone to a farmer’s market and bought a bunch of funky-shaped pasta. It wasn’t until he’d cooked some up for them later that he realized what he thought were rocket ships were actually penises. It was an erotic pasta shop.

  Oh, well. It was all he had.

  Pasta was pasta.

  He pulled the “rocket ship” noodles out of the cupboard and set the pot to boil.

  He needed to get his wet and bloody clothes in the laundry before he forgot about them and they started to stink. Walking down the hall, he paused next to Isobel’s room. A weird muffled sound echoed through the door.

  She was crying.

  She was so strong when she had to be, but everyone had a breaking point. Not even steel was completely indestructible.

  He didn’t bother knocking and instead slowly turned the knob. “Iz?”

  She was sitting on her bed in her bra and panties, her wet hair hanging down all around her face. Fresh droplets of tears puddled on the tops of her thighs.

  Adjusting Sophie in the carrier, he sat down next to her, resting his hand on her back. “Iz?”

  They’d kissed when he’d found them, hugged and never stopped touching until they arrived home. But had that all just been the adrenaline? The fear toying with her emotions?

  She lifted her head. Her sapphire eyes were red-rimmed, and tear tracks marred her face. She stared at him, her bottom lip jutting out and trembling ever so slightly.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. She needed to know that she didn’t always have to be strong. He was here to be her strength, to be her rock.

  Her nostrils flared, and she flung herself into his arms. It was awkward given Sophie between them, but they shifted and adjusted, and her head fell to his shoulder. And there she sobbed as he stroked her hair and gently hummed.

  He wasn’t sure why he hummed, but for some reason it felt right.

  No song, no identifiable melody, just a soft, gentle hum of a tune that had simply popped into his head.

  Big, hot tears dripped down onto his back, and her whole body shook as the entirety of the day finally came to a head. She’d been held at gunpoint, carjacked and then in a car accident. That was enough to make even the fiercest of warriors take pause and lose their composure.

  And Isobel Jones was one of the strongest warriors he knew.

  It wasn’t long before her sniffles began to wane and she no longer shook as intensely. Sophie made a noise of protest between them, so Isobel pulled away.

  Voices in the hallway had Aaron bolting upright.

  “It’s my parents,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “I gave them a key last night in case they wanted to take Sophie for a walk. Sorry that they let themselves in. They’re just like that.”

  He didn’t care.

  “Hello?” her father called out. “Anybody home?”

  Isobel blew out a breath. “Suppose we need to tell them.” She stood up and wiped beneath her eyes, grabbing her robe from a hook on the back of the door.

  Once she tied the tails of the housecoat, he reached for her hand. “We’ll tell them together. And then we’ll go have some penis pasta.”

  Her nose wrinkled, and her lip curled up in confusion. “Penis pasta?”

  30

  Hand in hand, they raced up the steps of the rented hall. The rain had stopped, and patches of blue sky fought their way through the bulbous gray clouds.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to be late to my own sister’s service,” he said, not so much mad as anxious. He’d been a nervous wreck on the drive over, tugging at his tie and cracking his neck back and forth. He felt like he was being strangled.

  “It’s fine,” Isobel said, stepping ahead of him after he’d opened the door for them. “I blame the fact that there was absolutely no parking. What the heck?”

  He shook his head. There must be some sports event or a recital or something going on nearby. They’d been forced to park in a parking garage nearly three blocks away, but only after he’d circled the block four times.

  The sound of mingling voices and low music hit them before the wall of people did.

  And it was literally a wall.

  People filled the enormous room shoulder to shoulder. A sea of suits and black.

  “There you are,” Liam said, walking up, a program in his hand. “Was getting worried. Everything okay?”

  “I was carjacked, held at gunpoint, kidnapped and then got in a car accident,” Isobel said.

  Liam’s dark brown eyes narrowed. He paused. Then he tossed his head back and laughed. “Good one. You were home bangin’, weren’t you?”

  Aaron ignored him. “Who are all these people?” Did Dina know this many people?

  Liam looked at him like he’d just declared the Earth was flat and the moon was made of cheese. “They’re here for you. For Dina.”

  “For me?”

  He nodded. “Duh.” His eyes scanned the room. “I see the pastor. I’m going to go let him know that you’re here now so we can start the service.” Then he took off across the room, waving and smiling at people as he went.

  What the fuck would Aaron have done without Liam?

  He wouldn’t have Isobel, that was for sure.

  He wouldn’t have much.

  Liam was a fucking lifesaver.

  A large-bellied man with a short white beard and glasses made his way up to a small riser behind a podium and microphone. “If everyone could be seated, please.”

  The shuffle of chairs and bodies filled the room.

  Isobel pulled him toward the front of the room. “Family sits at the front,” she whispered.

  He had no clue on the protocol. None.

  They made their way up the center aisle toward the chairs at the front, and that’s when he started to recognize all the faces.

  And there were a lot of them.

  His old boss from the construction site.

  Rob and his wife, Skyler.

  Rob’s parents, Malcolm and Pilar.

  Colton and Mercedes.

  His ex-girlfriend, Heather, and her husband (Sk
yler’s brother), Gavin.

  Heather’s mother.

  All his brothers in arms: Blaze, Ash, Wark, Callaghan, Deck and Ryke.

  And all of The Single Dads of Seattle with their partners: Mark and Tori, Adam and Violet, Mitch and Paige, Zak, Emmett, Mason, Scott, Atlas and, of course, Liam.

  They were all here for him?

  For him.

  His feet became as heavy as a thousand sandbags, and his muscles refused to cooperate. He was frozen in place. Stunned. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his gut churned with unease. Why were they here for him? It made no sense.

  Isobel tugged on his hand. “You okay?”

  He shook his head. “I … I can’t.”

  Worry clouded her eyes. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Come with me for a second.” She pulled him past the front row and over to where there was a small alcove and then a hallway. They ducked behind the wall, away from the crowd.

  Finally, he could breathe again. Finally, his muscles worked in time with his mind, and he was able to relieve the tension in his neck and shoulders by cracking his neck side to side.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, releasing his hand and placing both her palms on his waist. “Talk to me. Is it the crowd? Too many people? Do you not want to sit at the front? Do you not want to get up to speak?”

  Oh fuck, he hadn’t even thought about that. Now he wasn’t just stunned, he was downright terrified.

  She pushed past his coat and gripped the fabric of his dark blue dress shirt, pulling just a little to get his attention. “Please, Aaron. Talk to me.”

  He shut his eyes and started doing his tactical breathing.

  Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold. Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.

  “All those people,” he finally said, not yet ready to open his eyes. The darkness was comforting. The darkness was empty.

  “They’re here for you,” she said softly. “Because they love you. Because they love Sophie and they love Dina.”

  He felt her body press against his, and finally, he opened his eyes.

  “Are you overwhelmed by how much you’re loved?”

  He glanced down at her, his vision growing blurry.

  She smiled sweetly and lifted her hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “You are so loved, Aaron. They’re here for you just as much as they are for Dina. Don’t shut them out.”

  He quickly wiped his eyes with his thumb. “I don’t want to shut anybody out anymore. Especially not you. Tonight, I’ll tell you about Colombia. You deserve to know what happened.”

  She closed and opened her eyes slowly. “It’s okay. If it’s not something you want to share, it’s okay.”

  He shook his head. “No, you need to know. I want to tell you. I want to share my life with you. My past, my present and my future.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “I hate that it took almost losing you to realize I can’t live without you,” he whispered, moving his hand to cover hers where it rested on his cheek. “Your dad was right. I love you, Isobel. Everything in this world means absolutely nothing if I can’t have you in my life. Tell me I’m not too late, that you’ll give me another chance. I want it all … if you’ll have me.”

  She blinked up at him again but didn’t smile. Her eyes held promise though.

  “I know I’m angry, and I’m going to really try to work on it. I’m going to get some help. Don’t give up on me though, please. I need you. Sophie needs you. And not just as a nanny. She needs you as a mom.” It felt weird saying that word but not wrong-weird. “And I need you as a partner, as my person.”

  Her eyes went wide, her cheeks rosy.

  He smiled down at her, emotion catching in his throat.

  Relief washed over her face, and he suppressed the urge to chuckle.

  “You’re everything I didn’t know I ever wanted until I had it. Until I almost lost it. Say you’ll give me another chance to prove to you I’m not the angry bugger you think I am. Say you’ll stay.” He chomped down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

  She batted spiked lashes at him, and a lone tear slipped down her cheek. He cupped her face with his other hand and wiped it away with his thumb. The pulse in her neck raced beneath his finger. She swallowed. “I love you too. And I’ll stay.”

  31

  “Come with me,” Aaron murmured, his mouth next to Isobel’s ear as she stood in front of the sink washing dishes.

  She rinsed the soap from her hands, then dried them on a dish towel before giving him her hand and following him into the living room. It was the evening following Dina’s service—and Isobel’s carjacking—and both she and Aaron were exhausted.

  “Can we wait and have sex tomorrow?” she asked, covering her mouth as a yawn took hold of her. “I’m really tired. Getting carjacked will do that to a person.” She smiled a lopsided grin.

  He rolled his eyes, leading her over to the couch and encouraging her to sit down. “We can. I’m pretty tired too. But I promised you something earlier, and I intend to keep that promise.”

  She cocked one eyebrow, unsure where he was going with this.

  He cleared his throat and released her hand. His palm had grown quite sweaty, and she could tell he was growing more anxious by the second.

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready yet,” she whispered, leaning forward and cupping his jaw with one hand. “I appreciate your willingness, but if it’s going to be physically taxing on you—don’t. You’ve already been through so much today. We can wait.”

  His hand fell over top of hers on his face, and he leaned into her touch, shutting his eyes. “No. I need to do this.”

  Isobel nodded. “Okay. Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He opened his eyes and a modicum of relief flitted behind them. He swallowed. “Okay, here goes.”

  “I loved Valentina,” he started, shutting his eyes once again. The pain of reliving that day made his chest grow tight and his gut spin until he felt like he was going to puke.

  “I’ve never been a boyfriend—per se, but I fell in love with her. I shouldn’t have, but I did. She was the daughter of our mole, and my love for her, for her family became my weakness, my Achilles heel.” He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as the sound of Valentina’s screams began to ring in his ears. “They were my mission. I was to protect them until they could be relocated to safety, and instead, I let my desperate need for a family take over, and that family paid the ultimate price.”

  He opened his eyes when he felt Isobel pull away, and a frisson of panic dripped down his spine, but she wasn’t pulling away from him. Instead, she simply shifted where she sat on the couch and encouraged him to lie down and put his head in her lap. He did so, shut his eyes again and let her stroke his hair, his eyebrows, his face. Her touch calmed him, grounded him, and slowly, his heart rate began to even out.

  He swallowed again. “After a few months of working with José—Valentina’s father—and gaining pertinent information to take down the entire Muñoz Cartel, I ducked out one evening after dinner to meet with Wark—our new point man, since Rob had retired—to pass along the intel. Only we were ambushed, and I took a rusty machete to the gut.”

  Isobel gasped, her hand fleeing his face. He opened his eyes to find her covering her mouth, her own eyes wide in terror. “Is that where this scar is from?” she asked, lifting his shirt and gently running her fingers over the raised, pink flesh.

  He nodded. “Yes. I was stabbed and Wark ended up losing a leg. Colton had been there too, and once we took out our enemies, Colt stitched me up as best he could. Blaze and Reeves showed up via helicopter to get Wark to a hospital.”

  “You didn’t go too?”

  He shook his head. “I had to get to Valentina. If the Muñoz Cartel knew about us, she and her family were in danger.”

  Colton followed him.

  Only they were too late.

  The entire house was engulf
ed in red-hot flames while José lay bound in the driveway, his guts drawn from his body as he died in agony listening to the screams of his family inside the house. Valentina, her mother, her son. They were all inside.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing Aaron could do.

  Isobel sniffled above him, her eyes full of tears, her lips trembling. “Oh, Aaron. I’m so sorry.”

  Fuck, he knew he had to tell her everything, but he also knew what it would do to her. She was such a gentle soul. An empath who felt everyone’s pain as if it were her own. No doubt she probably felt not only Aaron’s pain, but the entire Velasquez family’s pain as well.

  He propped himself up from where he’d been lying in her lap and sat back up, drawing her into his lap and rubbing her back. It was his turn to comfort her, just like she’d comforted him.

  “Is there more?” she mumbled, wiping the back of her wrist beneath her nose.

  “You sure you want to hear it?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I can take it.”

  He squeezed her tight against him. Of course, she could. She was a fucking warrior.

  “Colton and I sat in the bush and watched the house disintegrate in the fire, watched José scream and cry in pain as they tortured him, dumped gasoline on him, until he finally succumbed to his injuries—or perhaps it was the grief first—and gave up fighting for his life.”

  “No!” She began to shake in his arms. He hugged her tighter.

  “Then Carlos Muñoz himself stepped out of a blacked-out SUV. He lit a cigar, then set José on fire with the lighter.”

  The sharp inhale of her breath was followed by a rattled exhale.

  It took everything inside Aaron not to leap out of the brush and go kamikaze on all their asses. Instead, seething, he clutched his abdomen, hands caked in his own blood, and watched them drive away.

  It was a message to Aaron. A message to all of them.

  And Aaron read it loud and clear.

  It took eight weeks for him to be healed enough to move without considerable pain. Colton had done a half-decent job stitching him up, but Aaron had gone into septic shock and needed to be airlifted to Bogota for surgery.