by Katie Ashley
But I didn’t get the chance to pussy out and leave. Willow released Rev’s hand and took a few tentative steps toward me. In her other hand, she held some kind of angel that looked like it belonged on a Christmas tree. She walked straight past Mama Beth to come to me. Her dark eyes—the same color and shape as mine—never left my face.
“Say something,” Rev hissed.
“Uh, yeah, so I’m David … or Deacon—your father.”
She creeped me out by continuing to stare at me. It was the same obsessed look someone might give a celebrity. I scratched the back of my neck and desperately tried to find the right words to say. “Look, I … I’m sorry about your mother.”
At the mention of Lacey, Willow cocked her head. Without words, I knew what she wanted from me. “She was really beautiful and sweet when she was sober and clean.” Choking on my emotions, I had to clear my throat. “Even though we weren’t together anymore, I did love her. Once.” If I was honest with myself, I would have said that there was a small part of me that still loved her. “I wish I could have known about you when you were a baby. I’m sorry things had to turn out like they did.” She still continued to stare at me. “Look, I know you must’ve seen some bad shit … er, stuff, but I want you to know that you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. Okay?”
My statement caused tears to well in her eyes. Immediately, I felt like a giant asshole for making this kid cry. And then she shocked the hell out of me. She dove at me, clambering onto my lap. My arms went around her tiny body to keep her from falling. Small hands came up to cup my face. And then she leaned forward to kiss my cheek.
Her gesture of acceptance robbed me of all coherent thought and speech. She had every reason to hate me for not being there for her. I could only imagine that her young life so far had pretty much been hell. I’d seen Lacey at her worst when she was drunk and high. I couldn’t imagine she was able to be a very good mother.
But instead of rejecting her absent father, Willow reached out to me. The only thing I could do was wrap my arms tighter around her. She felt so fucking fragile in my arms. I was afraid to squeeze her too tight for fear of breaking her. When I glanced up at Mama Beth, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Seeing Mama Beth so emotional caused tears to sting my eyes. Fuck, I didn’t cry, especially not in front of anyone. I didn’t dare look at Rev to gauge what he was thinking. I imagined he would be thrilled I was actually showing a soft side for once.
And finally, I gave it all up, buried my face into the soft strands of Willow’s hair, and let the tears flow. As I held my daughter in my arms, I realized how life could change on a fucking dime. Today mine had done a one-eighty.
I was a father. And even if it fucking killed me, I was going to be the best damn one I could. No one was ever going to hurt Willow on my watch.
“Okay, kids. It’s time to take your seats,” I instructed over the buzzing hum in the room. My heels clicked across the tile as I went to close the door of my classroom. That was the signal that some of my stragglers needed to make sure they got to their desks. I smiled as they bounced in their chairs, excited to see what the day held in store for them.
I’d been teaching kindergarten at Buffington Elementary for five years now. The first year I was practically a baby myself at just twenty-two. Luckily for me, the principal had complete confidence that I could handle a class full of five and six-year-olds.
As a child, I had played school with my dolls and stuffed animals, and for many years, I wanted to be a teacher. But then, as I grew older, my desires changed, and I thought of pursuing other careers. In the end, events in my life, especially the death of both my parents, had changed my mind. I wanted an honorable profession where I felt I could make a difference, so I had followed their footsteps into education. While my father had been a high school math teacher, my mother had also taught kindergarten. They’d spent their lives molding young minds, and I felt my career choice honored their memory.
I once again turned my attention to my group of eager students. “All right. Let’s see who is here today, and then we’ll go to the mat for calendar time.”
As I started taking attendance, my eyes fell on an empty seat. An ache went through my chest at the sight. It was the fourth day Willow Malloy had been absent. Protocol dictated we call home after the third straight absence, and when I had tried the day before, I had received a message that the number was out of service. Although I loved each of my little students equally, there was something special about Willow. I’d realized it the moment I’d met her, and she’d stolen my heart.
It was the day before school started. The Meet and Greet had just ended. After talking with a slew of new, anxious students and their equally anxious parents, I had collapsed at my desk, rubbing my feet, which ached from the heels I’d tortured them in. After throwing my head back in ecstasy at the way the foot massage felt, I popped open my eyes to see a dark-haired little girl standing beside my desk. I’d jumped out of my skin and almost fallen out of my chair.
A warm embarrassment rushed to my cheeks that she had seen me being so goofy. Trying to play it off, I wiped my hands on my skirt and held out my hand. “Well, hello. My name is Miss Evans, and I really like foot rubs and hate wearing high heels. What’s your name?”
The little girl didn’t respond. Instead, she just kept staring at me. There was recognition in her eyes that didn’t make sense, considering I hadn’t seen her before. “I didn’t meet you earlier. Are you in another class this year? You’re going to have so much fun in kindergarten.”
I still didn’t get a response from her. I began to wonder if perhaps she was on the autism spectrum and nonverbal. Then a panicked woman’s voice echoed through the empty hall. “Willow? Willow, where are you?”
Taking a guess that the little girl was the missing Willow, I quickly called, “She’s in here.”
Within seconds, an attractive older woman with salt-and-pepper hair came rushing into the room. “There you are! You had me worried to death!” she cried.
Willow only momentarily acknowledged her before turning back to me. She edged around the desk and came to stand beside me. I couldn’t help my mouth falling open when she casually climbed into my lap. One of her hands came up to touch the strands of my hair. Gazing down at her, I smiled. To my surprise, she smiled back at me.
When I glanced at the woman, who appeared to be her grandmother, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. “I … I’m sorry. I just haven’t seen her react to someone outside her world.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry she gave you a scare. We were just getting to know each other.”
The woman nodded. “I had car trouble, so we were late for the Meet and Greet. I was across the hall, talking to her teacher, and when I turned around, she was gone.”
I held out the hand that wasn’t stroking Willow’s head. “I’m Alexandra Evans.”
“Elizabeth Malloy. I’m Willow’s grandmother.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Holding out her hand, Elizabeth said, “Come on, Willow. Mrs. Gregson is excited to meet you.”
Willow burrowed deeper in my lap, giving me the impression she was going to be with me for a while. For the first time, I noticed she was clutching something in her hand. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to what appeared to be a tiny doll.
Slowly, Willow opened her hand, and I saw that it was actually a small Christmas angel. “Oh, what a pretty doll.”
My compliment brought a smile to Willow’s face. “You look like her. … You look like Angel Mommy,” she whispered.
“Why, thank you.” Peering down at the doll, I tried imagining the similarities. We both had long, dark hair, and we were both wearing a white dress. With a smile, I said, “You’re right. I do look like her.”
A strangled cry came from Elizabeth. When I glanced up, she was clutching her throat. “She hasn’t spoken in four months—not
to me, not to her father. Not to anyone since her mother was …” She glanced at Willow and nervously shifted on her feet. “Since her mother passed away.”
I blinked my eyes in disbelief as a flood of painful memories flickered through my mind. The face of Charlie, my little brother, appeared before me. I was seventeen when my parents were killed in a car crash one icy December day. Charlie had been ten—the only survivor of the wreck. The shock of losing our parents, along with being trapped in the car for hours, had rendered him catatonic for six months. Even after we moved in with my aunt and uncle—the two most wonderful, loving people in the world—Charlie didn’t recover. For months he remained locked in a world of his own isolation. And then one day he slowly started to come around. Now he was twenty and partying way too much at college.
As I looked into Willow’s face, I couldn’t help thinking of Charlie. If he hadn’t been surrounded by loving, caring people, I don’t know what would have happened to him. Although it was strange and I didn’t understand it, Willow had bonded with me. Since she had already been through too much, I hated to break the bond.
I smiled at Willow. “You know, I have one spot left in my class. What would you think about going down to the office and seeing if you could be transferred to me?”
Willow’s dark eyes lit up with what looked like absolute pleasure. She glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth with a pleading expression. After wiping the tears from her eyes, Elizabeth asked, “It won’t be too much trouble to do that?”
“Nope. No problem at all. It should just take a few seconds to change it in the computer.”
With a smile, Elizabeth said, “I think that would be a wonderful idea.”
Since that day, Willow had stuck close to my side whenever she was at school. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t seem to get her to make friends with any of the other children. Most of the little girls were put off by the fact she rarely talked. So instead of jabbering along with them, Willow liked to stay with me during recess, and sometimes she would refuse to go to the gym or to art. I never forced her. Instead, I just went about my usual routine during my off-time while Willow tagged along. Some teachers might have treated her differently and refused to give her any special attention. But my own tragic past made me empathize with Willow and her situation.
After speaking further with Elizabeth, I learned that Willow’s mother had been murdered right before her eyes. She had then come to live with her father, meeting him for the first time. Considering only a few months had passed, Willow was still desperately trying to acclimate herself to her new life. It would have been hard on an adult, but a five-year-old? It was almost impossible.
I was brought out of my thoughts by one of my students wiggling in his seat. “Miss Evans, can we go to the mat now?”
Laughing at his excitement, I nodded. “All right, let’s go work on the calendar.”
That afternoon, after I escorted all the second-load kids out to the bus lanes, I came back inside and went straight to my computer. Once I logged into the attendance program, I went to Willow’s name. Grabbing an apple-shaped notepad, I jotted down her address. I didn’t even bother with trying Elizabeth’s contact information. I wanted to go straight to the source. If I couldn’t reach her father by phone, then perhaps I was just going to have to track him down at his house.
I grabbed my messenger bag and purse and headed to my car. On the way, I typed the address into my GPS on my phone. It was another scorching late-September day in northern Georgia. The backs of my legs stung when I slid across the leather seat of my Accord.
After following the directions of the GPS’s monotone voice, I turned a few blocks and found myself in one of the seedier areas of town. Even though I hadn’t grown up here, Uncle Jimmy had made sure to always steer me clear of the area. He’d informed me that when the cotton mills had gone out of business in the late eighties, the area had rapidly declined. Crime rates had risen with the unemployment, and it was now inhabited by transient workers and the local motorcycle gang that I had seen from time to time on the road.
When I pulled up to a gun store and pawnshop, I glanced down at my phone to double-check that this was actually Willow’s address. Then I grabbed the Post-it note out of my purse to make sure I hadn’t entered it into my phone wrong. I couldn’t help feeling surprised that I was in the right place. Peering through the windshield, I could see that a shop had been made out of part of the old cotton mill. Next to it was the old mill’s office, which appeared to have been converted into some sort of roadhouse or bar.
Unease filled me the moment I shut the car door. Two men in biker boots and leather leaned against the wall of the pawnshop. With a forced determination, I pushed myself forward on shaky legs. As I approached the men, I could feel their heated gaze burning through me, singeing my cotton sundress as they stripped me down with their eyes. A shudder of repulsion ran through me, making me feel dirty and used.
When I met their hooded gazes, I plastered a smile on my lips. “Hello,” I said softly. As I reached for the door of the pawnshop, one of the men stepped in front of me. I couldn’t help jumping back, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a scream. He cocked his brows at me as he held open the door like a proper gentleman.
Embarrassment flooded my cheeks at my over-the-top reaction. “Thank you. You’re very kind,” I said as I hesitantly squeezed past his body into the shop. My heels clacked along the floor, and I nervously fidgeted with the strap on my messenger bag. As I glanced left and right, I didn’t see anyone behind the counter. “Hello?” I called.
A black curtain was shoved aside, and a tall, hulking man stepped out. Regardless of his enormous size, the kind expression on his very handsome face immediately put me at ease. “May I help you?”
Extending my hand, I said, “I’m Alexandra Evans. I’m looking for David Malloy.”
Instead of shaking my hand, the man crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at me. “What do you need with him?”
Something about the man’s guarded tone made me uneasy. “I … uh, his daughter, Willow, is in my kindergarten class. She’s missed a lot of days of school, and I was worried.”
My response seemed to appease the man, because his muscular arms relaxed, and he finally offered me his hand. “I’m Nathaniel Malloy, Willow’s uncle.”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Same to you. Deacon—er, David—is actually at the clubhouse. I can take you there.”
The thought of entering the roadhouse alone made my skin crawl, so I was very thankful that Nathaniel was offering to take me. After he came around the counter, he opened the door for me. “Tiny, keep an eye on the shop, okay?” he ordered to the tallest and biggest of the guys. A nervous giggle escaped my lips at the irony of the man’s name.
As I walked next to Nathaniel, his towering presence somewhat overwhelmed me. He was all man, from his large hands and feet down to the musky smell that invaded my nose and messed with my senses. If I hadn’t been so out of my element, I would have been very attracted to him, even though his faded jeans, tight black T-shirt, and arms covered in tattoos screamed bad boy. But even in the few moments I had been with him, I could tell there was much more to him. The way he carried himself was like a cultured gentleman, not a hard-core biker. “Willow doesn’t say much, but I know she loves going to school.”
“She’s probably the brightest student in my class. Besides my attachment to her, I didn’t want her falling behind after missing school. Considering her potential, I think she could easily skip to first grade at the halfway point in the year.”
Nathaniel’s blue eyes widened. “Really?”
I smiled. “Yes, really.”
“Deacon and our mom will be really pleased to hear that.”
“Who is Deacon?”
Nathaniel grinned. “That’s David’s nickname.”
“Oh, I see.”
A large pickup truck rumbled into the parking lot. When a short, bald man got out of the cab, he
waved a brown envelope in his hand. “Hey, Rev. Can you come here for a sec?”
“I’m busy. Get Tiny.”
The man shook his head. “This packaging needs a Malloy signature on it.”
Nathaniel gave a frustrated grunt. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”
When he turned to me, I gave him a slight smile. “Rev?”
He responded with a warm grin. “Just a nickname.”
“For what?”
“Reverend.”
My brows shot up in surprise. “Oh, are you a minister?”
He cocked his head teasingly at me. “Are you a teacher or a reporter?”
I laughed. “Forgive me, but I’m used to answering questions all day. I can’t help but ask some myself.”
“Well, Miss … I’m sorry. what was your last name again?”
“Evans.”
“No, Miss Evans. I’m not a real reverend.”
“Then how did you get the nickname?”
“Yo, Rev!” the man from the truck called impatiently.
With a grimace, Nathaniel/Rev shook his head. “Listen, I have to take care of this. Just go on inside, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Inwardly, I groaned. I didn’t want to go into the roadhouse alone. I would have much preferred having Rev by my side. But when he started walking away from me, I realized I’d better head inside and out of the oppressive heat, despite feeling out of my element. As I entered the room, I took a deep breath to try to still my out-of-control nerves. Smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging my eyes and causing me to cough. Several men in leather biker cuts lounged on stools at the bar, nursing beers. Across from me, a heated pool game was taking place.
I took a few steps inside and then froze. “Are you lost, darlin’?” a big-busted woman in a halter top asked.
“Uh … I’m looking for David Malloy,” I said.
Two men at the pool table whirled around. The shorter of the two, a tough but cute-looking blond, cocked his head curiously at me. But the moment my gaze locked on the other man, I knew he was Willow’s father. They had the same dark hair, soulful dark eyes, and heart-shaped face. David, however, had dark scruff covering his face. Although he was Rev’s brother, I didn’t see any resemblance between the two. Although he was shorter and slightly less built, David was just as good-looking as Rev. “Mr. Malloy?” I questioned, closing the distance between us.
