Bourbon Nights (The Barrel House Series Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I don’t know,” she mutters.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind. I can’t help if you don’t talk, you know how that goes.”

  “We were learning about family trees today,” she affirms.

  Shit. “Oh yeah? Like what about them?” I’m sure she was taught that there are two biological parents to a child and then each biological parent has their set of biological parents, but Parker—her tree was cut down and replanted somewhere else.

  “Well, I knew about Mom, but—never mind.”

  I’m thankful we’re pulling into the driveway so we can continue this conversation face to face, inside. I’ve done my best to be upfront with Parker about everything in her life. Some facts need to be retold from year to year as she grows and has a broader understanding of her reality, but it doesn’t become any less painful for me to talk to her.

  I help her out of the truck, her neon green tutu blowing into her face as she hops down from the truck. I snag her backpack from the floor mat as she continues toward the front door with the book held up in front of her face.

  “Park, you’re going to trip. We’ve talked about this.”

  She releases one hand from the book, letting it fall by her side, her head following in suit. I’m sure she is rolling her eyes at me, which has become one of the newest joys of raising a seven-year-old girl.

  Once we’re inside, it’s clear she has plans to leave our conversation where it was, and close herself into her bedroom. “Hold it,” I tell her.

  “I just want to finish this chapter, Dad,” she whines.

  “Sit down on the couch first.”

  She huffs and puffs, stomps her high-top black chucks over to the couch and plops down, keeping her book clenched between her grip.

  I sit on the coffee table, facing her, and rest my arms on my legs. “What happened with the family tree at school?”

  She won’t look at me. Her long-curled pigtails are hanging in front of her face as she does what she can to avoid answering. “You’re not my biological dad,” she says. “I don’t know who he is, but my teacher instructed us to write the name down. I left the line blank, making it look like I only have a mom, but I don’t have her either. I was the only one in class who didn’t have either of my biological parents.”

  Her words hit me in my gut. Every time she questions this topic, we have to speak about it, but it’s a fresh wound being sliced down the core of my chest each time. “I’m not your biological dad, and we don’t have the same kind of blood, but Parker, I was there the day you were born, and I haven’t left your side since.”

  “Why?” she asks, gazing up at me with her big blue eyes.

  “Why? Because your mom was my very best friend, and I was just as excited as she was the day you were born. I knew I wasn’t your biological dad then, but it didn’t matter to me. I loved you then and I’ll love you forever. To me, that’s more important than anything to do with biology.”

  I’m not sure she understands what I’m trying to tell her. The look on her face has changed very little, but she’s still looking into my eyes with curiosity. “How come I’m not normal?”

  “Because, you’re unique and special, one-of-a-kind, and you were placed on this earth to be my daughter.”

  Parker folds her hands over her book and swallows a lump in her throat. “If Mom didn’t go away forever, would you still be my dad now?” It’s a question that I often wonder about. I couldn’t answer this then and I can’t answer it now because I don’t know what the future might have held. I lived with Abby because she was my family, being so far away from home. Parker became an instant part of my life and there was nothing normal about our living situation because there was no romance between Abby and me, but we loved each other and we both loved Parker. Some situations don’t come with expectations or explanations, I guess.

  “Yes, I’d still be your dad. Nothing could make me walk away from you, even if Mom was still here.” Whether life took us in a different direction or not, Parker needs to know I am where I’m meant to be.

  “Aren’t people supposed to get married though?” she asks. God, I wish the teacher warned the parents about this family tree lesson. There are many different types of families that don’t fit into a stereotypical box.

  “Some people get married and others don’t. Some people have children together, and some never have children. And then there are people who adopt, and win the kid lottery. A lot of people go their entire life wishing they could have everything someone else either wanted or didn’t want. But you know what? It doesn’t matter because you’re stuck with me forever, like it or not.”

  Parker’s lips hint at a slight smile as she nods her head with understanding. “Sorry if I made you sad. It’s just confusing sometimes, and it embarrassed me today.”

  I switch seats, moving next to her on the couch and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You have nothing to be sorry about. We’re in this together, and just because we aren't a typical family, doesn’t mean we aren’t the luckiest.”

  Parker rests her head against my chest and sighs with a sound of relief. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m glad you’re my dad.”

  “I can’t imagine my life without you, sweetheart. You never need to question the realness between us, okay?”

  A pigtail flops against my nose as she nods again. “Okay.”

  “Go wash up and I’ll make you a snack.” I kiss the side of her head and she hops up from the couch with a little more enthusiasm than when she first sat down. I never know if my talks will help her, but I hope more than anything I’m doing something right. I’m slightly blind, navigating down this rocky road.

  I rest my head back for the minute she’s upstairs, feeling my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. I pull it out and check the display, finding a friend request from the one and only Melody Quinn I know. I wonder if she received some random alert that I was looking her up on this thing. That’s weird. Maybe it’s a coincidence. I hope it is.

  I don’t want her to think I’m sitting with my phone waiting for notifications to pop up, so I’ll accept the request a little later. Does this cat-and-mouse game end at any age, or do men and women continue to play hard to get until the chase is over? I don’t even know what the rules are anymore. God knows, I’d be known as a social creep if I accepted a request within thirty seconds, but I’d be a jerk if I let it go a full day too.

  I shouldn’t be concerned about a friend request of all things, yet, here I am, staring at Melody’s beautiful photo while Parker stands in front of me waiting for the snack I promised. “Who’s that?” Parker asks.

  I hit the power button on my phone and drop it back into my pocket. “No one,” I tell her.

  “Dad, who is she?”

  “Parker,” I say with a laugh.

  “She’s pretty. That’s all I wanted to say.” And with that, Parker twists around and heads for the kitchen with her nose in the air. At least I know my daughter is back to feeling like herself again.

  6

  I’m not sure if people plan their life out, assuming everything will happen in certain increments of time. If I had done that, I would have been better prepared when I had to take on responsibilities for another person. Then again, if I had planned out my life, I’m not sure I would have intended on becoming a father to a three-year-old at the age of twenty-four. I should have learned to take life’s unexpected twists and turns while being called for deployments with brief notice, but I’m not sure anyone is ever ready to be a parent, regardless of how it happens.

  Yet, here I am, four years later, sitting in the hallway outside of Parker’s bedroom, waiting for her to fall asleep. God knows, I’m probably doing part of this wrong, but I hope I’m doing most of it right.

  When I moved back home to Vermont, Parker was almost six. She understood enough to realize how drastically her life would change for the second time in two years. My eight years in the Marine Corps were up, and I needed family around to help me navigate this par
enting life.

  Parker has had a fear of the dark since she was four, old enough to imagine shadows moving across the walls at night, or dolls shifting around. I would lie in bed with her until she fell asleep each night, knowing I would have to stop before the habit became too hard for her to break.

  I tried many times to leave a nightlight or the hall light on, but Parker would panic if I wasn’t nearby. Over the last year, I’ve moved one foot farther away from her bed every month, and hearing no complaints when I took a seat against the wall in the hallway where she can still see me, but I’m not so sure she needs me at my post anymore. For myself, I find comfort in the half-hour of sitting here, watching her fall asleep, knowing I’m doing everything possible to give her a peaceful night of sleep. There’s nowhere else to move now except away from her bedroom.

  I’ll sit here until she closes the door in my face. After watching Brody with my niece, Hannah, his pre-teen daughter, I’m sure the day will come.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket, finding the friend notification sitting right where I left it a few hours ago. I click accept and place the phone down onto my lap. I wonder what Melody will think when she finds out I have a daughter, or what she’ll assume. She might not care at all because I’m nothing more than a stranger passing through her life, but I have an inkling that might not be the case.

  Then again, the last time I thought I was headed for more with Melody, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Seven Years Ago

  She asked me to hold her hand when it was time. Abby wasn’t afraid of much, but the idea of an epidural and labor scared her more than the thought of a deployment to a combat zone. I can’t imagine how someone could go through childbirth alone without a hand to hold, so I agreed without a second thought.

  Abby was in the most compromising, vulnerable position she would ever be in, and her hand was in mine. All I wanted to do was take the pain away. I was numb to the sights of blood and gore after the battles in Afghanistan, but watching someone I love in pain is a unique kind of experience. “You can do this, Abbs. They said one more push. Come on,” I tell her, holding her hand between both of mine. Tears are running down her red cheeks, her teeth grit, and her eyes clenched. The pressure changes within her grip and the minute seemed like an eternity of silence between my last guiding words and the sound of a baby’s cry. Tears of pain became tears of happiness for Abby as the doctor placed her baby into her arms.

  “Parker,” Abby says. “Her name is Parker. Happy birthday, beautiful girl.”

  Parker. It was a name Abby hadn’t mentioned in the hours she spent searching through lists of names. “A perfect name,” I tell her. Parker’s eyes open and she takes in the world around her with wonder and a glimmer of confusion which is obvious by the little frown on her forehead. I want to know what she’s thinking. I’ll never know, but will forever imagine.

  It wasn’t long until they moved Abby to the recovery unit down the hall from the nursery. It was as if the fifteen hours of pain never happened. She’s beaming with happiness and pride.

  The nurses help her find a comfortable position in bed, but I’m not sure Abby has any clue someone is touching her. Parker’s perfect pink face draws in Abby’s gaze as she strokes the side of her face, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

  Once alone in the room, Abby finds me sitting in the chair next to her bed. “You can have a turn now,” she says.

  I wasn’t expecting her to offer or ask. I’ve never held a baby. In fact, I’m positive I’m the last person who should hold a baby. I don’t have a clue and I don’t want to hurt her. She’s so tiny. “It’s okay. You need this time,” I tell her.

  “Brett, I want you to hold her.” I don’t understand why, but I can only assume it must be lonely taking part in this happiness alone. I always chalk up Abby’s feelings to loneliness because of the life she had while growing up. Not only is she an only child, but her parents passed away in a car accident when she was twelve, and there were no relatives present in her life. From age twelve to eighteen, the state tossed her around from one foster home to another. Abby didn’t have a desire for children or marriage. She couldn’t imagine putting a child through what she lived through, but she has also come to believe that everything in life happens for a reason and that includes giving birth to Parker. It may not be pure joy that I see written across Abby’s face, but Parker is definitely meant to be here.

  Abby isn’t giving up on handing Parker over. I don’t want to offend her either. I was there next to her in the final pre-labor classes when they spoke about the heightened emotions following birth. It isn’t necessary to push the envelope there. I stand up from my seat and walk toward her with slow steps as if the floor might move this entire room if I step down too hard. I’m wearing camouflage pants and combat boots, a green tee-shirt and dog tags; hardly appropriate to welcome a new baby into the world.

  I scoop my arms around all six pounds and five ounces of little Parker, wrapped up like a small burrito in a pink, cotton blanket. Her knit-cap rests on my arm. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if Parker can feel it beating against my chest. If she does, it doesn’t bother her. Her eyelids struggle to part; she blinks a couple times and falls back asleep.

  I turn around to find the chair. I should sit while holding her. “I’m going to close my eyes for a minute,” Abby says. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Gee, I can’t imagine why?” I jest in a whisper. Abby leans her back into her pillow and the second her eyes close, I realize I’m now responsible for taking care of Parker until she wakes up or a nurse comes into the room.

  Abby’s quick nap became two hours.

  My arms are numb, but I’m comfortable holding onto Parker. I could stare at her for hours, wishing she could talk to me about everything she has experienced during her short three hours of life. However, I’m guessing she might only tell me she’s hungry by the sound of the scream wailing from her lungs. How can something so small make so much noise?

  A nurse comes jogging into the room with a smile. “Well, at least Mom got a couple hours of sleep,” she says.

  Abby is still waking up; a look of question runs through her eyes when she hears Parker crying. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Just a bit,” I say.

  “She might be hungry,” the nurse says.

  I stand up with Parker and rock her in a soothing motion from side to side as I hand her back to Abby. “I’m going to give you some privacy and get something to drink down the hall. Are you all right?” I ask her.

  Abby smiles, but with an unsure look. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll stay here with her to help with the feeding,” the nurse tells me. “Go ahead.”

  My arms feel empty after placing Parker back into Abby’s hold. My life seems different, but it isn’t my life to consider. I don’t know where my place is in Abby’s future. We’re friends. That’s all we’ll ever be and I’m not sure that’s enough of what she needs right now. I’ve explored my feelings for Abby, wondering why I didn’t feel a spark or romantic connection, but my feelings for her are plutonic, a best friend, or a sibling maybe. She doesn’t look at me like I’m the man of her dreams either, so if she feels anything different than what she has shown me, it would be a surprise. Although, I’m sure relationships and men will be the last thing on her mind for a long while with her hands full.

  I find the waiting area and take a seat in the corner to call home. Mom and Pops don’t know Abby, but I’ve told them about her and what’s been going on. As usual, mom tries her best to pick up on the first ring when she sees my number. “Brett, are you okay, sweetie?”

  She always asks me if I’m okay before saying hello. The deployments have done a number on her, but I can’t imagine being home, waiting for check-ins either. “Yes, Mom, I’m fine,” I chuckle.

  “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be working?” I didn’t think about the time. We’ve been here for almost twenty hours at this point.
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  “Oh, yeah, Abby had the baby a couple hours ago.”

  A heavy sigh releases from Mom’s mouth. “Are they both okay, healthy?” she asks.

  “They are. Parker. She named her Parker.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Mom says, her statement sounds more like a question than a statement. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, I’m great,” I respond. “Why?”

  “Oh, I’m just checking. You’re in an unusual situation and I can’t imagine what might be going through your head. I know you and Abby are close, but you’ve never mentioned her as anything more than a friend.”

  “We’re friends,” I clarify. “It’s all we’ll ever be.” Mom might wonder if there’s any chance of Parker being a part of her life too. She’d never come out and ask me much more than what she has, but I can imagine the speculation; whether I’m keeping something from her. “Abby needs a friend right now and I’m happy to be that person in her life.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt, Brett.”

  “How could I get hurt?” I find my voice becoming softer the longer our conversation continues. I’m not sure I understand where Mom is going with this.

  “If you end up loving the baby, and Abby meets someone else, it will be painful for you to move on. If there is something more between the two of you, I can understand, but if not, I just want to tell you how easily children become a part of your life, regardless of whether they are your own.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “I can’t walk away from her, so if it’s a pain I have to endure someday, I’ll deal with it then. It’s better than Abby bearing a sense of neglect or loneliness at a time like this.”

  “I think I raised you a little too well, Brett. Just be careful with your feelings, okay?”

  “I will,” I tell her.

  “Email me photos when you can. Tell Abby I said congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I will. Love you. Talk soon.”