by Meg Harding
Zander recoiled at the upset in her tone. “I spent the other day on the field trip with you. And we’ve been watching those cartoons you like.” He took her grocery shopping too, but he doubted she’d count that. “Where’s this coming from?” He felt awful admitting he’d failed in the past, but he was spending more time with her now than he had before.
Her big brown eyes filled with tears, and Zander felt legitimate fear. “Everyone else goes to the beach with their moms and dads. They go to the… to the fairs with them.” She knuckled at her eyes. “And camping. Charlie’s dad took him camping, and they caught fish. Everything I do is with Miss Maria. And then they say she’s not my mom, why am I always with her.” Her lower lip trembled. “We don’t have the same last name.”
Zander would have preferred being run over by a bus to this conversation. He should have realized… what? That he sucked at this whole father thing? That Savanah would realize her situation was different and that would confuse her? “I’m—” He had to fix this. “I’ll be better.” Somehow. “We can…. I’m off tomorrow. We’ll go out. To the beach or the zoo, or whatever you want.” He could try and rearrange his shifts to leave the weekends freer.
She widened her eyes. “You promise?”
God help him. “I promise.” He was fast finding out he’d promise her anything.
Savanah was nothing if not a constant surprise.
She greeted him Sunday morning with a flyer clasped in her fist and an excited grin. She’d been sound asleep when he finished his shift the night before, not waking when he carried her and her backpack from Maria’s house or during the drive home. He supposed if he slept so deeply he too would be wide awake without coffee at barely seven.
“Ws’that?” he slurred, groggy and thankful he’d thought to wear pajama bottoms. Savanah was bouncing on the end of his bed, demanding his attention with repeated, “Daddy’s.”
She crawled over him, pointy knees and sharp elbows stabbing him the whole way. “I want to do this.” The wrinkled paper was pushed toward his face, too close to read.
Zander gently took it from her, tilting it toward where light was beginning to filter through the blinds. It was a flyer, the center taken up by a picture of a forlorn pitbull. Vinoy Park was hosting an adoption event/parade combo. Volunteers were wanted and should arrive by ten. Multiple shelters and rescues had come together to lower fees for the day, and it promised to be “the best doggone time.”
“This is what you want to do?” He’d been expecting a request for the aquarium or zoo, possibly Disney if Savanah was really going wild. “You know we…. Now’s not a good time to get a dog.” Zander didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a pet. He’d never had one, not even a fish.
“I want to help. Miss Maria signed us up when I asked,” said Savanah, taking the flyer from him. She got a sly look in her eyes. “If you end up wanting a puppy, that’d be cool too.”
Zander could clearly envision the foreseeable future after today. Savanah would hound him up one side and down the other about getting a dog. Maybe, eventually, when he’d said no a million times, she’d downgrade to something smaller, asking for a hamster instead. Zander didn’t want a hamster anymore than he wanted a dog. If he was a smart man, the kind that valued his sanity, he’d avoid this event and talk Savanah into one of Florida’s many theme parks. But he’d promised her. Whatever she wanted to do. He couldn’t go back on his word. “All right. I guess I should get up if we’re going to make it in time.”
She patted his cheek and smiled. “Can I have waffles for breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“With the white stuff on it. And strawberries.”
He assumed she meant powdered sugar. “Of course.”
This earned him a quick hug before she scuttled off to her room, a definite pep to her step.
“We’re here to volunteer.”
The older woman in the ASPCA shirt smiled. Her nametag read Ginny. “That’s great!” She gathered two nametags from the side-table. “Write your names on these, and then I’ll get you assigned to a job. Sharpies are in the can by your elbow, sir.”
Zander took a sharpie and glanced at Savanah. “Want me to write your name for you?”
She appeared greatly offended. “I can do it myself.” She held her hand out for the marker. “I got a hundred on my writing workbook.”
“Oh. That’s really good, Savanah.” He let her take it from him. She hadn’t mentioned her grades to him before, and he hadn’t thought to ask. He’d kind of assumed kindergarten was a do the work and automatically pass thing. “A” for effort and all that. He watched her write out her name, this intense look of concentration on her small face. Her brows were furrowed, and she bit her bottom lip as she painstakingly wrote every shaky letter. Once she had a steadier grasp, Zander was pretty sure she’d have better handwriting than him.
She proudly slapped her nametag right in the center of her shirt, and Zander knelt so she could place his over his heart. Savanah turned to Ginny, hands on her hips and excitement causing her to bounce in place. “Now what?” She looked around Ginny. “Can I go play with puppies now?”
Ginny laughed, grabbing a clipboard and flipping through the pages. “Helping Paws is in need of some volunteers. They’re booth 120, and I’m sure they’ll have plenty of puppies to keep you entertained.” She turned the board around, pointing at two paws forming a rough heart. “This is their logo. If you have a hard time finding it, ask any volunteers in a red ASPCA shirt for help and they’ll get you straightened out.”
Correctly anticipating Savanah’s next move, Zander got a grip on the back of her shirt before she could take off in a mad dash. She stumbled back and he caught her. “We’re walking there together,” he said sternly. “No running off.” The event wouldn’t start properly for another half an hour and the park was already crowded with people. He wasn’t going to let her get lost.
It was a slow trek to the booth, partly because Zander couldn’t find it and mostly because Savanah made them stop every two feet so she could pet whatever was closest. There were seemingly hundreds of dogs and cats, but she managed to find a few rabbits and even a small goat to give attention.
“It won’t get much bigger than this,” said Kathy, the teenager holding the goat’s leash. “These mini-goats make great household pets. They’re easily potty trained, and as you can see, they can be leash led like a dog.”
Savanah’s earnest gaze swung in his direction as the goat tried to eat her hair.
Zander had the sinking suspicion he was going to come out of today as the bad guy. “We can’t get a goat.”
“But he’s so cute, daddy.”
He was, frankly, absurdly adorable with his twitching whiskers and big brown eyes. But come on. “We don’t have a fenced in yard.”
Kathy spoke up. “We recommend goats of this size be kept in the house.”
He glared at the sky to refrain from scaring Kathy, even if she did deserve it. “It’s not the right time.” And if he had anything to say about it, owning a goat would never find a right time. “Come on, Savanah. You’re here to help, remember?”
Her pouting lasted till the next dog, something ten times her size and slobbering like no tomorrow, distracted her.
Eventually, by the time guests had started to filter in, Zander found the Helping Paws booth. In actuality it was two large canvas tents with a table under one and play pens and cages under the other. A lone woman was bent over the nearest play pen, asking someone to please stop biting their brother’s tail.
Zander cleared his throat, intending to politely make her aware of them, but Savanah beat him to it by slipping her hand from his and yelling, “Kitties!” She raced to the cages along the back of the tent, where wide eyes gazed out and fluffy tails swished. Fearlessly, she stuck her fingers through the bars before Zander could—for the millionth time today—warn her not to. Apparently he feared for the intactness of her fingers more than she did.
The wo
man jerked up at the noise and turned to them. “Hi,” she said. “Are you looking to adopt a cat today?”
Savanah was on her knees, making meowing noises at one of the kittens closer to the ground.
“We’re volunteering,” explained Zander. “At least, Savanah’s supposed to be.”
“Awesome.” She grinned “I’m Haley. Normally I have someone else here with me, but his appendix burst last night and you know how that goes. I had a friend help me set up, and they couldn’t stay, so help is greatly appreciated. I have another friend coming later too, but that doesn’t help me right now.” She shoved her curling hair back from her face. “Let me get you set up.”
Haley was a rambler. She didn’t do well with silence, and she cut off mid-sentence to say something new frequently. Zander did his best to follow her instructions—he’d be manning the table, handing out informational pamphlets and taking money for anyone who got adopted. Overall an easy task. Savanah, Haley told him, would stay with her. “It’s actually good to have a child volunteering. People are more likely to adopt when they see a child interacting with the animal. Lets them know they’re family friendly.”
Zander didn’t feel great about Savanah essentially serving as the “will it eat my child” guinea pig. Nonetheless he took a seat behind the table and waited for someone to need something from him. He was always aware of where Savanah was and what she was doing, but that didn’t stop him from taking in his surroundings. People watching was fascinating. With Savanah’s distinctive voice narrating his morning—she’d climbed into the pen with the pit puppies and was squealing and laughing nonstop—he observed the hoards of children begging their parents for a new dog or cat. When someone carried a piglet by, cradled in their arms like a baby, he was tempted to jump up and cover Savanah’s eyes before she could see and get any ideas.
If he wasn’t getting her a goat, he certainly wasn’t getting her a pig.
When had farm animals become adoptable pets?
“Hey Haley, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Where do you need me?”
Zander stiffened at the familiar voice, breath caught in his throat. No… it couldn’t be. Slowly he swiveled around in his chair. Dropping a backpack onto the ground by the cat cages was none other than Cole. His cheeks were flushed and splotchy from the heat and his hair was already curling from the humidity.
Cole glanced up from setting his bag aside and their gazes connected.
Zander smiled. Well, wasn’t this convenient? He might end up thanking Savanah for choosing this after all.
Chapter 9
Because Cole was a complete and utter moron, he hadn’t yet broken up with Patrick by Sunday morning. He’d tried throughout the day before, if half-assed attempts counted for anything. It was the right thing to do, but every time he opened his mouth, Patrick was there handing him a coffee or telling him he’d take a couple of the dogs on a walk. Hell, he’d went shopping and came back with a bunch of groceries to make a big meal together.
Why did he have to be so fucking sweet?
It was at times like this that Cole felt the distinct ache of missing his mother as she used to be. Which was selfish of him. For the majority of his life, Cole had come solidly first. He was too old for her babying him.
But still, he couldn’t help but miss the days where she’d been the first person he turned to with a problem.
It had to be after midnight, but he was so out of it he didn’t even consider sneaking in. The alarm blared as he opened the front door, and it startled him. His fingers shook and the tears finally spilled over as he tried to silence the damn thing.
His parents found him like that.
His dad had his military issue gun in hand, and he wore nothing but plaid pajama bottoms. When he saw Cole, he lowered the weapon, thumbing the safety on. His mom hovered behind him in her nightgown, hair like a bird’s nest and an expression of anger that was quickly fading to concern. “Cole?” She shoved his dad aside, hurrying past him. Her steady hands silenced the alarm, and then she was hugging him, her fingers in his hair and rubbing. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Cole shook his head no, then yes. When he became upset it manifested in pounding headaches and a rolling stomach. This was no exception; it just came with the added bonus of a deep seated ache in his chest. His broken heart, he thought, not caring if he was being dramatic. His crying—something he knew was frowned upon for a boy his age—kept his lungs struggling to find air.
She moved her hands from his hair to frame his face, tilting his chin to search for injuries. Her gaze scrambled over him from head to toe. “Cole. Honey. I need you to talk to me.” She put a hand on his sternum, palm flat. “Try to calm down. Breathe.” She inhaled loudly and exhaled slowly, repeating the rhythm till Cole was able to pick it up. “There we go. Lance, can you make some tea, please?” Her eyes didn’t leave Cole’s. “Don’t stop, Cole. In and out.”
He didn’t know how long they stood there, but his dad came back with tea, and then they were in the family room with him smushed between them on the couch. His dad looked just as concerned as his mom, face lined with worry, and his jaw set in a way that meant he was ready to kill whoever’d hurt Cole.
When Cole had finished his tea, and his sobbing had turned to sporadic hiccups and hitched in gasps, his dad put a hand to the center of his back and rubbed. “Cole, tell us what’s going on.” His tone might have been made of steel, but the concern noticeably bled through. There was a reason his dad had earned the rank of Captain. Few didn’t do as he asked.
The entire story—from the moment he’d met Zander in the Naval bases rec room and felt the fluttering in his stomach to the moment Zander tore Cole’s reality from underneath his feet—spilled from him. Eight months they’d been together in secret. Eight months of being the others confidant and reassurance. Eight of the happiest months of Cole’s life. It all poured from him without any thought to the potential consequences.
Going by his dad’s expression when he finished, he might as well have pistol-whipped him with his own gun. Shock was the least of it, and as what he’d revealed settled in, Cole searched for fury or disgust and didn’t find it. His mom’s grip on his hand was tight, nearing painful. Hesitantly he twisted to take in her expression. It was a pretty close match to his dad’s. Cole swallowed heavily, mouth dry.
“This isn’t—” his dad cleared his throat, and then started over. “This isn’t a phase?”
Cole was feeling too many things to identify them all, but sickly sweet fear was quickly rising to the top. “No.”
He’d never seen his dad look so old. He ran his hands through his thin, already graying hair in its short cut, and sighed. He opened his mouth, then shut it.
Cole fought back the urge to beg for him to say something, anything.
“All right,” his dad finally said. “I… I’m not going to lie to you. This is, it’s going to take time for me to wrap my head around it.” He grimaced. “But I support you. I’ll always support you.” He twisted his fingers together, a gesture Cole had only seen him do when he was nervous—which was extremely rare. “This has to stay a secret while you’re here. There’s going to be people who don’t approve, and who will want to say—or do—things to you. I don’t want you getting hurt by someone who doesn’t understand. This isn’t the environment for that.”
His mom broke in then. “Lance, maybe we should table this for now. It’s been a long night, and he’s been through enough.” She swiped her thumb over Cole’s knuckles. “Why don’t you try to sleep, and we’ll revisit this in the morning.”
Cole’s grip on her tightened. “Do you… do you still love me?” The question made him sound five, made him feel it. But he needed to hear it, needed to know for sure.
“Oh, baby.” Her voice wavered. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and wrapped her free arm around him. “I’ll always love you.”
It was a memory Cole held tight to his chest. They had all been different people then. Time hadn’t fractu
red bonds and caused separation yet. Life hadn’t truly hit them where it hurt. Cole’s father had, in the vein of doing things right, finagled a transfer mere months after that conversation. There’d been London for about a year, and then his tour had ended. But he hadn’t wanted to retire. Virginia came next, with the excuse Cole would be leaving for college soon after.
They couldn’t protect him when they weren’t around.
Cole traced his thumb over the handle of his mug. The sound of Patrick in the shower filled the quiet background. The days of his parents helping him with problems had long passed. He’d made a decision, and he didn’t need anyone else to weigh in on it.
He needed to be at Vinoy Park in a couple hours—he’d offered to help a close friend with pet adoptions later in the day—and he really should get this done and over with already. It didn’t do any good, for either of them, to keep dragging it out.
Casper nipped at his ankles then, and Cole obligingly lowered his hand for his fingers to be painfully nibbled on. Cole had been right on the money when assuming Casper would end up permanently his. Sure he was a menace, but Cole was happy to have him. He was a cute little devil. “Try not to bite to the bone,” he said, hissing in a breath at a particularly sharp pain. “I’m going to start coating myself in that bitter apple stuff. Then what’re you going to do?”
“Talking to the minions?” asked Patrick. He entered the kitchen fully dressed, his hair wet and slicked back.
Cole’s stomach was somewhere around his feet. He swallowed heavily. “I… can we talk?”
Patrick paused while getting his coffee. He took a long look at Cole, and then grimaced. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” He turned his back to continue pouring from the carafe. “Are you sure it can’t wait till later? It’s early, and serious conversations should never be had over breakfast.” Patrick rarely ever had a frantic, rambling edge to his voice, and Cole felt about two inches tall for causing it.
