With Brave Wings

by Cara Dee

  She knew she was leaving. She'd known from the start that if—or when, as it had turned out—she got the call, it would leave her with little time to prepare. But saying goodbye to her son took more than two minutes.

  God.

  Dread tightened her gut.

  "You'll have a couple hours once you get back from your physical," Daniel assured her.

  Shit, fuck. This was happening.

  She glanced over at Tennyson, who stared back.

  "Everything will work out, right?" She meant everything. If she'd only get two hours with Kayden before not seeing him for weeks, her conversation with Tennyson would have to wait.

  "We'll talk." He nodded, and that answer didn’t exactly ease her fears. "Work comes first."

  Ow.

  That stung.

  Chapter 18

  Work comes first?

  Tennyson was a fucking idiot.

  When she had returned from her physical, it was no wonder she'd given him the cold shoulder. She'd focused solely on Kayden, and she'd been a crying mess when she'd left.

  Today was officially a disaster. Too much had happened in the span of a few hours, and it had left him feeling out of control. In turn, he'd been a prick.

  He spent the day on the phone with his fellow producers and the studio, all while cleaning the loft and packing a bag for Kayden. Nobody was going anywhere right now, but it didn’t hurt to have it in case they'd have to leave on short notice.

  He mulled over everything that had transpired, from Peter's visit to Sophie's departure, and Tennyson was at a loss. He would continue to be at a loss until he knew what the fuck it was Sophie wanted.

  Judging by her comments, he wasn’t sure he knew anymore.

  Ever since they had parted ways in Vancouver, Sophie had insisted on doing everything herself. She'd even joked about doing things "Miss Independence style." Of-fucking-course he had supported her, usually by being on her side and encouraging her to do what she wanted. And now she'd gotten it all wrong, saying he was always pushing her away.

  Once Kayden was down for the night, Tennyson grabbed a beer and sat down in the living room. He switched on the flat screen, then pulled out his phone and wrote and rewrote a message to Sophie.

  She could've interpreted his snide remark in two ways, both equally screwed up. Either that he had implied her work came before Kayden, or that Tennyson prioritized work over her.

  I apologize for being a complete tool earlier. I have no excuse, other than I felt like you were slipping through my fingers, and I reacted in the most awful way. I'll wait until you come home, and then we'll talk about everything.

  He frowned at the screen, having half a mind to erase the last sentence. Because he was sick of waiting. But he also knew she would be swamped the next few months, and he didn’t want to add to that.

  In the end, he pressed send, and considering how fast Sophie's reply came, he figured she had landed in Toronto.

  I'm sorry, too. I was unfair. Talk later.

  "Goddammit." Tennyson pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated. He knew her way of texting by now, and a clipped response like this was Sophie being a woman. She was "fine" in that way women said when they really weren't.

  It would have to be enough for now, though.

  It was late, and their busy schedules were in the way.

  *

  As the weeks flew by, Tennyson was split into three pieces. Between pre-production work with Killer, watching Kayden, and hiring people to do what he couldn’t with Fight for Fighters, he was exhausted by the time he went to bed at night.

  He was thankful to have Angela, Kayden's nanny, with them every day. It allowed him to always see his son, but he could still work.

  "What about this guy?" One of the studio reps slid Tennyson another resume across the table in the boardroom. "He's good."

  "I want Noah Collins," he repeated.

  "His rate has gone up since Unrecovered, and he's not on our studio's list," the rep explained. "He's independent."

  Tennyson grinned and scratched his eyebrow. "I don’t care. Give me Noah. Feel free to pick the second AD, but I need someone I trust for the first."

  He'd already spoken to Noah, who definitely wanted to join the project. Now they only had to squeeze some extra money from the studio.

  Since Tennyson was producing, he was already shelling out hundreds of thousands of dollars—as was Asher. They were going for the major awards this time, no expenses spared, so the studio better cough up some more.

  This film was going to be brutal in the most sinister ways, and he was going to make it beautiful. He wanted everyone who watched the movie to cry for a mentally ill serial killer.

  "Look, I'm already late for casting." Tennyson checked his watch and stood up. "Give me Noah. End of." He headed for the door, only to pause when he remembered something else. "Oh, and we want Shadow Light, too." A request from Asher and Sophie, hiring Brooklyn's company. "Have a good one."

  He left the boardroom and headed down to the second floor where the studio ran a day care center for employees with children. Kayden was busy playing with a few kids his age and Angela was there too, so the casting office on the first floor was next.

  He crossed the massive, pristine lobby and pointed to his ID tag to get clearance. A security guard opened the doors for him, and he joined his brother and a few others while he typed out a message to Sophie.

  Meeting went as expected, but we'll get Brooklyn and Noah.

  He and Sophie were civil and almost normal around each other again, but something was definitely missing. Which made him miss her even more. There was a distance between them that wasn’t caused by geography, and he was itching to fix it.

  She responded as he sat down in the third row next to Asher.

  Tell the studio I can do this project for free if that helps. Or I can pay their rates. If the studio's bitching about this, how will it be when you get to editing? Motherfuckers.

  Jesus Christ, he really loved her. She'd received the adapted script yesterday, and she was as passionate about Killer as Tennyson was now.

  He showed Asher the text as an actor reached the stage. They'd chosen this hall for a reason. It was just big enough to intimidate amateurs—or actors who weren't ready for a role this big.

  Ash chuckled quietly. "When she talks shop, you get turned on, don’t you?"

  "Little bit." Tennyson smirked and refocused on the actor. "Way too nervous. Next." He didn’t say it loudly, but the handful of people in the row in front of him knew this was a bad one, too. After stuttering himself through a few lines, the casting director called it off.

  It looked like it was going to be a long day. The first fifteen or twenty auditions were mediocre, and they were all waiting for actors who were at least good enough to make it to callbacks.

  The studio had a list of famous, well-established actors waiting, but Tennyson wanted to go this route. He wanted to find a relatively unknown face, one that didn’t come with a past. Because that was often the issue with signing A-listers. Either they became the entire film, or they came with a reputation from previous works. And Tennyson didn’t want the audience to love this actor because of films he'd done before this one.

  "This one," he murmured, leaning back in his seat.

  "Really?" Asher eyed the new one who took the stage. "He's so pale."

  Vulnerable and cold, it would translate to on the screen. Tennyson tapped on Rick's shoulder and received the headshot with the actor's resume. He was thirty, good age for the role. Six foot two, wiry and thin but not without muscle tone, sharp blue eyes, blond hair. It could be dyed. The two siblings—Sophie being the sister—would have black hair.

  "Check this out, little brother." He flicked the sheet of paper. "With that name, he's meant to be on billboards."

  Judah Finch.

  "Well, let's see if he's got it." Asher turned to the stage.

  As it turned out, Judah wasn’t brilliant, but there was something there. Eno
ugh for Tennyson to give a nod of approval, which put Judah on the list of those coming back.

  *

  "Can you hold this for Daddy?"

  Kayden nodded furiously and accepted the takeout bag.

  It gave Tennyson a free hand, and he dug into the pockets of his jeans to find his keys. He grunted, holding stacks of contracts, schedules, permits, a box full of samples from their new costume designer, and rolled-up posters under his other arm.

  Once they were inside the building, Kayden walked up to the elevator and pushed the button. "Ky Mommy now?"

  "Yes, we're gonna Skype with Mommy." Tennyson smiled at his boy, incredibly proud. Skype conversations could go one way or the other. Either it ended with Kayden crying for Sophie—much like he'd cried for Tennyson during those last months in Australia. Or, Kayden was upbeat, simply glad to have spoken to Mommy through the computer. But even the times he got upset and missed Sophie, he was easy to comfort. He was a happy child.

  That didn’t mean Tennyson wasn’t looking forward to when things would slow down, but in the meantime, he and Sophie counted themselves lucky to be Kayden's parents.

  Today probably wouldn’t end in tears, though. It had been nearly five weeks since she'd left, and tomorrow Kayden was finally flying up to see her for a few days.

  The kid had woken Tennyson up this morning by dragging his luggage out of the closet. Then he'd run around the bedroom with his arms out, pretending to be an airplane. "Pane, Daddy! Pane!" he'd shouted happily.

  When they reached the loft, Kayden knew the drill. When Mommy wasn’t home, it was okay to run around in his diaper, and Tennyson changed into sweats and a T-shirt.

  "You ready to eat, bug?" He brought the food, utensils, drinks, and a towel to the living room. The towel ended up on the couch so Kayden wouldn’t spill all over the cushions.

  "Yeah!" He came running in from his room. "Ky? Yum!" He grinned goofily at the food.

  Tennyson chuckled and fetched his laptop. It was a good thing Sophie couldn’t see the extent of everything that changed when she was out of town. The loft was tidy, but it was definitely a bachelor pad when she was away. Her cooking got traded in for takeout. Maybe the beds weren't made. Perhaps he didn’t do as much laundry as Sophie preferred. And on occasion, maybe Kayden was up past his bedtime.

  "Okay, come here, my goofball." He sat down and opened the Styrofoam box with Kayden's spaghetti Bolognese.

  With Kayden on his lap, Tennyson flipped open the laptop and texted Sophie while logging on. She replied and said she was ready, and a couple minutes later, their Skype session began.

  "Hi, Mommy!" Kayden waved at the screen.

  Tennyson stayed mostly silent, Sophie and Kayden catching up since they hadn't spoken in a few days. In between her eagerness to see Kayden tomorrow and his adorable babble, Tennyson managed to feed him, too.

  Eventually, Kayden wanted to watch a movie, which left Tennyson and Sophie time to speak, too. As soon as Despicable Me was running and their son was lost to the world of Minions, a world war could've rolled through without him noticing.

  Speaking of world wars… "How is it living in the forties?" He took the opportunity to eat his own dinner now.

  "Dirty," Sophie chuckled. Her hair had been dyed blond, and it was both messy and filthy. Pretending to be a homeless runaway in a war-torn country didn’t involve as much makeup as it did actual dirt and soot. "By the way, is there a reason our son is never dressed anymore?"

  He grinned and took a swig of his soda. "You know what they say, when the cat's away…"

  She gigglesnorted. "I don’t know what's more disturbing, me as the cat or you and Kayden as mice." She quirked a brow. "I suppose I shouldn’t ask why you're not eating at the table, either."

  "You suppose correctly." He forked up a piece of lasagna and chewed while he watched her. "How are you doing, really?" She looked tired and tense. Lost. "Anything I can do?"

  She bit her lip and looked down for a beat. "How do you do that? How do you just know something's wrong?"

  He smiled softly. "Because I know you, sweetie." When she looked up again, he noticed her eyes were glassy with tears. "Tell me."

  She blew out a breath and slumped her shoulders. "I read Dad's letter."

  He'd been wondering about that. "What did he have to say?"

  "Everything." She sniffled and rolled her eyes. "It's so confusing. He's been a heartless prick since I was a kid, and now… I don’t know. He apologizes for everything. He goes into detail about what he's done wrong. Apparently, he's divorcing his wife, selling his house, and retiring early." She paused and wiped her cheeks. "He talks about buying a small cottage in the countryside—like this is fucking England. Says he's sick of LA and whatever." She shrugged, biting on her thumbnail. "Nine pages, Tennyson. Nine pages of apologies, visions of how he wishes things had turned out, and what he's changing."

  "That’s…something." He lifted his brows, surprised. Not necessarily by the number of pages, but by Peter's supposed change. "Do you believe him?"

  It got quiet on the other end. She looked conflicted, and he figured that was what mattered the most. In Tennyson's opinion, it would take an inestimable amount of redeeming himself before Peter could be forgiven. But it was Sophie's life. Her father. She could clearly see something Tennyson couldn’t.

  "Do you have any advice?" she asked in a small voice.

  As much as he loathed the vulnerability in her tone and expression, he couldn’t help but see it as a big deal. She was, for the first time ever when it only concerned her, reaching out. She wasn’t insisting on doing it on her own.

  Next to him, Kayden was trying to grab his sippy cup while not looking away from the movie, so Tennyson gave it to him.

  "It depends on what you want." He wished he could be there with her. Hold her, comfort her. "If the goal is to give him a second chance, take it as slowly as you want. Don't let him pressure you into something you're not ready for."

  She nodded. "I'm still not sure, but…ugh. I don’t know."

  "You'll figure it out." He knew she would. "In the meantime, let him wait and don’t feel bad about it."

  "Got it." She nodded again, appearing slightly happier now. "Thank you." There was something else she wanted to say—Tennyson could tell—but she was hesitating. "Am…am I weak?"

  That threw him off. "What? Why would you say that?"

  "I don’t know." She shrugged with one shoulder. "I feel weak sometimes—when there's something I don’t wanna do alone. Like I'm failing in this…growing up thing."

  He opened his mouth, only to close it. He was stunned that she'd even consider asking for help a weakness. But holy hell, did it make sense now. And he felt bad for her.

  No, Peter Pierce didn’t deserve forgiveness anytime soon.

  If she'd had a good upbringing, she would've known it didn’t make someone any less independent for wanting help every now and then. Help wasn’t just for assistants who got paid.

  "I…" Tennyson let out a small laugh, his mind spinning and connecting all the little pieces he'd sometimes wondered about. Mainly her stubbornness when it came to doing everything on her own. Christ. "We have a lot to talk about, princess."

  *

  They spoke for over an hour, and he did his best not to sound like a teacher. He only wanted to give her advice. From there on out, it was up to Sophie to decide what she'd do.

  The image of her became clearer as she explained her own side of things, the admiration Tennyson had for her growing tenfold. She was smart, open-minded, and had the biggest heart, but she'd been thrown around a lot in her younger years. Going from completely sheltered as a daddy's girl—back when Peter was actually a good father—then neglected and left to nannies and housekeepers. Later, a credit card had taken over. Unlimited funds. "Do whatever you want, just stay out of Peter's way." Comfort in the shape of the latest designer shoes. Staying upbeat by partying. Thinking highly of herself by putting others down.

  Lastly, she'd brok
en free and figured everything she'd done in her old life had been wrong, so she'd set out to do the opposite. She had to do everything without assistance because she'd never lifted a finger before.

  "I mean, I know people help each other all the time," she went on. "But I've been like, 'Okay, in the future, I can ask someone, but I gotta learn it on my own first.' You know? Because it seems wherever I look, everyone's acing it. It makes me wonder if I'm the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck I'm doing."

  Little does she know.

  "Everyone feels that way, baby," he murmured. "You don’t have to be strong all the time. Nobody is."

  "Oh." She drew in a breath, her bottom lip trembling, though she was quick to blink back her emotions. "You never ask for help."

  "What?" he chuckled. "Of course I do. Most recently, I asked for Asher's help with the condo you want to sublet to Brooklyn. I had to hire workers for Fight for Fighters because I can't be on site in San Diego while I'm busy with Killer." He paused and leaned forward a bit more. "Sophie, if what you're really wondering is why I may not ask you for help, it's very simple. I think you do too much as it is. You're twenty-four years old, you work up to sixteen hours a day, and you have Kayden. You think I'd add to that?" He shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

  She sighed and averted her eyes. "Well, when you put it like that…"

  Tennyson smirked faintly. "However, should you decide to let others help you when you need it, don't be surprised when I ask you to help me, too."

  He had lists. Lists.

  "Noted." She mock-scowled at him before it morphed into a soft grin. "My head's sorta swimming."

  It was getting late, too. And unless she wanted to sleep with dirt and twigs in her hair, he had a feeling she'd want a shower before bed. "Get some rest, and we'll talk soon, okay? I'll text you once I've dropped off Angela and Kayden at the airport."

  Sophie nodded, her expression sweet. "Thank you for this, Tennyson. For everything."

  "Anytime." He meant it. He would do anything for her, at any time. "I'm actually glad we talked about this. It gives me hope you won’t always want to be one hundred percent in control of every aspect of your life. It's okay to share every burden with me." He smiled at her bashful grin. "Sweet dreams, princess."