by Judy Duarte
“Sure. The kids are probably hungry.”
As he stacked the wood into the concrete-rimmed pit and wadded up old newspapers, Justin looked up at him. “Hey, Brett. Can I help you?”
“You bet, as long as you remember not to play with matches when an adult isn’t around.”
“I know. The Bayside Fire Department came to our school and talked to us about that. And one kid, the new boy, Bobby Davenport, is a junior fire marshall.”
“Hey,” Brett told his son. “I know Bobby’s dad. And there’s a good chance you’ll meet him at the park next weekend. Mr. and Mrs. Logan have planned a big whiffle ball championship.”
“Cool.”
Brett handed Justin the box of matches and watched as he carefully struck one against the side. It took about three tries and some careful maneuvering to block the breeze, but the flame finally caught.
Justin looked at him, then nibbled on his lip. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“I know that you’re my dad and all. And that I probably shouldn’t call you Brett, like I’ve been doing.”
“I’m okay with it, if you are.” Brett didn’t want to make the kid uncomfortable by forcing affection he’d yet to feel.
“Yeah, well it’s kind of weird calling you Dad, since my dad, or David… Well, you know what I mean.”
“I know just what you mean.”
“But you’re still my real dad.”
The acknowledgement touched him, even though his son was having a hard time calling him Dad.
Brett placed a hand on the boy’s head, felt the strands that were loaded by a dunk in the ocean and a splatter of sand. “I’m glad David has been such a special man in your life. And he’s the only dad you’ve had for a very long time. I understand. Really.”
“Yeah, well I was reading this book the other day. And the boy in it called his stepfather Pop. I know you’re not my stepfather, but maybe I could call you that. I think Pop is better than Brett, ’cause that makes you sound like just a friend or a brother or something.”
Brett had to blink back the moisture that gathered in his eyes. “I’d love to be called Pop. It sounds perfect.”
A smile burst on Justin’s face. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. And it makes you sound more like a real dad.”
“Oh, no!” Emily shrieked. “Hurry up, Justin. The wave is getting us!”
“Uh-oh. Gotta go.” Then he hurried to help his sister.
Caitlin, who’d been watching, eased closer. “What was that all about?”
Brett couldn’t hide the emotion any longer, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. They were a family, for cripes sake. And families were allowed to share their feelings.
He swiped at the tears with the back of his hand and grinned at his wife. “Justin’s going to call me Pop.”
A smile broke out on Caitlin’s pretty face, and she drew him into a hug. “That’s the best news we’ve had all day.”
“No,” Brett said. “Not the best. That little pink dot on the pregnancy test was the best. But this comes in as a close second.”
Later, as the kids munched on hot dogs, watermelon slices and potato salad, Brett took his wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s going to be tough when I have to leave all of this.”
“I know. It’ll be tough on us, too.” She placed a kiss on his cheek and nuzzled closer. “But it’s your job. It’s what you do. And you can rest assured, I’ll keep the home fires burning while you’re gone.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
A man couldn’t ask for a better wife than Caitlin. And when he shipped out, his job would be even more important than it had been in the past.
Because now he had a family Worth Fighting For.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-2484-1
WORTH FIGHTING FOR
Copyright © 2005 by Judy Duarte
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