A SEAL's Secret Baby
Page 5
“Good point,” Deacon said, while Ellie snatched Pia from his arms. “Rookie mistake I hadn’t considered.”
“A mistake that could land her in the emergency room.”
“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “Lesson learned. Just trying to help out.”
“Well, when she woke up, I wish you had come get me.”
Clenching his jaw, Deacon summoned every ounce of what bit of gentleman remained in him to not let Ellie have it. What was her problem? If she hadn’t left Pia’s monitor in the kitchen, he might still be sleeping. Granted, he shouldn’t have had Pia near the stove. It’d been a mistake, but nothing worthy of this attack.
After turning off the burner, he dumped the bacon on a plate then tossed the pan in the sink. “Where are my keys?”
She took them from a teacup in her curio cabinet. “Here.”
“Not sure what your issue is—” he bounced the keys in his palm “—but you need to get over it. I was only trying to help.”
Deacon left.
When the sound of his motorcycle’s powerful engine faded, and the only proof he’d been there was the acrid smell of exhaust drifting through the open kitchen window, Ellie finally allowed herself to exhale.
“What just happened?” she asked her child, wishing she was old enough to hold an intelligent conversation. But then that would open an entirely new box of issues. When Pia was five or ten or eighteen, what would she think about her mother wanting to hide the fact that Deacon was her real father?
Setting Pia in her high chair, fixing her oatmeal with raisins, and filling her sippy cup with apple juice sidetracked Ellie’s racing mind for a few minutes. But that was only a temporary fix.
She feared what had upset her most about finding Deacon holding her daughter—their daughter—had little to do with lethal bacon grease and more to do with the fact that her baby girl had been happy. Grinning in her father’s arms. Though Ellie had known it was past time for Deacon to learn the truth, she’d been naive to assume he’d have no problem hiding the fact that he was a parent. Her carefully balanced pile of secrets was poised to topple, and as much as the thought terrified her, she realized that for Pia’s sake—and Deacon’s—full disclosure was for the best. A girl needed her father.
Even if, in the process, the fallout destroyed her mother.
* * *
“I WAS SO NOT IN THE MOOD for this.” Deacon set his rebreather unit on the aft end of the Mark V Special Operations Craft. Breathing pure oxygen for hours at a time when he’d started his morning with a killer headache had only made his day worse.
“Come on,” Garrett teased, with an elbow to Deacon’s ribs. “How can you not love practicing for disarming nukes at three hundred feet?” Unzipping his dry suit, he tilted his head back to take in the sun. “It’s the dark that gets me. The black swallows you whole.”
“Yeah.” Deacon began the long process of disassembling and stowing his gear. They would rinse off the seawater back on base.
Garrett joined in the mundane task, asking, “What’s up with you? You’ve been off all day—I mean, beyond your hangover.”
“Remember our last conversation about Pia?” Deacon checked to make sure none of the rest of their team were within eavesdropping distance.
“Sure. You take my advice and see her?”
Deacon winced. “Yes and no.”
Groaning, Garrett said, “Man, you’ve got to lay off the sauce—especially around your kid.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Deacon bristled. “I wasn’t going to drink at all, but then Ellie made me crazy. One thing led to another and somehow I downed the better half of a bottle. Ellie took my keys and I passed out on her sofa.”
“This just keeps getting better….” Garrett shook salt water from his fins.
“So this morning, I hear Pia crying. Wanting to try my hand at the whole responsible dad thing, I handled it. Got the kid scrubbed down, and I would’ve fed her, too, but Ellie flipped. I’m cooking bacon, with Pia in my arms, and she practically accuses me of child abuse. Says I’m gonna burn her with grease. The whole scene was nuts.”
Garrett didn’t answer, just kept messing with his gear.
“What? You think I was in the wrong?”
“No. Just put yourself in Ellie’s shoes. Not only did she lose her husband, but now she’s got this deep dark secret threatening to spill. Tom’s folks think the world of her and Pia. They’re her support system. What happens if she loses them, too?”
“Hadn’t considered that.” Sitting back on his heels, Deacon strove to balance himself against the Mark V’s 45-knots-per-hour bounce. “But you told me I should take an active role in raising my kid. Now you’re saying, for Ellie’s sake, I shouldn’t?”
“Not at all. For Pia’s sake, for sure you should. Just maybe take it a little slower. No more passing out on the couch, for one. And two, put the baby in her high chair before handling popping grease.”
* * *
“EVERYTHING’S PERFECT.” Tom’s mother, Helen, used a pushpin to add a pink balloon to the last pink streamer. “I doubt Pia will remember any of this, but I’m in desperate need of cheer. My granddaughter’s second birthday couldn’t be a more perfect excuse.”
“Agreed.” Ellie dropped raspberry sherbet into a bowl of pink lemonade punch. It had been a month since she’d seen Deacon, who’d been off on another mission. It’d been over a year since Tom’s passing. Every day she hoped missing him would get easier, but if anything, the fact that he really wasn’t coming back was sinking in. The heartbreaking finality of his absence, in everything from deciding whether or not to repair the broken washer or buy a new one, to what to have for Sunday supper, was taking an emotional toll.
Ellie’s only bright spot was Pia. She talked more every day and now had a working vocabulary of about thirty words—mostly commands for what she wanted Ellie to do. Play, hot, cold, food, ouch. How badly Ellie wanted to share these milestones with Tom. How guilt-ridden she was for not sharing them with Deacon.
She’d invited him to Pia’s big day, but in the same breath prayed he’d stay away.
“These are delicious.” Tom’s father helped himself to a cherry cupcake with cream cheese icing. “Ellie, you sure know how to cook.”
“Thanks.” She glowed at the man’s kind words. Her home life had been far from idyllic, growing up, which made her cherish her relationship with Helen and John all the more. “It’s a new recipe, so I’m relieved they turned out.”
Guests started arriving.
Ada. Neighbors. Friends from her old Mommy and Me crowd, as well as her widow support group and new alcoholic outreach program. She’d recently begun working with Pandora, a young alcoholic mother who’d lost her child to foster care. Though Ellie hadn’t admitted it to Ada, the work was extremely satisfying, going a long way toward making Ellie finally recognize she wasn’t a helpless little girl anymore. Bad things might occasionally happen in her life, but she was ultimately in control of how she reacted to those events. The more friends who arrived, the more relieved Ellie felt that Deacon wasn’t among them.
Helen turned on a kid-friendly CD and soon the normally serene backyard was transformed into a riot of frosting-smudged kids running wild on sugar and fun.
Ellie was at the kitchen counter making a fresh batch of punch when the back door swung open.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” In walked Deacon, brandishing a huge beribboned box. “Sorry I’m late. Pia’s gift was a special-order thing, and it just came in this morning.”
Ellie’s hands were trembling so badly she dropped the last scoop of sherbet down the garbage disposal. She tried finding words, but none made it past her dry mouth. He wore jeans and an untucked cobalt button-down that, when he removed his sunglasses, did the most amazing thing to his brown eyes. The man wasn’t just handsom
e, he was breathtaking—and he knew it.
Wielding his smile as if they’d seen each other just the other day, he asked, “Anyplace special you have assigned for presents?”
“I, um…” She wiped her sticky fingers on a dishrag. “Just put it anywhere. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with an extra helping of charm. “I’m Pia’s father.”
“Who hasn’t seen her in a month.”
“Through no fault of my own.” There he went again with his smile. “You can thank Afghan rebels for my absence, but I’m here now and psyched.”
“You could’ve let me know you’ve been on a mission. I had to find out through friends.”
“Sorry,” he said, still smiling. “You know how it is. After our last talk, I assumed you’d understand that would be the only reason I wouldn’t show up. Regardless, forgive me?”
What a loaded question. On one hand, there was nothing to forgive him for. On the other, she wanted to blame him for being Pia’s father. But how could she when she’d played an equal role in the utterly careless abandon that fatal night? Moreover, her daughter was her world—more than ever since Ellie had lost Tom. If anything, in some twisted way, she owed Deacon great thanks for wanting to tackle this most important job with his usual SEAL drive to excel.
“Of course I forgive you. But you have to do the same for me. I didn’t mean to come down so hard on you about the bacon. I just…” Hands to her forehead, she searched for an explanation for the chaos in her heart that had stemmed from seeing Pia in his arms. “Well, not that it’s an excuse, but with the anniversary of Tom’s death, and telling you about Pia, I was having a rough time.”
“Ellie, are there more—” Helen saved her by arriving in the kitchen with an empty cupcake platter. “Deacon!”
When she drew him into a hug, Ellie fought an irrational jealous twinge. She’d forgotten the simple luxury of human touch, and missed it. Sure, she held Pia all the time, but that wasn’t the same as losing herself to the warmth of being held.
“John and I have wondered how you’ve been.” Her hand to his cheek, Helen added, “The anniversary had to have been hard on you, too.”
Eyes welling, he nodded. “Sorry I haven’t called or anything.”
“Everyone deals with these things in their own way.”
“Still…” Hands in his pockets, he glanced away.
Helen reloaded the cupcake platter, then slipped her arm around Deacon’s waist and led him to the deck, where the party was in full swing.
Loneliness consumed Ellie.
In the past, during everything from Thanksgiving to the Superbowl or Saint Patrick’s Day, she’d shared kitchen duties with Tom.
She didn’t want to cry on what was supposed to be a happy occasion, but once her tears started, they didn’t let up. Snatching about fourteen paper towels, she dashed for the pantry, closing herself inside for the kind of self-indulgent sob fest she usually avoided.
Encompassed in the homey scents of cinnamon and flour, she hugged herself, struggling to recapture the feel of Tom’s arms around her.
The door opened. Deacon held a cupcake to his mouth. “There you are! Hey…” Setting the baked good on the nearest shelf, he drew her against his chest, securing her with his powerful arms. She’d wanted so badly to be held, but not by him. Her remembered attraction for him was too strong, filling her with guilt as she all but collapsed against him, soaking in his strength.
“What set this off?”
“B-being alone in the kitchen. You know how Tom loved to cook.”
“Yeah.” Deacon held her all the tighter. “His manicotti was off the charts.”
“Remember his cheesecake?” Ellie sniffed.
“We should make it sometime. You still have all his recipes, right?”
Nodding while blowing her nose, she managed to whisper, “I’ve thought about making some of his favorite dishes, but it somehow felt wrong.”
“Seems to me—” Deacon released her to take a bite of his cupcake “—it’d be like a tribute. Maybe once every month or so, we could have a Taste of Tom night.”
Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “Taste of Tom? What an awful name. A tad cannibalistic, don’t you think?”
Shrugging, he finished off his cupcake. “Made you laugh. That was really all I wanted.”
“Thanks.” She meant it. Of all people to pull her out of her funk, Deacon would’ve been the last person she’d turn to. Surprisingly, she’d been wrong.
* * *
For Deacon, watching Pia open her gifts brought on a strange mixture of happiness and sadness. This little girl, more interested in the bows and boxes than the toys, was his child. His flesh and blood. Two months earlier, she’d been a cute kid, but in no way a significant part of his life.
“Adorable, isn’t she?” Tom’s father paused alongside Deacon. “Looks more like her daddy every day.”
Deacon’s stomach lurched. “Um, yeah.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what Helen and I would do without that little girl.” He sipped his punch. “Losing Tom was—still is—a special brand of hell, but as long as we have this piece of him, we’ve got to keep it together, you know?”
Not sure what to say, Deacon scratched his head. “Makes sense.”
“Mind helping me?” Ellie held out a trash bag to Deacon. “Who knew fifteen kids under the age of five could generate so much mess?”
“Trust me,” John said, “they’ll only get worse. When Tom was a teen, we were constantly nagging him to clean his room.”
With John off taking pictures of Pia opening more gifts, Deacon said to Ellie, “Thanks for the save. I see what you mean about Tom’s folks being attached to Pia.”
“Do you blame them?” She stuffed three paper plates in his bag.
“No. Of course, not. But Ell…” He snagged her upper arm. “One of these days, they’ll have to know.”
She wrenched free. “Not today.”
Chapter Five
Heartburn threatening to eat a hole through her stomach, Ellie couldn’t believe only an hour earlier she’d actually been comforted by Deacon’s presence. Now, with his not so subtle reminder that one day she’d have to tell the Hilliards the truth, she wished more than anything he’d go away.
“Oh my…” Helen studied Pia’s next gift—a complex, battery-powered, ride-on pink Hummer. “Deacon, that’s awfully extravagant, and not really age appropriate.”
“It’s perfect,” he argued, snatching Pia from her grandmother’s lap. “Look, sweetie.” He plopped the little girl onto the plastic seat. “You can drive a Humvee just like your daddy’s when he’s at work.”
Ellie cringed.
While all in attendance believed Deacon was referring to the Hummer Tom used to drive, Ellie knew better.
How dare he?
In the pantry, she’d thought they’d reached a truce. Judging by Deacon’s current behavior, holding Pia upright in the toy vehicle while making vroom noises, his maturity level wasn’t much higher than his daughter’s.
“Deacon,” Helen said, “I know you mean well, but the box says this toy has a recommended age of five-year-olds and up.”
“Cool!” cried one of the neighbor boys.
Pia had started to cry.
“I’ll take her,” Ellie said. “She’s probably tired.”
“I can handle her,” Deacon insisted, though Pia wailed louder. “What’s the matter, birthday girl? You’re not supposed to cry on your big day.”
Whether he liked it or not, Ellie took Pia in her arms. “It’s okay,” she crooned.
“One day, when you’re a parent,” Helen said to Deacon, “you’ll be able to decipher all your child’s burps and coos—or in this case, screams.”
Thankfully, Deacon stayed outside.
“That was odd.” While Ellie changed Pia’s diaper, Helen settled in the nursery’s comfy armchair.
“What?” Ellie glanced up from the changing table.
“Deacon’s behavior. We haven’t heard a peep out of him since Tom’s anniversary dinner. Now all of a sudden he shows up, acting like he’s Pia’s best friend.” Inspecting her nails, Helen added, “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little offended.”
Would this day ever end? “No doubt he feels awkward about leaving your party without saying goodbye.”
“Maybe.”
By the time Ellie got Pia changed, the baby’s eyes were fluttering shut. Poor thing was exhausted. Settling her in her crib, she tiptoed from the room, followed by Helen, who closed the door behind them.
“I used to think highly of Deacon. You know, for all he’s overcome.” In the kitchen, Helen said, “I’d love a cup of coffee. Should I make an extra-large pot in case anyone else wants some, too?”
“Sure.” Ellie sat at one of the counter stools.
“Why do you think Deacon insisted Pia play with such an obviously unsuitable toy?”
Pressing her fingertips to her throbbing forehead, Ellie sighed. “Would you mind if we tabled this topic? I should get back to my guests.”
“You go on.” The fragrant coffee had started to brew. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Back to the melee of running kids and chatting adults, Ellie had just taken a giant stuffed rabbit from chubby Franco, the kindergartner who lived next door, when Deacon paused alongside her. “We need to talk.”
“I want the bunny!” Franco hollered.
“Sorry, bud,” Deacon told the kid, “but that’s Pia’s. She got it as a present, remember?”
“It’s mine!” Franco insisted.
“There a problem?” A tank-size man Ellie recognized as Franco’s dad, Franco Sr., stepped into the argument.