Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04)

by Tracy Madison

  “Tossing money at your son, rather than doing what’s right and just.” Dylan looked down at Chelsea and she knew, oh, she knew, that he was still fighting the urge to punch Joel.

  Well, that made two of them.

  “No. It’s my attempt at showing how sorry I am,” Joel said. “If I could reverse the years, I would make a different decision. I was a jerk back then. Too young and too selfish to care about anyone but myself.” Joel’s shoulders slumped by his admission. “I’m different now, and I wanted to give Henry something. To try to make it up to him. But, and you can believe this or not, I don’t want to mess up his life.”

  Oh, God. He meant it. Every word of it.

  And there went the rest of Chelsea’s anger. She thought of her options, of what would be best for Henry as far as Joel went. And she couldn’t allow a meeting between the two. Not now, or really, not in the near future, even if Joel wasn’t leaving the country. Close to five years of zero contact was not erased by a solitary night of behaving responsibly, no matter how heartfelt and true she believed Joel’s words to be.

  “I accept your apology,” she said, speaking slowly. “And someday, when Henry’s older and can process the information correctly, I’ll explain what you just have. If he wants to talk to you or meet you, we’ll see where we’re at, if it’s a workable possibility. But, Joel, that’s all I can do with this right now. Nothing more than that.”

  “That’s fair. And more than I expected.” Joel set the envelope on the seat of the chair he’d just vacated. “I’ll be on my way now, no need to show me out.”

  He headed toward the outside door, and Chelsea couldn’t let him go without...something. “Joel,” she said. “Wait. I think it would be okay for you to have a picture of Henry.”

  “Yeah?” Joel paused, turned around. “That would be great. Really great.”

  She ducked inside, chose a photo from her wallet and when she returned to the porch, handed it to Joel. “This was taken this past Christmas,” she said. “And...well, if you text me an email address, I’ll send you more photos here and there. If you’d like that.”

  Joel nodded, but his eyes were glued to the snapshot of Henry. “Look at him. Yeah, I really screwed up,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. Tucking the photo into his shirt pocket, he looked at Chelsea. His gaze held sorrow and, yes, regret. “Thank you. For keeping him safe and happy. I’ll get that email address to you.”

  And with that, he was gone, and Chelsea’s heart hung heavy with her own sorrow. She knew she’d made the right decision, but that didn’t change the waste of it all.

  “I’m proud of you. You handled that remarkably well,” Dylan said, pulling her into his arms. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, breathed in his clean, masculine scent and relaxed.

  Just. Like. That.

  Because, yes, she loved this man. But could he love her?

  * * *

  Several hours later, when the house was empty of all but those who lived there, save Dylan and Logan—who was in the living room, getting to know his half brother—Chelsea kissed Henry’s cheek and quietly left the room. Her little boy was asleep, worn-out from the many ways Haley and Rachel had kept him occupied during Joel’s visit.

  The day had passed in a whirlwind of highs and lows, but rather than focus on the negative aspects, her heart was filled with only the good. Because in this city, in this house, she’d discovered the new fresh start she and Henry had so desperately needed. She’d found a family here, and they were a joy and a miracle. They were what she’d always yearned for, had always hoped to find.

  And now she had them.

  But the greater miracle was in the man named Dylan Foster. He’d poured his heart out to her today, had firmly stood by her—even when he’d been justifiably angry—as her world seemed to explode into smithereens, and...he’d called her honey.

  In front of his mother, even.

  Chelsea touched her lips with her fingers as she took the stairs, remembering their kisses and the passion that had followed. The way their bodies had merged together in heat and desire and then fulfillment. How being in Dylan’s arms gave her the sensation of...coming home.

  She had to believe he was the man meant for her, because otherwise, none of what she felt, none of what he’d said or done, none of what had occurred since she’d driven her dying car into Steamboat Springs, would make any type of sense.

  The forces of fate had to be involved.

  Now she had to take the final step. The one she’d avoided for so long—not just with Dylan, but with anyone. She had to share who she was, what had formed her, with him. So he could look inside her soul and decide for himself what he thought. Would he reject her?

  The thought was crushing. Devastating. But this was a risk she had to take. If she didn’t, if she stuck to her safe, sane world without ever knowing for certain, she would never forgive herself. Because the possibilities of what might occur if Dylan understood and accepted her, loved her, were...wondrous, and breath stealing, and of immeasurable significance.

  Worth infinitely more than any number of diamonds or gold nuggets.

  She peeked into the living room, but only saw Gavin, Logan and Haley. They were talking in easy, relaxed voices, and Gavin was smiling. That was good.

  Since Dylan wasn’t with them, she guessed he was waiting for her, and the most likely place, the most private place on the main floor, was the enclosed back porch. And yes, that was where she found him. Sitting in one of the chairs, legs stretched in front of him, arms cradled behind his head, and eyes closed. Oh, and with a wide, happy smile on his face.

  Made her wonder what he was thinking of, dreaming of. Wishing for. Maybe, hopefully, something to do with her.

  Clearing her throat, she waited for his eyes to open. When they did, she said, “He fell asleep right after the bedtime story. Thank you for reading to him.” No, that wasn’t quite right. She’d meant to say more. She’d meant to say Thank you for loving my son.

  Dylan’s brows shot up in surprise, maybe that she’d put it out there so clearly. “You’re welcome, though I feel as if I should thank you. For...oh, let’s start with bringing him into existence.” He grinned. “And then for bringing him into my life.”

  Nervous trembles skittered up and down her spine, along her skin, and she figured the best chance she had of saying what she intended to say was to just do it. Now.

  Before her litany of fears drove the words back down her throat. So she didn’t sit, and she didn’t give Dylan a heads-up. She just kept her gaze on his, opened her mouth and hoped like hell the right words, the ones she most needed to express, came out.

  “There was a lot of yelling in my house,” she said, “when I was growing up. Condemning words, from both of my parents, and hurtful criticisms. I wasn’t ever praised. I mean, I cannot ever remember being praised, for...anything. My interests were ridiculed, my dreams were made fun of, my fears were laughed at. No matter who I was, on any given day, it wasn’t the right person. I wasn’t—” she inhaled a fortifying breath “—the daughter they wanted.”

  Oh, Lord, this was rough. And it hurt, bringing those days to the forefront of her memory, remembering the girl she’d been. Remembering how very much she wanted her parents to love her. Appreciate her. See her and not wish for something, someone, she was not. How hard she’d tried and how often she’d failed.

  But as hard, as painful as this was, she wasn’t done. Not yet.

  “My dad, he used to look at me as if I were an alien. Some creature unknown to him that he couldn’t understand and, therefore, disliked. I spent half of my childhood trying to please him, and the other half walking on eggshells. Because, Dylan?” She said his name on purpose, to remind herself of why she was doing this. “I never knew what would set my father off. Lots would. But not every day, and not always the same things. And my mother, she just...passively went along with most of his tirades. Didn’t step in. Didn’t try to make it better.”

  Chelsea con
tinued to look at Dylan, monitoring his expression—calm and focused, on her, on her story—as the words puked from her gut, from her soul. She said more than she ever had before, more than she’d believed she could, or would, when she’d started.

  And this man she knew she loved watched her closely, with a dark and dangerous gleam in his eyes, and listened without interruption or one sign of impatience.

  As she came to the end, she said, “When Henry was born, my parents wanted me to give them guardianship. They said I was too young, too poor, too alone to raise him properly. I refused them, naturally, because even though I still wanted to please them, there wasn’t any way I was going to allow my son to be raised as I was.”

  “What then?” Dylan asked quietly. Too quietly, she thought, almost as if she’d shocked the volume right out of him. “What did they do when you refused them?”

  “Disowned us.” A scared, choking laugh escaped. “Best thing they could’ve done, really, as I likely would’ve kept trying to fix all the problems they saw in me. Because in their eyes, I was always just a...a...failure.”

  Then, oh, God, then her legs buckled and she dropped to the floor. Trembles shot through her at breakneck speed, her pulse raced and her throat closed in. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but sit there as her body revolted, punishing her for...for ending her campaign of silence. For saying even one word of what lived inside her heart, her soul.

  But then Dylan was there, on the floor with her, and his arms came around her and pulled her backward. Into him, into the safety and the warmth of home. Her home.

  “You listen to me, Chelsea Bell,” Dylan said, his voice strong and sure. “You are not a problem that needs fixing. Not even close. Your parents are the problem. Your parents failed you. They failed, baby, not you. Look at Henry if you don’t believe me. He is incredible and loving and smart and funny...and he is that way due to you.”

  Pain she’d tried to repress for so long came to the surface as he spoke. It bubbled in her chest, it gurgled through her blood, it popped and hissed and crawled its way through her, one excruciating, unbearable inch at a time, until she truly and completely thought she would die from the agony. She gasped for air, tried to find a way to smother the hurt, as she had done for most of her life, to send it back into the recesses of her soul, to hide there—a silent enemy—so she wouldn’t have to feel so damn much. So she could go back to...what?

  Pretending she was fine?

  No, no, no. She couldn’t go back. Couldn’t retreat into herself and keep her world as small and limited as she had. She...oh, wow, she deserved better. She wasn’t a failure. She had taken what she’d been given and had done the best she could. Had fought and scraped her way through, one battle after another, and soaked up every bit of good she could get her hands on.

  But she could do better than that. For herself, for Henry. And yes, for the man she loved. For Dylan. The burden that had weighed on her chest for so very long suddenly grew lighter, and lighter, and lighter yet, and then it floated away. Like one of Henry’s hot-air balloons.

  “I’m so damn grateful you shared this with me,” Dylan was saying, his hold on her still secure, still strong. “I’m amazed by you, honey. By every part of what makes you...you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said in a whisper, exhausted by all she’d done, all she felt. “I wanted you to know because I was afraid. Of what you’d think of me once you understood the reasons for how I am. If you’d...walk away, too. Like my parents. Like Joel.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next. Unless you decide you’ve had enough of me, I plan on sticking around.”

  Did that mean, could it mean, he loved her?

  Maybe. Hopefully. But for now, she was happy enough, even secure enough, to believe his words as he said them. And since she knew, without doubt, that she’d never have her fill of Dylan Foster, there wasn’t any hurry to rush their future or declare her love.

  They’d get there, she was sure. Because she and Dylan belonged together. Fate had brought her here, to him, and had put her smack-dab in the center of his arms.

  Which was exactly where she was supposed to be.

  Epilogue

  Henry’s stiff, starched shirt made his skin itch, and the long sleeves were too hot, and his dressing-up shoes pinched his toes. When he told Mommy, she said he could change later, but for weddings, people were supposed to wear their nice clothes.

  He rubbed his back against his chair, trying to scratch the itches all the way gone, and squinted through the bright sun to watch Gavin and Haley become each other’s family. ’Cause that was what getting married meant. Mommy had said that, too.

  “Honey,” Mommy whispered from next to him. She had on her nice clothes, but her dress had short sleeves, so she prolly wasn’t hot. Or itchy. “Try to sit still, if you can.”

  “But I’m itchy!” he said. Oh. Maybe that was too loud, because the people around him laughed in their small voices. “But I’m itchy,” he whispered. “And hot.”

  Dylan reached behind him to scratch his back, and he thought that was something a daddy would do. And he really, really wanted Dylan to be his daddy. He was the best person, ’cept for Mommy, that Henry had ever known in his whole life. He’d thought that Dylan was his daddy for a little while and that was why Mommy had brought him here for their fresh start.

  He wasn’t, though. Henry had asked and Dylan had told him the truth. He supposed he was glad that Dylan didn’t lie, but his heart had hurt really bad then. Badder than falling from the swing. Badder than anything had ever hurt Henry before, even when he’d picked up the cactus plant Mommy used to have and all those tiny needles had stuck to his hand.

  It made him sad, too. And mad. So mad he wanted to...to yell at his mommy for not picking Dylan to be his daddy. But he loved her and he knew if he yelled, she would cry. And he hated when she cried. That made his heart hurt, too, so he kept it all inside and pretended he was okay. He kind of thought Mommy knew that, though, because she’d started trying really hard—even harder than normal—to get him to smile and laugh.

  Well, so did Dylan and Gavin and Haley and everyone else. His heart stopped hurting so much then, and he stopped being so mad and so sad. And that was when he started thinking about his mommy and Dylan getting married. Like Gavin and Haley were right now.

  Mommy had said when they were driving in the car to see those crying babies that you got married when you loved someone and you wanted them to be your family. Henry loved Dylan more than root beer—which was his most favorite drink ever—and he loved him almost as much as he loved Mommy. And he wanted Dylan to be his daddy.

  Since Dylan and Mommy were giving each other funny smiles, holding hands and kissing when they didn’t think Henry was watching, they must love each other. Because that was what Gavin and Haley did. And Dylan was with him and Mommy almost every single day. They played games and went shopping and lots of other stuff, as if they were a family!

  So Henry didn’t understand why his mommy and Dylan weren’t getting married. Seemed silly to him, to act like a family but not make it real.

  Mommy was prolly waiting for Dylan to ask, and Dylan was prolly waiting for Mommy to ask, and that meant no one would ask. They’d just keep waiting forever and ever and ever, and they’d never be a real family and Dylan would never be Henry’s daddy.

  Henry squirmed in his chair and tried to think of what to do to stop the forever waiting. He thought so long and so hard, he missed all of Gavin and Haley’s wedding. When everyone stood and clapped, he did, too. And when his mommy told him he could go play with the other kids if he wanted, he just found a table to sit at so he could keep thinking.

  And then, when he finally decided what to do, it was time to eat the wedding food. He couldn’t eat very much, though, because his tummy felt funny. Kind of like when he spun in circles really, really fast. Henry knew he wasn’t sick or anything gross like that, he was just getting worried
about what he was going to do. About what Mommy and Dylan would say.

  But this was about making them all a real family. And that was so, so, so important. More important than how his tummy felt.

  And he didn’t want to wait anymore. Remembering something he’d seen on TV, Henry picked up his spoon and his glass of root beer and stood up on his chair, which wobbled a little at first. Mommy saw him right away and tugged at Dylan’s shirt, so he looked at Henry then, too.

  Henry hit the glass with the spoon, but it didn’t make the ringing bell noise like on TV, and nobody but Mommy and Dylan seemed to notice. He swallowed really hard and in his biggest voice said, “Everyone stop talking! And everyone look at me, ’cause I have something important to say!”

  “Um, Henry,” Mommy said, starting to stand. “Maybe this isn’t the—”

  “Oh, I don’t know, honey,” Dylan said, winking at Henry. “He said it was important. Maybe let him talk and see what this is about?”

  She nodded and sat back down, but she had those worry lines around her mouth that Henry didn’t like. “Okay, sweetie, go ahead.”

  “Mommy,” Henry said, starting with her, since he’d known her ever since he was a baby, “I think you are the best mommy in the world and I love you very much. You bake real good and you tell the best stories and...and your laugh makes my heart happy. Even if I’m sad first.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” She blinked and her worry lines became smiling ones. He liked those lines a lot. “And I think you’re the best son in the world, and I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know. Was that what you wanted to say?”

  “Yes, but there’s more. Lots more.” Then, still using his superbig voice, he said, “Dylan, I think you could be the best daddy in the world, but you’re not my daddy, so it’s hard to say for hundred percent sure. I’m prolly ninety-two percent there right now, and that’s pretty good!”