by Nicole Helm
Gabe jerked his chin toward the tree in the snow. “Go stand in front of the tree with your kid.”
It took her a moment to put together what he meant by that, and then she could only blink at him. “Oh.” Somewhat taken aback by the thoughtfulness, she tramped over to Colin and stood next to the fallen tree. She slipped her arm around his shoulder.
“Now smile. Both of you.”
“Oh, he never smiles for pictures anymore. Too big and tough,” Monica said, giving Colin a grin and squeeze.
“Funny. I got one,” Gabe replied, holding the phone out to her. She snatched the phone and looked at the picture Gabe had taken. Colin was grinning. Monica herself had her mouth open, was looking down at Colin, which made her chin all but disappear. She looked ridiculous. “I’m talking.”
Gabe shrugged. “Them’s the breaks.”
She almost demanded Gabe take another one, but she stared at the picture of her smiling son, then the man in front of her she did not understand at all. There were too many emotions fighting for prominence, and most of them made no sense to her at all.
He clapped his hands together. “Let’s load up. Colin, I’m going to teach you how to tie a knot.”
“I know how to tie a knot.”
“Not a lame baby knot. A real knot.”
Monica could only watch in shocked silence as Gabe went through the basic steps of some military knot, and then he and Colin tied the tree to the sleigh.
She swallowed at her constricted throat, because for the first time in six months, she knew for an absolute fact she’d made the right decision to move here—not just for herself, but for her son.
And it was hard not to cry over that.
Chapter 4
“See?” Colin held up a well-tied square knot to the room of adults who oohed and aahed over his skill.
Gabe was getting a kick out of how excited the kid was over tying a knot. Gabe had enjoyed teaching him this afternoon while they’d waited for Thanksgiving dinner to be ready. Everyone else had been in the tiny kitchen stepping on each other’s toes as they prepared the food.
Colin had nimble fingers and an eager mind. It hadn’t been easy for him in the beginning, and he’d been ready to give up, but Gabe had given him a bit of a lecture about frustration and working through it.
Colin had listened solemnly, then gotten to work. Now, he was flying through the knots and beyond proud of his achievements. Gabe smiled into his beer.
“Now we just need to teach you to do it underwater,” Alex said from his corner of the couch, Becca curled up next to him.
With the threat of snow, Becca’s mom had headed out early. Becca had convinced Monica and Colin to spend the night though, since the roads to their cabin would be worse than the roads in town. Now they were all sprawled out in various places in the living room with pie and alcoholic beverages for the adults. The women were sharing some fruity bottle of wine while Gabe and Alex stuck to beer.
Colin had groused loudly, if not earnestly, about his lame lemonade.
Gabe could admit it was nice enough, and he didn’t feel quite as odd-man-out as he’d figured he would. It didn’t mean he’d make it a habit by any means, but it gave him some dim hope for future holidays.
“How’s tying a knot underwater any different?” Colin asked, frowning at the piece of rope.
“Well, there’s water, for starters,” Gabe replied dryly. “Plus, you have to do it while holding your breath.”
Colin undid the knot in the piece of rope Gabe had given him and dramatically sucked in a breath and held it. Then he went about tying the knot. When he was done, he loudly blew out the breath he’d held. “Easy,” he said, offering the knot up for Gabe’s inspection.
Gabe shook his head. “You keep thinking it’s easy.”
“How old do you have to be to join the navy?”
“If your grandfather heard you asking that question…” Monica shuddered. “Bad enough your dad was an air force man.”
“Grandpa must be a marine then,” Gabe said.
Colin nodded. “First to fight.”
Alex and Gabe exchanged an eye roll.
“But it doesn’t matter. You know why?” Monica offered, smiling sweetly at Colin. “Because you’re joining any military branch over my dead body.”
Colin huffed. “You always say I can do whatever I want. If I get good grades and try hard and blah, blah, blah.”
“Well.” Monica sipped her wine. “I guess we have about eight years to figure it all out.” She made a pained face, fisting her free hand at her heart. “Eight years. That sounds impossibly short.”
“Yeah right. It’ll take forever.” Colin sighed gustily, holding out the rope knot for the two dogs curled by the fire. He tried to get their attention for some tug-of-war, but both Ranger and Star just stared at the boy dolefully.
Becca yawned. “I should get to cleaning up the rest of it.”
“Oh, let me. I’ll get Colin to bed and then do the rest. You did so much today.”
Becca opened her mouth to argue, but Alex was pulling her up off the couch. “Monica’s right. You did the work of ten men today. Let someone else help with cleanup.”
“You’re a guest,” Becca said with a frown as Alex started leading her toward the stairs.
“I’m a friend,” Monica replied firmly, nudging Colin with her foot. “Bedtime, little man.”
“Ugh.”
And then they were all heading for the stairs—Monica and Colin bickering over bedtimes, Alex and Becca sleepily arm in arm, and Gabe was left alone, seemingly forgotten, just him and the dogs.
He got up, ready to head out and ignore any of the idiotic disappointment in his chest. But bottles and glasses littered the coffee table, along with a few paper plates. He’d just grab those and throw them away, cutting down on some of the work Monica had to do. Quickly, before she came back down.
He collected the plates and a few bottles, disposing of them in the appropriate receptacles in the kitchen. Then he figured he could unload the dishwasher real quick, since he’d lived here before the bunkhouse had been ready and he knew where everything went.
Once he’d done that and added another load, he went back to the living room. He’d just collect the remainder of the glasses and then Monica wouldn’t have to do anything.
“Oh.”
Gabe glanced toward the sound. Monica stood at the bottom of the stairs, and he couldn’t read her expression or begin to understand what that oh had meant.
“Got most of it done. Just these left.” He ignored the glasses he’d been going for and moved toward the door. “I was getting ready to head out though.”
Monica shook her head, grabbing her glass of wine and refilling it with the last of the bottle. “Stay. Have a drink with me.”
Gabe watched her suspiciously. “Why?”
She plopped herself onto the couch, staring at the fire instead of back at him. “Because otherwise I’m going to sit here and wallow about the passage of time. I’d rather bicker with you.”
He’d regret it—he knew he’d regret it—and yet he couldn’t seem to resist. Much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t tired enough to sleep instead of wallow.
He was at least smart enough to take a seat in the armchair instead of next to her on the couch. And he was not about to drink any more.
“So, why aren’t you with your family?” she asked with no preamble.
Family. Funny word, that. Still, he didn’t wince. He knew he’d be asked. He had his rote answers prepared. “They live all the way on the other side of the country.”
“I do believe they have these things called airplanes.”
“Really? Haven’t heard of them.”
Her mouth curved, and she looked different in the flickering firelight. Fragile almost, where usually she looked impossibly sturdy
and strong.
“Why aren’t you with yours?”
“My parents are on a cruise celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She smiled fondly, but it died quickly. “Colin’s other grandparents don’t much care for us. Well, that isn’t fair. We remind them of Dex, and they…well, I suppose they haven’t fully dealt with their grief. I’m not sure I can blame them. I’m not sure all the therapist training in the world would help me if I ever lost…” She shook her head. “See? Morbid wallowing. I don’t want it. Say something obnoxious.”
“Marines are pussies.”
She barked out a laugh, then covered her mouth, presumably since there were people sleeping upstairs.
She had a good laugh. Loud and uninhibited. Hell, he needed a beer.
“My dad is not a pussy,” she said, sounding far more amused than offended.
Gabe shrugged. “I’m sure he doesn’t think so.”
Monica shook her head. She’d worn her hair down today, which she rarely did. In the firelight, it was tinged red, and seriously, he had to get his ass out of this chair and get a beer.
But he sat. And he watched her.
She cleared her throat, holding the wineglass with both hands, staring hard at the fire in the fireplace. The dogs had disappeared at some point when he’d been cleaning, so it really was just him and Monica.
“I know I don’t owe you any explanation about how I treat my son, but…well, you’re very good with him. He looks up to you. All three of you really, and it’s good for him to have you three as influences in his life. But he seems to be particularly connected to you.”
Everything in him tensed, chilled. That careful tone of voice, the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He knew what came next. He’d been here before, hadn’t he? “And you want me to stay away?”
“No, not at all.” She frowned, her gaze all shock and confusion as it met his. “Why would you think that?”
Gabe looked down at his hands. He hadn’t realized he’d gripped them both into tight fists, but there they were—white knuckled and clenched. He tried to come up with some explanation, but in the end, his scratchy voice just managed some lame excuse. “I’m not his dad.”
“No, but he needs people of all stripes in his life, people who’ll teach him different things and offer him different opportunities. He needs people to look up to because he feels a connection. I’ll always be a shade too overprotective. I’ve worked through some of it, but…Dex died…”
He unclenched his fists and placed his hands on the arms of the chair, ready to push out of it. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”
“But I want to. I want you to understand. You’re a part of Colin’s life.” She said it so seriously, so baldly. None of her usual therapist carefulness in picking the words. He knew better than to look, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
She was staring at him, emotion written all over her face. An earnestness, a hope, and, underneath all that, love—love for her son.
Gabe was somehow rendered speechless by that, and he was never, ever speechless.
“All of you are part of his life,” she continued. “And a part of mine. Dex’s helicopter crash was a preventable accident. Someone hadn’t done the right safety check, and it resulted in the crash. Because someone was careless, an accident killed my husband and my baby’s father.”
She paused, clearly grappling with the pain of that, staring back at the fire. Gabe looked at it, too, because he’d lost friends and brothers—more men than he cared to count. To various things. War and suicide and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Geiger, the other man in their vehicle when it had exploded. That man had sacrificed himself by stepping on that grenade, and somehow, the rest of them had survived.
“I was ready to lose him to war,” Monica continued. “I wasn’t ready to lose him to…cruel happenstance. And that’s manifested itself in some unfortunate ways.”
Ah, there was the therapist. The careful choosing of words. Manifest. Unfortunate. But in this moment, he couldn’t really blame her. He figured someone who’d lived through that got to use whatever therapy words she wanted.
“So I need some people in my life who will on occasion make me let Colin cut down a tree.”
He didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t want to. But she just kept talking.
“Thank you for today. I don’t think I can adequately express how much I appreciate it.”
It was enough to have Gabe finally pushing himself out of the chair. “Yeah, no problem,” he grumbled, heading straight for his coat. “Have a good night.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Gabe,” she murmured, and somehow those soft words haunted him all the way to the bunkhouse.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, Monica listened to Colin chatter with Becca and Alex. The couple had been up and doing chores since before dawn, yet they sat there and talked happily. Monica couldn’t understand how anyone got up that early and cheerfully worked in this cold, but they seemed perfectly content. Whether it be the comfort of partnership, love for their work, or love for each other, it was sweet to witness.
And eased some of the lingering…discomfort, she supposed. She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out exactly what her reaction to her conversation with Gabe had been.
She’d wanted to thank him. Not just for the Christmas tree stuff, but for the irritating way he’d coerced her into giving Colin some freedom. She’d wanted to explain that she did need some pushes because her overprotectiveness was rooted in something real.
Then he’d thought she was going to warn him away from Colin. What was that about? The cold fury in his response that he’d blanked in the blink of an eye kept replaying in her head. Then, the way it had disappeared so quickly made her question whether she’d really seen it.
“Monica?”
Monica blinked and looked up from her mug of coffee. She smiled at Alex. “Sorry, what? Lost in pre-coffee thought. Or maybe I dozed off.”
“I asked if it’d be okay if Colin comes out with me today. I doubt Jack and Rose will make it with the road conditions. I could use an extra set of hands,” Alex said.
Monica forced herself to smile. “Of course.”
“Finish up, then, partner. We’ve got some ice to break.” Alex must have noticed her horrified look. “In the water tanks.”
Right. Water tanks. Honestly, she was too smart a woman to always be jumping to the most dangerous possibility. Of course, that wasn’t fair. She was always telling her patients that intelligence didn’t have a thing to do with the emotional aftereffects of war. The smartest minds could be as easily wounded by trauma as anyone else.
She thought she’d been dealing with her trauma quite effectively, and it was daunting to realize she’d mostly been running from it, or hiding, or gently pushing it into a corner where she didn’t have to deal with it.
One day at a time had come to mean considering neither future nor past. Now, she was settling in. She had to think about the future because she was knee-deep in helping people build a program she wanted to be involved with for a very long time.
“Everything okay?” Becca asked once Alex and Colin had disappeared from the kitchen.
Monica smiled. “Okay. Holidays are hard. End of the year is hard.” Life is hard.
“If there’s anything about the wedding stressing you—”
“Nothing about the wedding is hard. I’m having a great time helping you plan. In fact, we’ve got a bit of time right now, don’t we? Did you want to finalize the timeline, and then I can make any confirmation phone calls next week?”
Becca drained her coffee. “You’re a dream come true. Let me get the binder.”
Becca disappeared from the kitchen and Monica cleared the table, rinsing the dishes so they were ready to be loaded. She’d cha
lk up this weird melancholy to not just the holidays, but messing with her routine.
As Becca reentered, the front door squeaked open and voices could be heard murmuring in the living room. A few seconds later, Jack and Rose appeared.
“What do you two think you’re doing driving these roads?” Becca demanded.
“Heat went out at the house. It was brave the roads or freeze to death,” Jack said, helping Rose shrug out of her coat.
“We would’ve been fine,” she grumbled.
“Yes, nothing like letting a pregnant woman hang out in below-freezing temperatures in a house with no insulation.”
Rose rolled her eyes and slid into a seat at the table. “I think he’s being ridiculous, but since it meant I could come help with wedding stuff, I didn’t argue.”
“Do you mind if we stay here until we get the heating fixed?” Jack asked Becca.
“You know you’re always welcome.”
Alex popped in the kitchen doorway, Colin at his heels. “Didn’t expect you today.”
“Heat’s out. We got a helper?” Jack asked, nodding at Colin.
“I don’t know. He said he wants to pet the goat. Not sure I can trust him.”
“You’re marrying the woman in charge of that goat.”
Alex grinned over at Becca. “Oh, right. Well, come on. Best get to it.”
Monica watched the three depart, desperately tried to keep her mouth shut, and inevitably failed. “Bundle up,” she called after Colin. “Be safe.”
“Serious question,” Rose demanded. “Am I going to turn into this worrywart creature once my child is born?”
“I think it depends a little bit on personality, but no matter what, you’re going to worry. To the point where you feel sick half the time. Motherhood is a constant joy.”
“It’s not bad enough I have to push the thing out of me, now I also have to worry about it for eighteen years?”
“If you’re anything like my mother, it’ll be way more than eighteen years,” Becca offered, grinning.
