Squared Away

by Annabeth Albert

  “You’re getting good at this,” Johnson observed. He was working this particular evolution with Mark. They were both ratio instructors for this exercise, which meant they’d go up and down the line, looking for anything out of place or finding teams that needed extra exercises for deviating from instructions.

  “How do you figure?” Mark sure wasn’t feeling all that competent right now. But praise from Johnson, who had been an instructor before, was still nice.

  “At first, you wanted to get in there, do everything for the recruits. And you weren’t completely on board with the reprimand system—I could tell. That was hard for me too when I first got here, but it’s our job to keep the team building, competition, reward and reprimand levels high. You’ve been better about getting them to work as a team, take their own lumps.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Take their own lumps. Mark had to let the guys fail because that was the only way they’d make it as SEALs. No one was going to do it for them out in the field. You can’t protect them forever. Fuck. Was that what he was doing with Isaiah? Not giving him the freedom or space to fail? Not treating him like someone who could be on his team? Fuck. But was it so bad to want to protect the people he lo—

  Oh hell no. You did not go and fall in love with Isaiah. That would be stupid. And he was already the master chief of stupid lately. He didn’t need one more mistake compounding everything else he’d fucked up.

  “Pays to be a winner!” he yelled at the teams who were now onto the ropes section, reminding them that there would a bonus for the team that finished first, trying to get them to work together as a team, try that much harder. What’s the payoff for you, Chief? He wished he could figure out how to be a winner in his personal life, how to take this no-win scenario and save everyone—including himself.

  Finally, hours later, he was sandy and sweaty himself, but finally heading home. He rehearsed various speeches the whole way there, trying out different tactics to thaw out Isaiah, start a dialogue. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I care about you. Tell me how to make this right. I feel so much for you it scares me and I do stupid shit. You’re my family, and I’d do anything to protect you.

  But when he got home, the house was quiet, the kids all asleep in their beds when he checked in on them. And Isaiah’s door was firmly shut.

  Mark went to it. Stood there for endless moments, trying to get up the courage to knock. But ultimately, he had to give up, shake his head and walk away. You really are a coward, Chief. He didn’t have half the guts of Swenson and the other recruits who were giving their goal their all, smashing every obstacle. Mark simply didn’t know how to do that here, how to find the courage to go after his most secret of dreams.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “When’s he getting here?” Daphne and Zoe danced back and forth in front of the chairs near the arrivals area at the airport.

  “Soon.” Isaiah’s father could have gotten a taxi to his La Jolla house without much issue. However, Aunt Louise had volunteered to pick him up, apparently months ago, but then today had called Isaiah in a panic because Grandma was ill and needed to go to urgent care.

  After saying a quick prayer that he not lose another family member any time soon, he’d offered to do it. Rather rash of him. But he was working on being more decisive, and he wasn’t going to back out simply because he knew a lecture and disapproval was coming. He needed to talk to his dad, and this was as good an excuse as any.

  Besides if he was lucky, the kids would car nap again, saving him the circus of trying to enforce quiet time back at the house. Right now, though, no one was napping. Liam was fussy, probably wanting his nap time bottle, and the girls must have had sugar at school because they were wired.

  “I miss Uncle Mark,” Daphne said for the hundredth time that week. “Why does he gotta work all the time?”

  “It’s his job. He’s training people to do really hard jobs. It’s very important work. But he’ll have a day off soon, and I’m sure he’ll spend some of it with you.” Isaiah hoped he wasn’t promising too much. The kids missed Mark, missed his stories and voices, missed playing outside with him. Isaiah missed everything else. Mark’s smile. The way he used to look at Isaiah. The warmth in his voice. His strong grip holding Isaiah’s hand. His tight hugs and soft kisses.

  And unlike the kids who had a fighting chance of getting Mark back, Isaiah was never getting his Mark back. And it was possible that guy had never really existed anyway. Just a mirage or figment of his over-active imagination. Maybe he’d wanted Mark to be that guy, his guy, so much that he’d read far too much into their...whatever it had been. What did you call it when you lose something you’d never had in the first place? Misery.

  “There he is!” Daphne squealed with self-importance. Isaiah was surprised she remembered him from the funeral and other rare visits—his father hadn’t interacted much with the kids. He strode toward them, long strides, looking far too dapper for having endured eighteen hours of travel. All of a sudden, Isaiah was a kid again, waiting with the aunts for his dad to return from one of his many trips, hopping up and down, hoping he noticed him first, so impressed with his larger-than-life father with his crisp suits and neat hair and exotic souvenirs.

  “Over here,” Isaiah called. He’d texted his dad that he’d be there instead of Aunt Louise, but he wasn’t sure he’d gotten the message. He could tell the moment his father spotted them because his face wrinkled up, distaste evident.

  “You had to bring all the children?” His father didn’t hug him, which was to be expected, but Isaiah still had a pang. Not quite longing—he’d buried those needs long ago, but close.

  “Yup.” Isaiah grabbed the girls’ hands and started following the signs to baggage claim. Might as well get this over with.

  “You are allowed childcare help, you know that, right? They had a nanny before.” His father sounded even crankier than usual.

  “Yeah, well they’ve got me now.” Isaiah still wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that the kids not be handed off to a full-time nanny. Sure, he was going to need some sort of daycare or something for Liam soon, but he didn’t like thinking about that. These were his kids, and he liked spending time with them, even when it was inconvenient. Even when they drove him nuts.

  He glanced at the officious way his father walked to the baggage claim, not checking to make sure they were following, and Isaiah knew. Not gonna turn into you. Not gonna let them ever feel ignored. Something essential changed inside him at that moment, some new piece of backbone, some of the resolve he’d been looking for all week.

  He waited for his father to get his suitcases, then led the way to the car. The kids were whiny the whole long walk to the parking garage, and Isaiah hoped they’d fall asleep before his father spontaneously combusted.

  “We’ve got to get you something more family friendly,” his father groused as he fit his taller frame into the passenger side. Isaiah supposed he could have taken the SUV, but he was trying to rely on Mark as little as possible, and that included borrowing his ride.

  “I’ve got bigger worries than the size of my car.” Isaiah pulled out, joining a long line of vehicles waiting to pay at the exit to the garage.

  “I know.” His father busted out the stern tone right away. Isaiah had had to ask the aunts for reference letters for his attorney to add to his file, and he bet word of Mark’s intervention in the guardianship case had reached his dad. “How’s the job hunt coming?”

  “I’ve got some résumés out.” Isaiah was working multiple avenues—job hunting while also trying to build his client list.

  “Good, good. If you wanted to finish the master’s—”

  “I don’t.” Why, why can’t you ask me what I want? What I dream about? What makes me happy? That same little kid who’d once waited so impatiently for his dad still lived in Isaiah, but now he had that new spine he’d discovered in the baggage claim. Fuck. This
. Years’ worth of anger bubbled up. He’d known all damn week that he needed to ask his dad for help, needed to get a reference letter from him too. And he’d chafed, not wanting to disappoint his dad yet again, not wanting the inevitable lecture.

  And screw that. He was done. D-O-N-E. Hot and tired and cranky, just like the kids, and completely over his father’s disapproval. Time for more decisive action and to let the beginnings of a plan fluttering around his brain coalesce into something he could work with. Gonna trust my gut.

  Either this was going to be brilliant or he was going to fall spectacularly on his face, but the only way to find out was to take this risk. He paid for parking and headed south, not north on the interstate. Let’s see how long it takes him to notice.

  Dylan had asked him what his vision for his future was, and Isaiah was still trying to figure that out, but for the first time, he knew that what it wasn’t going to be—he wasn’t turning into his dad or the person his dad wanted him to be. Life was too damn short. All week he kept seeing those stacks of boxes and bags in the master bedroom, taunting him. That was what happened when you left this earth. You got reduced to a few mementos. A watch. A few books with scribbled inscriptions. A suit too nice to donate. What did he really want to leave behind? How would people remember him?

  He remembered his dad’s words at the funeral—how he’d called Cal a second son and said glowing thing after glowing thing. But had he really known Cal? The frustrated father? The goofy ringleader? The quick temper? The self-centered egoist? The diehard football fan? What parts of Cal had his father really known? Isaiah wasn’t sure, but he knew that he wanted his dad to know him, not the idealistic vision he’d held for so long for Isaiah, but to really know who Isaiah was right now.

  They were almost to the bridge when his father seemed to realize Isaiah was going the opposite direction of his house.

  “Where are we going?” His father looked around, scowl on his face. The younger two kids, as predicted, had fallen asleep in the back.

  “Field trip.”

  “Yay!” Daphne was possibly the only one excited in the car and even she sounded sleepy, like she’d be asleep herself before they crossed the bridge.

  “I’m not sure I have time for this—”

  “And I’m not sure you don’t.” Isaiah channeled Mark’s best “I’m in charge” voice. “I need to show you something. It won’t take long.”

  “All right.” His father’s heavy sigh said that it was anything but. Luckily, Isaiah didn’t have far to go once they crossed the bridge, heading to a sleepy little side street with older homes. The Katz house sat far back on its lot, an anomaly, and a nightmare for landscapers as the nonexistent backyard meant all the action had to happen out front.

  “This is the Katz family’s house.” Isaiah explained to his father as he pulled up. “I was working here all morning. See how we’re using the raised beds to provide privacy for the little terrace made of pavers? And the raised beds are the most tactile I’ve designed yet. Their middle son is on the autism spectrum—they challenged me to make a garden that he could explore and touch and not destroy. So I’ve packed them full of hardy, low-water, nontoxic plants. The mom cried when she brought him out to see it.”

  “That’s...touching.” A muscle worked in his dad’s jaw.

  “Next week we’re going to install a fence so the kids and pets stay in. I had to do research, read the city codes, find out the right height and materials. I know it’s not exactly how you’d like me using my degree, but this is what I’m doing, Dad. This is what I’m passionate about. Bringing gardens to families who need them. Fitting the design to the family. Researching plants and building codes and soil types.”

  “I don’t doubt you’re working hard.” His father stared out the passenger side window.

  See me. See me. Really see me. “This is the thing I’m second most proud of in my life, and I wanted to show you.”

  “Why?” His father’s voice was strangely hoarse.

  “Because. Because I’m not sure you ever really knew Cal and I want you to know me. Maybe you never knew me when I was kid, but I want you to know me now. I want you to see what’s important to me, so that when I talk about the thing I’m the most proud of, the kids, keeping them together, you get it. You see what I’m trying to build. And maybe you never really understand it, but I want you to see me.”

  His father was quiet a very long time. To the point that Isaiah figured they were going to have to drive to Lydia and Jane’s where he could make this same speech over with new scenery. And then to Mark’s house. Because Isaiah wasn’t shutting up. But finally, his dad spoke.

  “I knew you. You hated peas. Loved the beach but didn’t want to learn to surf. Preferred being close to home, where you could sleep in your own bed at night. Had a stuffed cat named Ernie. I know I wasn’t the best dad, but I saw you. And for what it’s worth, I saw Cal too. He wasn’t perfect, but he was precious to me. Just like you are. And yes, I’m having a hard time reconciling the financial advisability of this enterprise with your considerable passion, but I see you.”

  “I need your help.” They were the four hardest words Isaiah had ever spoken, but Dylan was right. It was going to take a village to keep this family together, and this right here, this was Isaiah’s bedrock. The person he needed most and wanted to let down least.

  “Tell me what you need.” It was perhaps the most understanding tone he’d ever heard out of his father and it took Isaiah a second to realize he was saying yes.

  “I need you to write a letter to the court, telling them that you think I should raise the kids. That you think I’ll do a good job. Aunt Cecily and Aunt Louise already did. And say that we can live with you while I get the business off the ground.”

  “You want to live with me?” His father blinked hard but didn’t sound utterly opposed to the notion. “With the kids?”

  “Your house is empty a good half the year now. It’s a good solution.” He couldn’t say perfect. Perfect would be him working things out with Mark, somehow, raising the kids together at the beach house, but that was the stuff of fairy tales. From here on out, Isaiah dealt strictly in reality. And reality said he needed help. From a lot of people, but from his dad especially.

  “Yes,” his father said slowly, “I suppose it is.”

  “You’re the closest thing to a grandfather these kids are going to have. They—we—need you in our lives. And I know you’re disappointed in me—”

  “I’m not disappointed. I’m proud of you, trying to do the right thing here. I might wish you’d take my advice, but I’m not disappointed.”

  “Thanks.” Isaiah pulled away from the Katz house before he could let himself get too choked up and emotional to drive. “Now let’s get you home.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” his father observed as Isaiah headed back for the bridge. “So take-charge. Decisive. Going after what you want. I’ve got to say I’m a little impressed.”

  Ha. If Isaiah really went after what he wanted, he’d have Mark...

  Wait. Was that it? Had he made it too easy for Mark to walk away? Did he need to fight for Mark the way he was fighting for the kids? The way he’d stood up to his father at long last? Did he have it in him to stand up to Mark like that? Put it all on the line, no holding back. He simply wasn’t sure. But for the first time, he felt a glimmer. A spark. A sprout that maybe, just maybe he’d figure it out, find the right words to fight for the future he wanted. No, deserved. He deserved Mark, but only if Mark could give him what he needed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Wizard!” Fuck but Mark hated the sound of his nickname lately. He wasn’t Wizard, never had been, had no magical powers. If he did, he’d have fixed the mess that was his life already.

  But the voice calling him across the parking lot was Bacon. And he was a friend, so Mark slowed up.

  “
Dude. Do you even check your phone anymore?”

  Only every chance I get. But that was looking for possible news from Isaiah, living for the cryptic updates, like the one he’d gotten a few hours ago that he and the kids were in La Jolla, would be there past dinner. Which sucked because Mark was off at a decent hour for once and had been looking forward to seeing the kids.

  “Sorry. Did I miss a call from you?”

  “Texted you yesterday. Your team’s back. We’re having drinks tonight. Tovey will be there—you really should come say hi.”

  Yeah. Mark had seen the message from Bacon, but he’d had no desire to go for drinks. And he had decidedly mixed feelings about his team’s return. He was happy, of course, that they were back in one piece, no further injuries. But he was also a little wistful, missing being a part of the team, and then there was also some guilt for liking the instructor gig, enjoying the flexibility it gave him to see the kids. Too many damn feelings.

  “You’re coming,” Bacon said decisively. “Just text Isaiah. Tell him you need an extra hour—”

  “He and the kids aren’t at home,” Mark admitted.

  “See. There you go. We’ll get some food into you, you’ll rejoin the human race. It’ll all be good.”

  “I’ve had a long day. Bushed.” That was true. They’d been practicing surface passage again, and Mark’s anxiety had been on red alert, not wanting another mishap.

  “I’ve barely seen you the last two months. And I hear from others that they haven’t seen you either. It’s not good for you to stay all holed up.” Bacon steered Mark away from the direction of his car toward the souped-up truck he drove. “I’ll run you back to your car or to your house after. But you’re coming.”

  “Okay, okay.” Mark gave in because it was less energy than a public argument with his friend. He climbed into the truck. “But an hour. I’m holding you to that.”

  “No problem. There’s only so much of the happy couples I can take right now. Hell, you and I might be the only single guys there. Curly and his girlfriend will be there and all her friends are coupled up with guys on the teams now, and Horvat and Tovey will be there all cute and shit.” Bacon did a mock shudder. “You’re my excuse for leaving early.”