He didn’t know the first thing about being a good father. Hell, he hadn’t even been a good husband. Not to mention, he was a member of a black ops unit that lived life on the morally grey side of right.
Nobody with any sense would want to bring a child into their world.
Nobody with any sense would getattachedto a child in their world. Too much potential for broken promises, broken hearts, and broken dreams. Which meant his entire unit was batshit crazy.
With the confidence of someone who handled babies often, Summer transferred Halia to Jamie’s arms, and his panic spiked. Tiny. Precious. Breakable. Scared to breathe, he looked down at the small bundle, and his heart cracked in half.
She had Ko’s eyes.
Dark brown, bottomless, and beautiful.
His vision blurred, and when he lifted his gaze, he met sky-blue irises. No less bottomless. No less beautiful. Summer and Halia. His girls. His responsibility. And that meant doing the right thing, no matter the cost.
The “we’re not leaving” expression easy enough to read on her face, there was no need for Summer to mouth the exact words to him in a silent act of defiance before she shook her head. She’d heard his thoughts. Loud and clear. Then again, he hadn’t been trying to hide them.
His stance hadn’t changed.
Bottom line, it wasn’t safe enough for them to stay with the JTT. Not now. Not while they were still under attack by Johnson and his backers. Not until they figured out how Tak was involved.
Her huff was small. Her message clear as she turned away. They weren’t done arguing. Not by a long shot. But for now, in front of the doctor, she held her tongue.
“Alright, where do you want this? Left or right?”
“Left,” Summer replied, pulling her arm out of her sleeve and exposing the small of her back, and fuck him if she didn’t have a matching set of Venus dimples right above her ass cheeks. The perfect home for his thumbs if he was drilling her from behind.
God damn. She was killing him. Seriously, killing him.
“When was your last cycle?” Doctor Baelish asked, prepping the injection site with an alcohol swab before inserting the needle and depressing the plunger.
“Two weeks ago.”
“Alright. If you take the shot within the first seven days after the start of your period, you’re protected from pregnancy right away. In your case, the waiting period for unprotected sex is seven days from today.” She removed the needle. “Any questions?”
“No. This is great.” Summer put her arm back into her sleeve. “Thanks so much for your help.”
“My pleasure. The nurse will provide you with the take-home Depo, and the receptionist will do the paperwork. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you and Halia in four weeks.”
* * *
Summer’s hopesof purchasing her guitar back from the Kalispell Pawn and Loan shop crashed and burned. “Any chance you can tell me who bought it?” She already knew the answer, but desperation had the question spewing from her lips before she could reign it in.
“Sorry, no. That’s against store policy. Besides, we don’t keep records of who buys what.”
“I understand. Thank you.” She left her pawn ticket on the counter and turned to go, her gaze scanning the row of guitars hanging on the wall one last time. Some looked brand new. Some were well-used. None were hers, and she felt the letdown deep.
Her Taylor had fit her perfectly. The tone the right level of warmth coupled with a throaty depth, she’d be hard-pressed to find another six-string with the same sound. Sure, she had the money to buy a decent replacement, but it wouldn’t have the same sentimental value.
Her guitar had been her constant companion. She’d poured her soul into it, and in return, it had fueled her dreams, given her life meaning, and kept her from being alone. The music they’d created together had saved her, and now…
Well, she didn’t need saving any longer, but she felt like she’d lost her best friend.
The cowbell above the heavy wood door clanged a brass farewell as she left the shop. And the sight of Jamie leaning against the passenger side of the running truck, arms and ankles crossed, crutches propped beside him, made her heart sing a haunting melody.
He’d kissed her.
Kissed her like she was the source of his strength. Raw. Powerful. Hungry.
She’d written songs about the ache, the longing, the forever after of the perfect kiss. But she’d never experienced it herself. Until now. Now she knew how inadequate words were to describe the intimacy and vulnerability of opening yourself up to another person.
