Page 10 of Shielding his Legacy (Shattered SEALs #7)

Gavin sat on the edge of the couch, knees wide, elbows braced, staring at the baby. Abby was asleep in her little nest of blankets in her car seat on the floor in front of him. Peaceful. Perfect.

Too perfect.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d made a fire in the hearth, then settled before the baby and hadn’t moved for twenty minutes, afraid that one wrong shift of his body would shatter the delicate calm.

The baby had barely stirred, her tiny mouth working rhythmically, lost in whatever babies dreamed about.

He wondered if it was her mother’s familiar heartbeat, a world without complications or disappointment.

A world without him in it.

But then she squeaked—a soft, confused little sound—and her eyelids fluttered. He held his breath. Just when he thought she was back asleep, her face scrunched up, her limbs stretching in a jerky, alarmed way.

Panic crawled up his spine. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to wake up. Just keep sleeping.”

Abby opened her eyes, blinked, and let out a single, heart-wrenching wail, a siren that pierced right through his chest.

He froze. The noise spiked his adrenaline like enemy fire. His mind screamed at him to do something, but his body didn’t know what that something was. Her tiny face crumpled further, her plaintive wail growing sharper.

He took a shaky breath and unbuckled her harness before scooping her up like a rotten hunk of beef from the back of his refrigerator.

He’d seen people hold babies, and he chastised himself for his ineptitude as he pulled her in close.

Wasn’t he supposed to watch her neck? Not that he knew what to look for, but he thought that was important.

He cradled her awkwardly against his chest. Her warmth seeped through his shirt, her frantic little heartbeat thumping against his own.

She was warm and soft and curled in on herself, and he pressed his palm gently over her back, terrified that the wrong amount of pressure would hurt her, crush her, break her tiny frame.

“Shh… It’s okay. Your mama’s just taking a shower.

She’ll be back before you know it.” He became aware he was bouncing slightly from his knees.

Was that an instinctual thing? He took comfort in the thought that his body might have an idea how to care for his child, even if his mind was in a sweat-soaked, white-knuckled panic.

“Shh,” he repeated over and over. Gradually Abby quieted, her wails replaced by a series of shuddering hiccups. She burrowed into him, her face nestled against the crook of his neck, and a feeling unlike anything he’d ever known washed over him from head to toe.

The relief was so intense it nearly brought him to his knees.

He tightened his arms around her, holding her more closely.

Her weight was nothing—a few pounds, maybe—but it was everything.

His chest ached. He didn’t know if it was terror, grief, or something worse.

Something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

Then came the smell. A warm, pungent cloud rising up between them. He pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t.”

Abby’s face was blank, serene, but the smell didn’t lie.

“Aw, come on, kid. Really?” He glanced around. “Of course. No backup. No extraction plan. Just me and a loaded diaper.”

He could take apart weapons blindfolded. He’d defused bombs with seconds to spare. He could do this. It was just a different kind of explosive.

Finding the diaper bag, he rifled through it like a man on a mission. Diaper. Wipes. Some kind of mat. He spread them all out on the couch beside him and laid her down, a heady mix of dread and determination focusing his attention. Taking a deep breath, he went in. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He peeled back the diaper and—Jesus. He clenched his jaw, breathing through his mouth. How did something so small produce so much devastation?

Abby just stared at him, eyes wide and innocent, as though daring him to flinch.

He didn’t. He cleaned her up, his hands surprisingly steady as he wiped, folded, and figured out how to secure the new diaper.

He couldn’t deny the small spark of pride when he finished, bundling her back up in her little outfit and resting her back against his chest.

He looked at the diaper and dirty wipes. “What does your mommy do with these?” Abby didn’t answer. With one hand, he worked to fold it in on itself and fastened the tab so it was one compact package, then set it aside.

The baby kicked her feet, her face relaxed. She yawned, her little mouth forming a perfect “O.” Gavin’s breath caught. He leaned back onto the couch. Who would have thought it? Him, with a child?

He leaned in and sniffed the baby’s head.

She had a distinct scent that warmed him somehow, like the scented candles his mother liked to burn.

The thought of his mother made him smile.

“Your grandma would go ape-shit if she knew about you,” he said, his hand making circles on Abby’s tiny back as a thread of guilt burrowed deep in his abdomen.

His mother would expect him to be a part of his daughter’s life, be part of her future.

He briefly considered marriage before discarding the idea like a scalding hot pan.

Shaking his head, he mentally scolded himself.

If he wasn’t sure he could be a decent father, he sure as fuck wasn’t ready to be a husband. Besides, he barely even knew Eva.

The sentence ricocheted around in his mind, hitting the sides of his skull with a hollow thump.

It felt like a lie, and he scowled. He felt like he knew her intimately—and not just her body.

But how was that possible? From the moment he’d first stopped to change her flat tire, she’d felt familiar to him, more like a lost love than a stranger.

Yet he could count the days they’d spent together on one hand. No matter that they’d conceived this little girl in that time, you couldn’t know a person as well as he felt he knew Eva in that timeframe. Hell, he’d never felt like he’d known anyone that well, ever.

Obviously, it was an illusion. They’d been electric in bed, like plugging a cord into a power source that lit up the Milky Way in a dazzling display. But he needed to mentally detangle the amazing sex from this bizarre idea of a deeper connection.

He’d never made a deep connection with a woman, and he wasn’t likely to start now. No, marriage was off the list. The imaginary man Eva would someday marry again appeared in his mind—nameless, faceless. A good guy—the kind of man Eva deserved.

He would treat Abby like his own child, and Gavin could see him there like a shadow at every important moment in his daughter’s life.

Her first dance recital.

Her kindergarten graduation.

Walking her down the aisle.

His free hand clenched into an involuntary fist, and he shook his head to clear it, earning him a startled jerk from Abby.

He grabbed a throw blanket from behind them on the couch and draped it over the heap of their bodies.

The baby made a soft, contented sound, and a slow smile slid across his face.

For a long time, he just sat there, holding his daughter and listening to her breathe as the light of day began to fade. He thought of Eva upstairs in his bathroom, naked in his shower, and wished he’d gotten to see her belly heavy with his child.

Now there was a thought he’d never had before—longing to see a naked pregnant woman.

Entertaining the idea, he turned it around in his mind.

He could see their playful teasing, see her swatting his arms away from her bulging stomach as she pretended to be angry at something he said.

In his imagination they were happy, and when the images faded away, a lingering sadness remained.

Pushing it out of his mind, he put his arms on the outside of the blanket and stood on legs that were growing numb from sitting too long.

He crossed to the window, gently bouncing the baby once more.

Staring at the glass, his image was reflected back, superimposed against snow-covered trees glowing in the blue light of winter’s dusk.

“You’re going to have a good life,” he said quietly.

“I can promise you that.” He bent his head and let his lips graze Abby’s silky red hair, the strands tickling his nose.

“But you have to trust me, little one. It will be so much better without me in it very much.” A desolate pang of certainty settled in his gut, as the truest words he’d ever spoken hung heavy on the air.