Page 26

HOLT

I open the door as soon as I see the truck pull into the front driveway. Deke and Marie have the new code for the security gate, so I didn’t have to buzz them in via the app on my phone. Which is good. Because I’m so freakin’ frazzled and exhausted, I can’t remember where I left the damn thing.

The kitchen, maybe?

Marie rushes in first, falling into my arms and hugging me tightly. From the corner of my eye, I see Granny edging up to the front steps. There’s only three of them, but I don’t know how tired she is. The last thing we need, after the night we’ve all had, is for Merit’s grandmother to face-plant on the brick pavers. Tucking Marie against my side, I reach out, offering my forearm. Granny wraps her hand around me and eagerly walks her way into my embrace. By the time Deke makes it past the threshold, I’ve hugged both women and confirmed ten times that Merit’s going to be okay and that she’s resting peacefully.

Shutting the door behind him, he holds out his hand, and I give it a shake. Taking one look at the man’s face nearly sends me into a spiral. The weight of the world is etched into his features. It’s like he’s taken every ounce of worry and pain from his daughter, as well as his wife and mother, and shouldered it himself. He’s filled every laugh line, every wrinkle, every freckle and mole with their struggles, wanting to ease their burdens and fears, if only by one small fraction.

Talk about fucking strong.

Talk about fucking love.

The patriarch standing before me is a pillar among men.

But despite his stability and sturdiness, despite this facade he’s gifting to the world, I can see that deep down, anxiety and concern course through his blood like an artesian well, constantly pumping, constantly flowing.

And that’s when it hits me. Like a ton of bricks. Like an eighteen-wheeler…

That’s what being a father is.

That’s what being a husband is.

That’s what being a son is.

It’s a thousand different emotions whipping through your soul like a hurricane. All at the same time. And all for the sake of love.

And Merit’s worth that. Our son is worth that.

I’ll carry their troubles and drown myself in all-consuming worry, if it means they can be happy and healthy.

“And what about your parents?” Marie asks, interrupting my interior revelations.

“They’ll come over later this afternoon. Everybody headed home to get some sleep.”“Speaking of, I know you said she was asleep, but we’d like to see her. Can we just take a quick peek? We promise not to wake her.”

I would never deny entry to Merit’s family. They’re my family too. “Absolutely. Of course.”

Marie and Granny turn and take a step in the direction of the Children’s Wing. “She’s not in the Children’s Wing. She’s upstairs. In our bedroom.”

My voice is firm and heavy, leaving nothing up for question or debate. I respect the hell out of the people in front of me, but they need to know, Merit is mine. This is our house and our life, and I will never spend another night sleeping without her by my side.

This is it. This is me being a husband.

This is me being exactly what Deke is.

This is me…standing in front of him the way he’s standing in front of me.

Both Marie and Granny glance at him, their gaze darting from my eyes to his.

He simply nods at the stairs behind me. “You wanna show them, Holt? I’m just gonna use the restroom.” Without another word, he walks down the hallway, and we hear the soft click of the bathroom door.

Granny grabs the banister with one hand and reaches toward me with her other one, wiggling her fingers, begging me closer. “Hold my hand so I don’t fall, Holt.” Her eyes narrow as she studies the marble staircase. “This house has more daggum steps than the Great Wall of China.”

Once we make it upstairs, I open the bedroom door, and I’m fairly certain all three of us heave an audible sigh of relief just looking at her. With blankets tucked around her body like a cocoon, she’s in a deep, steady sleep, treading that thin line between heavy breathing and all-out snoring. It’s the best fucking sound I’ve heard in hours.

Well, besides her voice saying she forgives me and she loves me.

That was definitely the best.

Content with our voyeurism, we head back downstairs, meeting Deke in the living room.

Granny yawns, quickly setting Marie off, and she does the same.

“Why don’t y’all head back to the Children’s Wing? Get some sleep? Rest for a few hours? I promise I’ll come get you as soon as she wakes up.”

Marie nods. “That may be a good idea. I think the exhaustion and the worry are finally catching up with us.”

“You know where everything is. Please, make yourself at home. Everything here is yours.” My words are true. Like I said, we’re a family. All of us.

Granny’s already halfway down the hall when Marie turns to Deke. “Hon? You wanna get the bags from the car now? Or drive it around to the Children’s Wing later?”

He opens his mouth to answer her, but I interject. “I can help you with the bags in a bit, Deke. I was…uh…well, I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

When he lifts a questioning brow, I follow up with something more generic, “Feel like a beer?” Of course, I guess it’s a stupid-ass thing to say. I mean, it’s nine in the morning.

“Got anything stronger?”

His response catches me by surprise, and I chuckle. “Sure do.”

He gives Marie a quick kiss and follows me into the kitchen.

I open the liquor cabinet above the kitchen sink. I guess I could use a different cabinet—something more accessible—but with the kids running around here so often, this seemed like the safest place, especially considering it’s so high that even I have to balance on my tiptoes if I want something from the back. Not to mention, I don’t drink hard liquor all that much; I’ve always been more of a beer guy. So, storing it in a barely used cabinet doesn’t bother me.

I know I’ve got some vodka, tequila, and gin—along with a handful of other spirits—floating around in the cabinet somewhere. But as of right now, two whiskey bottles are standing sentry front and center. Well, those and a floppy, plastic drink pouch of a premixed daiquiri with a picture of a half-naked woman on the front of it. She’s sitting on a lounge chair next to a palm tree. Call me psychic, but Deke doesn’t really strike me as a daiquiri-type of dude.

So, my choices are regular, old Jack Daniel’s or Macallan 25…which is over two-thousand bucks a bottle. It was a gift from someone after my second Super Bowl. So, needless, to say, it’s now aged well over twenty-five years.

My fingers hover between the two bottles. I’m about to ask him which one he would like when he interrupts my weary, runaway thoughts.

“Hell, Holt, you don’t need to woo me. Give me the fucking Jack.”

Yanking it from the shelf, I grab two glasses and sit down next to him at the kitchen island. Sliding the bottle in front of him, I figure it’s best to let the man pour his own drink. I’m not sure how many fingers he feels like; but if his emotions of worry and panic were as powerful as mine last night, he may very well chuck the glass to the side and gulp straight from the bottle.

He sighs low and deep, before grabbing the Jack and emptying a good four fingers into the crystal tumbler. Taking the bottle, I pour the same amount into my glass even though I only plan to have a small sip or two. I need all my faculties intact if I’m gonna take care of my girl.

My girl and my son.

We sit in stillness for a few minutes, drinking and watching the morning sun dance across the kitchen in slants of white and pale yellow as it filters in through the window blind.

Deke breaks the silence. “So, how scary was it?”

I spin the tumbler around in my hand, watching the brown liquor swish up and down, back and forth. “Fucking terrifying, sir.”

He softly clears his throat before taking another sip and then hissing through his teeth at the burn.

“There was blood,” I croak.

“Yeah, you said.”

“I’ve never prayed so hard in my life.”

Now, it’s his turn to chuckle. His laugh is filled with hope and heartbreak. “You say that now. Just wait. Every crisis comes with its own volley of requests to the Man Upstairs. It’s called being a father. And it’s the fucking scariest thing you’ll ever do.”

“It can’t be. The scariest thing I ever did was toss Merit out of my life.”

“I thought that was the worst thing you ever did?” he asks.

“Same thing,” I answer honestly.

He just nods, giving me space to say what needs to be said.

“I love your daughter, Deke. I will love her until my bones turn to ash. I don’t ever plan to spend another moment of this life without her by my side. I’m gonna make her my wife. We’re gonna raise our son and surround him with as many brothers and sisters as Merit will give. She is my lifeblood.” I push my drink out of the way and drag my hands though my dirty and wild hair. I have no choice but to be honest with him. “I nearly messed everything up again.”

Tension bunches in his shoulders, and he grips the glass tighter. He studies the granite countertop, avoiding my gaze at all costs. “You nearly threw her out again?”

“No sir, of course not.”

“You cheat on her?”

What the hell. “Hell, no. Of course not, sir.”

“You hit her? Violate her? Make her feel worthless?”

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck.

My voice vibrates with anger. My fists clench in fury just thinking of Merit being mistreated. “She’s the love of my life. I would never do anything like that. Fucking never.”

His body relaxes just a bit, and he spins on his barstool. Looking me dead in the eye, he gives me a little one-shoulder shrug, nonverbally asking what the hell I did.

“I thought about stopping.”

He shakes his head in confusion. “Stopping what?”

“I thought about stopping my fight for her. I started thinking that maybe my fight was hurting her instead of healing her. I love her so much, the last thing I ever wanna do is be the cause of her pain. Again . So… I thought about stopping.”

“So?” This time, he shrugs both of his shoulders. “You thought about it. Thinking and doing are two different things.”

“I know that now.” I sigh so deeply my chest hurts, sending a scorching pain through my ribs. “I was always so confident, so brazen, so sure of life. And then, everything was upended by my arrest. Ever since that day, I’ve been second-guessing every decision I make. One minute, I’ll feel like my normal self. Secure and assured. And the very next minute, it’s like I’m cowering in a corner. Insecure and uncertain. I’ve been teetering on the cusp of living and just-surviving.” A cynical laugh bellows from my throat, bringing a sting of Jack with it. “Basically, I’ve been a big ol’ pussy. Fuck that shit. I’m ready to live. I’m ready to love.”

“And forgive.”

My head whips in his direction. My heart thunders violently, bruising my lungs. “What did you just say?”

His lip twitches into a smirk. “You think that girl of mine didn’t wanna talk to her momma and daddy when shit was hitting the fan?”

I’m totally confused. “What?”

“When she was in line for OB Imaging, she borrowed a nurse’s cell phone and called us. She told us that she forgave you. Said she finally spoke the words to your face.”

Holy shit. My swallow is loud, echoing in the kitchen. “She did. She forgave me.”

“So, when are you gonna forgive yourself, son?”

I blink, trying to absorb his question into my brain. I say the only syllable I can muster, “What?”

Apparently, that’s my favorite word tonight.

“Well, I know I didn’t get a college degree, but it seems to me your insecurity and uncertainty has been growing and thriving on one simple thing—your regret.” He picks up his tumbler and downs the rest of his drink in one massive swallow, whistling when it sends a fire down his throat and into his stomach. “Don’t get me wrong… it’s good to feel the regret and acknowledge it. But you gotta stop letting it consume your identity. Let it be a part of you . Don’t let it be the whole.”

I sit for a few minutes, marinating on his words of wisdom.

He’s right.

I don’t deserve Merit’s forgiveness; I acknowledge that.

But I’m gonna accept it.

And I’m gonna return that gift to her every single day. For the rest of forever.

And it starts now.

“Deke, tell me about Daire. Tell me about your boy.”

This time the ‘ what’ flows from his mouth.

“Well, with your permission, I’d like for my son to know every single thing about his namesake. It doesn’t matter that his heart only beat for two months and not twenty years. His life and his love matters. It matters to you. It matters to Merit. And it matters to me.”

He quiets. For a few seconds, the only noise sailing through the room is that of his gruff, heavy breath. When he turns back to me, unshed tears fill his eyes. “You wanna name my grandson after my son?”

“I do. Yes, sir.”

Wiping a rogue tear from underneath his eye, he clears his throat and shifts on his seat. Giving a hearty chuckle, he slaps me on the shoulder. Hard. “Well, I reckon you better pour me another drink then, son. I’ve got stories for hours.”