Mama Beth rose from the couch. “That’s right.” She held her arms open to Willow, who stared at them with slight trepidation. “I’m your grandmother, honey. I’m going to help your daddy take good care of you.”
Willow stared past Mama Beth to me. I guess she was wondering why I wasn’t welcoming her into my arms. The truth was I didn’t know what the hell to do. Was it creepy if I touched her? Did I even want to touch her? The longer she stared at me, the more I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I needed a release—to bury myself in Cheyenne or to make a run for my bike.
But I didn’t get the chance to pussy out and leave. Willow released Rev’s hand and took a few tentative steps toward me. In her other hand, she held some kind of angel that looked like it belonged on a Christmas tree. She walked straight past Mama Beth to come to me. Her dark eyes—the same color and shape as mine—never left my face.
“Say something,” Rev hissed.
“Uh, yeah, so I’m David … or Deacon—your father.”
She creeped me out by continuing to stare at me. It was the same obsessed look someone might give a celebrity. I scratched the back of my neck and desperately tried to find the right words to say. “Look, I … I’m sorry about your mother.”
At the mention of Lacey, Willow cocked her head. Without words, I knew what she wanted from me. “She was really beautiful and sweet when she was sober and clean.” Choking on my emotions, I had to clear my throat. “Even though we weren’t together anymore, I did love her. Once.” If I was honest with myself, I would have said that there was a small part of me that still loved her. “I wish I could have known about you when you were a baby. I’m sorry things had to turn out like they did.” She still continued to stare at me. “Look, I know you must’ve seen some bad shit … er, stuff, but I want you to know that you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you. Okay?”
My statement caused tears to well in her eyes. Immediately, I felt like a giant asshole for making this kid cry. And then she shocked the hell out of me. She dove at me, clambering onto my lap. My arms went around her tiny body to keep her from falling. Small hands came up to cup my face. And then she leaned forward to kiss my cheek.
Her gesture of acceptance robbed me of all coherent thought and speech. She had every reason to hate me for not being there for her. I could only imagine that her young life so far had pretty much been hell. I’d seen Lacey at her worst when she was drunk and high. I couldn’t imagine she was able to be a very good mother.
But instead of rejecting her absent father, Willow reached out to me. The only thing I could do was wrap my arms tighter around her. She felt so fucking fragile in my arms. I was afraid to squeeze her too tight for fear of breaking her. When I glanced up at Mama Beth, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her middle as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Seeing Mama Beth so emotional caused tears to sting my eyes. Fuck, I didn’t cry, especially not in front of anyone. I didn’t dare look at Rev to gauge what he was thinking. I imagined he would be thrilled I was actually showing a soft side for once.
And finally, I gave it all up, buried my face into the soft strands of Willow’s hair, and let the tears flow. As I held my daughter in my arms, I realized how life could change on a fucking dime. Today mine had done a one-eighty.
I was a father. And even if it fucking killed me, I was going to be the best damn one I could. No one was ever going to hurt Willow on my watch.
“Okay, kids. It’s time to take your seats,” I instructed over the buzzing hum in the room. My heels clicked across the tile as I went to close the door of my classroom. That was the signal that some of my stragglers needed to make sure they got to their desks. I smiled as they bounced in their chairs, excited to see what the day held in store for them.
I’d been teaching kindergarten at Buffington Elementary for five years now. The first year I was practically a baby myself at just twenty-two. Luckily for me, the principal had complete confidence that I could handle a class full of five and six-year-olds.
As a child, I had played school with my dolls and stuffed animals, and for many years, I wanted to be a teacher. But then, as I grew older, my desires changed, and I thought of pursuing other careers. In the end, events in my life, especially the death of both my parents, had changed my mind. I wanted an honorable profession where I felt I could make a difference, so I had followed their footsteps into education. While my father had been a high school math teacher, my mother had also taught kindergarten. They’d spent their lives molding young minds, and I felt my career choice honored their memory.
I once again turned my attention to my group of eager students. “All right. Let’s see who is here today, and then we’ll go to the mat for calendar time.”
As I started taking attendance, my eyes fell on an empty seat. An ache went through my chest at the sight. It was the fourth day Willow Malloy had been absent. Protocol dictated we call home after the third straight absence, and when I had tried the day before, I had received a message that the number was out of service. Although I loved each of my little students equally, there was something special about Willow. I’d realized it the moment I’d met her, and she’d stolen my heart.
It was the day before school started. The Meet and Greet had just ended. After talking with a slew of new, anxious students and their equally anxious parents, I had collapsed at my desk, rubbing my feet, which ached from the heels I’d tortured them in. After throwing my head back in ecstasy at the way the foot massage felt, I popped open my eyes to see a dark-haired little girl standing beside my desk. I’d jumped out of my skin and almost fallen out of my chair.
A warm embarrassment rushed to my cheeks that she had seen me being so goofy. Trying to play it off, I wiped my hands on my skirt and held out my hand. “Well, hello. My name is Miss Evans, and I really like foot rubs and hate wearing high heels. What’s your name?”
The little girl didn’t respond. Instead, she just kept staring at me. There was recognition in her eyes that didn’t make sense, considering I hadn’t seen her before. “I didn’t meet you earlier. Are you in another class this year? You’re going to have so much fun in kindergarten.”
I still didn’t get a response from her. I began to wonder if perhaps she was on the autism spectrum and nonverbal. Then a panicked woman’s voice echoed through the empty hall. “Willow? Willow, where are you?”