“And maybe you’ll also admit to it meaning something to you, that even though your uncle is gone, he’s also not. He’s still looking out for you.”
“I will freely admit that,” I replied blithely.
Judge’s eyes warmed.
And I knew with the way they did that he was giving in on the topic of Rhys Vaughan.
At least on this.
He then murmured, “You’re ruthless,” but it wasn’t an admonition.
Not at all.
“I am a beast made by the hands of Corey Szabo. So when it comes to the ones I love…absolutely.”
Judge gave me a look.
Then he gave me a kiss.
It was much later when I would find my phone and the business card Rhys Vaughan left me.
First, I programmed him into my phone.
And then I sent a text.
Thank you. I think that did it. But we may talk later. Best, C
I was not expecting him to, but even so…
Rhys did not reply.
Chapter 30
The Understanding
Corey
Twenty-four years ago…
His ass covered in linen trousers, the hems rolled up, the loose-fitting linen shirt billowing against his chest, Corey sat in the sand, his head turned to look down the beach.
Marilyn was wearing a black, one-piece swimsuit with a plunging neckline. It showed cleavage. It was cut high on her thighs.
She was in her fifties and her figure was fabulous.
She was also dancing with the sea, racing the waves up the sand as they arrived, chasing after them in their retreat.
And in her arms was a baby.
Head covered in a little, white, baby sun hat with a wide brim and laces at the sides that tied under her chin. Her body was covered in a tiny red bathing suit with white polka dots and a tufted white skirt made of tulle.
Coming in with the breeze, Corey could hear Marilyn’s peals of laughter accompanied by abandoned squeals from the child.
Grandmother and grandbaby were consumed with the sun and the sand and their dance with the waves.
And each other.
Eventually, as was always Marilyn’s way, her dance brought her to Corey.
She blocked out the bright rays as she stood above him, half her body coated with droplets of water.
Baby Chloe clung to her neck, but like her grandmother, she gazed down at Corey.
Although she often smiled and giggled, she could be a solemn child. Watchful. Assessing.
Corey didn’t know many babies, but he knew ones like that were few and far between.
He didn’t want to, but he found her utterly fascinating.
“We don’t need a bodyguard, honey lumpkin,” Marilyn said to him.
“You are holding Imogen Swan and Tom Pierce’s firstborn in your arms and there is not a man out here with you, strapped with a gun and trained to protect,” he retorted.
Marilyn threw her head back and sang with laughter.
This time, Chloe did not do it with her.
She watched her grandmother for a spell, then she cast her gaze down to her Uncle Corey.
She reached both her chubby arms his way.
Corey grew tense.
Marilyn stopped laughing.
“We’re fine,” she assured.
“You are, because I’m out here making sure you stay that way,” he returned.
She clicked her teeth and shook her head.
And then she whispered, “You were always such a good boy.”
He was not.
He didn’t inform her of that, and regardless, he’d lost her attention.
She’d looked to her granddaughter, who was now straining Corey’s way.
Don’t, don’t, don’t.
Don’t do it.
“Do you want your Uncle Corey, my gorgeous girl?” Marilyn asked Chloe.
Chloe didn’t even look at her.
She emitted a little baby grunt and pushed further Corey’s way.
“As long as I have breath in my body, you will have what you want,” Marilyn decreed.
And then she dumped Chloe into Corey’s lap.
“And I suspect your uncle feels the same way,” she finished.
With nothing further, Marilyn turned in the sand and ran gracefully into the surf, eventually diving over a wave and disappearing under it, to emerge much further out with hair flat to her head and face pointed to the sky.
It was the first time Corey had been left alone with Genny’s baby girl.
Chloe banged on his chest.
He looked to the little girl whose blue eyes were shading brown.
She studied him, and it was uncanny, the girl couldn’t even speak her first words, but he felt…
Seen.
She then wobbled and fell forward against his chest, her sun hat brushing his throat, her arms splayed to his sides.
And Corey did not know how he knew, but he knew.
His little girl was tired.
It was fun being with Grandma.
But it could wipe you out.
“I know, honey,” he murmured, sliding an arm around her, holding her diapered bottom secure with his other hand.
Since he’d stationed himself out there, that moment was the first he felt the sun penetrating the linen of his shirt and pants, the warmth of the rays welcome as the sea threw its breeze.
He also felt her weight against him.
It was very heavy, even if she was light.
She fit there, tucked to him, having reached to him because she watched, she assessed, and even in her little baby brain she knew, above all, he would give her what she needed.