We turned east and headed toward 281 North, which would take us up to I-80 and then east to Iowa. Since we were already this far, we were going back to Ankeny to visit my old chapter and for Sloane to meet my parents.
The rest of the drive was filled with the chatter of my woman and her mother as they happily discussed all things baby girl. Honestly, I only heard half of what they said. Still, by the time we pulled into my parents’ driveway, I swear my ears were bleeding pink.
My mom came rushing out as I helped Sloane down from the passenger seat. Before I could let go of her hand, my mom had her in a huge hug. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you!”
Sloane sent me a “help me” look.
“Mom, easy. The poor woman just traveled over five hours.”
She released her but still held her at arm’s length. “You are even prettier in person. Isn’t she, Killian?”
My gaze hopped to my dad as I sent him a grin. Except what I saw gave me pause, and my smile slipped. He was staring at Annette, and his face was white as a ghost. That brought my attention to Annette, who was standing there with her mouth open.
Of course, my mom was too busy chattering Sloane’s ear off to catch the weird interaction that was happening between Sloane’s mom, my dad, and me. Because I was picking up on something I wasn’t sure I liked, yet had no idea what it was exactly.
“How about if we go inside?” Someone had to break the tension that existed between Annette and my dad—and me by default, since I was the only one who seemed to notice it.
“Yes, come on, Sloane. I made a dessert, because I figured you all would’ve eaten dinner on the way. It’s still warm so you’re in luck,” she explained as she hooked an arm through Sloane’s to guide her to the door.
Annette seemed to shake herself out of whatever stupor had hit her. She quickly followed my mom and Sloane inside. My dad followed their progress.
“Dad.”
He didn’t so much as glance my way to show he’d heard me. As I stared at my father with a furrowed brow, I faintly caught the three-way conversation between the three women. With the screen door closed, their voices were barely audible murmurs.
“Dad?”
“Huh?” he muttered as he realized I’d spoken.
“You know Annette,” I accused. It wasn’t a question, because the way he acted was beyond weird, and I’d never seen my father act like that in my life.
Looking like he was trying to swallow a tennis ball, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Then his gaze hit the ground and stayed there. It was evident he was contemplating what to say. Finally, he lifted his blue-green eyes to mine.
“Come to the garage with me,” he demanded, then brushed around me to the detached garage in the well-kept older house that had been our home since we moved to town the year I set my girlfriend’s house on fire.
He didn’t wait for me, but I was hot on his heels.
Once I was in and the door was closed, he leaned down to his beer fridge under the workbench. “Want one?” he asked and shot me a glance over his shoulder, waiting for my answer.
It seemed like I would need it, so I nodded.
He grabbed two and handed me one. We took turns using the bottle opener at the end of the bench. Making a face, he tipped up the bottle and drained half of it before he made eye contact.
“When you were about five or six, things between your mom and I were a little rocky.” He took another quick pull from the bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We had split up and were talking about divorce. She hated Chicago and the hours I spent working. You boys were a handful. I didn’t do enough to help with you—it was a lot of things. While we were separated, I was a guest speaker at the Louisiana State Fireman’s Convention. It was a big honor, and I went down with the intent of not only speaking but learning a lot from the training sessions while I was there. It’s a three-day event, and I took a day before and a day after to see the sights. The first night I was there, I met a young woman. She was beautiful, funny, and barely twenty-one. Not that I was old, but I was about your age, already had two kids, my marriage was going to shit, and she made me feel young—attractive. We… uh, spent each night together. She’d been with a guy who she said she was trying to get over. Both of us knew it was just a fling—I’d be going back to Chicago, and she’d be there.”
He dragged a hand over his face and stared at me. “Her name wasn’t Annette, or at least that wasn’t the name she gave me. There was no reason to think for a second that Sloane’s mother would be her.” For a moment, there was a complete absence of sound, then it all came rushing back as I processed. For a moment, I stumbled back, sick to my stomach at the possibility. All I could do was shake my head.
What were the odds?
Then again, what were the odds that I would meet her in Texas when it was a spur-of-the-moment decision? And what were the odds that I was the dude to fulfill some crazy-ass fucking prophecy for her?
Obviously pretty fucking good.
I wanted to puke.
“How do you know it’s her? It’s been twenty-some years. Maybe she just reminds you of this other chick,” I rationalized.
“It was her eyes—you don’t meet a lot of women with lavender-blue eyes. And that pendant she’s wearing… I bought it for her.”