Behind her dark sunglasses, he imagined, she was rolling her eyes. More times than he could count, he remembered her voicing her dislike of grown men calling each other by nicknames. Woof happened to be Garrett Solomon, who had the uncanny knack of being able to puke like a dog one second, then be up on his feet, firing off rounds, the next. No physical discomfort fazed him. Grinder, aka Tristan Bartoni, had earned his name from downing six of the meaty Italian sandwiches in under ten minutes during their first leave from BUD/S training. The man ate more than any horse Deacon had ever met.
“We have to talk.” Brushing past him, Ellie sat on the brown leather sofa. Since the three men were hardly ever in residence, the place was sparse, but held all necessary conveniences for a well-equipped man cave. Three recliners. Supersize, wall-mounted flat screen. Xbox, PlayStation and a fridge stocked with beer and the homemade boiled peanuts Southern boy Tristan had his mama send him each and every month. He’d once been married, but his wife couldn’t handle his SEAL lifestyle and had bolted a few counties away with his son.
“If this is about last night,” Deacon said, closing the door behind her, but preferring to stand rather than join her on the sofa, “I’m still processing, and this isn’t a good time for hashing it all out.”
“That’s just it,” she said with a brittle laugh. “There’s nothing to hash out.” She set Pia on the cushion beside her, only the kid promptly scooted off the sofa, making a beeline for Woof’s brightly colored comic collection.
“Hey, whoa!” Deacon swooped to deter her. He hadn’t meant to end up holding her, but now that he was, he took a good look. He and Tom had both been dark-haired, but Pia was a cotton top, much like Deacon’s big brother, Peter, had been at that age. Her big brown eyes were like his, but Tom had also had the same shade. Ellie had hit the jackpot when it came to Baby Daddy Bingo. Had she not confessed that Pia belonged to Deacon, he’d never have been the wiser. He may have had questions, but considering he needed a kid about as much as he needed a hole in his head, he never would’ve asked. “Those comics aren’t toys. Captain America set Uncle Woof back eight hundred big ones.”
“Ridiculous,” Ellie said under her breath. “All of you are hulking man-children with permission to use guns.”
“And? You married one of our best.” Deacon set Pia on her feet, pointing her in the opposite direction from his buddy’s collection.
“Tom was different, and the jury’s still out on what I feel for you.” Ellie clenched her hands in her lap.
“Then why are you here? Because I’m not exactly feeling warm fuzzies for you.” He wore desert camo fatigues with beige combat boots, the laces of which Pia tugged, then giggled.
“Up!”
He glanced down to find the toddler trying to climb his leg. Something about the stern set of determination in her jaw struck a familiar chord deep within him. Did she have his drive to succeed in whatever she started? But Tom had had the same drive. How was Deacon supposed to tell where his traits began and the ones she’d learned from Tom left off?
“She likes being held,” Ellie said, leaving the couch to claim her daughter. “But you’ll figure that out soon enough.”
“Help me out here, Ell. You saying things like that lead me to believe you want me to have a relationship with Pia, yet I have to keep it a secret?”
“Exactly. You wouldn’t blurt to Tom’s parents that the two of us had a fling, would you?”
“No.” Just thinking of that scenario had his pulse taking off. Which made him understand her reasoning behind the hush-hush attitude, though he couldn’t say he liked it any better.
“More than anything, I think it’s important that Pia know you as her father. But Tom’s parents would be devastated to learn the truth, and I’ve still got enough of my own grief to deal with. I just can’t…well, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Deacon got the gist of her every word. He might’ve inadvertently donated Pia’s DNA, but when it came down to raising her, Ellie would appreciate him being MIA.
* * *
THE WHOLE RIDE HOME, Ellie couldn’t stop trembling. Her relationship with Deacon—if it could even be called that—had always been tenuous at best. Since it had been Deacon who’d introduced her to Tom, she owed him an incalculable debt. But with Tom no longer with her, could that debt be considered paid in full? Technically, Deacon had also given her Pia, but with enough time, she’d have eventually been pregnant with Tom’s child, right?
She didn’t want to admit it, but Deacon scared her. With barely any effort, he’d released a side of her she hadn’t even known existed. While their time together had been exhilarating, the aftermath had been somewhat terrifying. She was a good girl. She’d never been the type who would consider a one-night stand, let alone to engage in one without protection. Countless times she’d replayed the night in her mind, seeking answers. What had she been missing that a bad boy like Deacon filled?
From her car seat, Pia cooed, reminding Ellie that no matter how much she might personally wish to steer clear of Deacon, she couldn’t deprive her daughter of knowing her father. Oddly enough, in having two fathers, Pia had been given a sort of do-over, in that if Ellie chose to let her, she could now begin a new life, with Deacon playing a starring role.
* * *
“WOOO!” cried the bosomy redhead Friday night when Deacon dipped her on the dance floor. “You’re wild!”
“I do my best, darlin’.” While the woman giggled as he twirled her to the honky-tonk song, he couldn’t help but think of the time he’d held Ellie on this very spot. The fact that he could even remember such a thing was a sign he hadn’t drunk nearly enough.
Four quick shots later and Deacon’s head swam pleasantly.
It wasn’t often a man commemorated the loss of his best friend, then learned he was the father of that friend’s child, only to have said child snatched from him, all in the same week.
Worse yet, each time he touched the redhead’s hips, in his mind’s eye he saw Ellie naked and sprawled out before him, her blue eyes hazy with pleasure, her long inky hair playing hide and seek with her full breasts.
“Mind giving someone else a turn?” From behind him, a beer-bellied local copped an attitude. Ordinarily, Deacon would have graciously stepped aside, allowing a fellow dude the pleasure of a trip around the dance floor with a pretty lady. But as Deacon had already noted, there was nothing ordinary about this night, which was why he swung around to give the guy his best right.
“Hey, whoa!” Before he could launch another punch, Garrett grabbed Deacon’s swinging arm, while Tristan took his left.
“Please forgive him,” Tristan said to Deacon’s victim, whose eye was already starting to bruise.
Garrett took the liberty of tugging Deacon’s wallet from his back pocket and fishing out a few twenties. “Here,” he said, handing them over as a peace offering. There was nothing Base Commander Duncan hated more than hearing one of his men had started trouble—especially SEALs. “Our friend would love to buy your drinks for the rest of the night.”
“The hell I would,” Deacon snapped.
Tristan smacked the back of his head. “Would you shut up already?”
By the time his so-called friends shoved him into the backseat of Garrett’s Mustang, Deacon needed another few shots. “I was all right back there. I hardly need you two finishing my fight.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Garrett made a sharp left that sent Deacon flying. “Put on your seat belt.”
“Did he eat any of that pizza back at the apartment?” Tristan asked.
“Don’t think so. Makes sense. He didn’t eat lunch, either. Explains why he was such a lightweight.”