Page 50 of Heart Over Heels

I’d had things in mind when I proposed this game, parts of my story I wanted to share, but one fact crowded out the others. “I have a daughter.”

Darby crunched the chip then went back for another. “That’s not news. Tell me something I don’t know.”

I swallowed. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and his pale brows pinched together. “Why not?”

A loaded question if ever there was one.

After my stint with the wounded warriors at Camp Pendleton, I’d had a less-than-glorious homecoming. Truth was, I felt like a dog slinking back across state lines with my tailbetween my legs. Nervous to face my parents. Nervous to face my ex. And most of all, Molly.

I didn’t want her seeing me like that. Didn’t want to scare her with what still scared me. Didn’t want her to realize I was broken.

“My ex thought I needed time after I came back. To adjust,” I said.

Rachel met me at LAS, but she came alone. I hadn’t expected a banner or balloons, but I’d wanted… something. A smile? A hug? Instead, I got wide eyes and a slack jaw as I hobbled off the plane.

“Jesus, Mercer,”she’d whispered.

Like she couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

That memory had weight, and I had to slither out from under it to catch a breath.

“She has a room here,” I said, then clarified. “Molly does.”

Darby’s voice gentled. “Will you show it to me?”

My first instinct was to say no. That room was private and sacred in a way I didn’t let myself linger on. But something in the way he asked made refusal impossible. Like I’d told Zephyr, Darby always seemed to get what he wanted.

“Uh…” I cleared my throat again then slid my chair back. “Sure.”

The house only had a master suite and a guest room off a single hallway, so the path to our destination was direct.

I opened the door, the one that was nearly always shut, and Darby leaned in to peek around the frame.

The room was simply outfitted with a twin bed blanketed by a pink and white quilt. When I’d moved in, I hadn’t known what Molly would like—girls her age outgrew things fast—so I stuck to safe choices. The dresser and matched nightstands were plain but solid, and a rocking chair rested in the corner beside a standing lamp, a piece of the past I couldn’t quite let go.

Between deployments, I’d spent hours in a similar chair with Molly curled in my lap. I read picture books in ridiculous voices, pausing to tickle her until she squealed. She was too big for that now, but the memories clung to me.

On the bed, a few plush toys sat in a neat row with their tags still attached. Cats, mostly. Molly used to beg for one when she was little, but Rachel was allergic. Despite those small touches, the space still looked spartan, much like the rest of the house.

Someday, I told myself, when Molly came to stay, I’d take her shopping. Let her pick clothes to fill the closet and books to crowd the shelves. Until then, this room waited for her, and so did I.

After a cursory glance around, Darby stepped inside. I stayed rooted at the threshold with my palm braced against the wooden frame, watching him circle the room. His fingers brushed the bed’s footboard, then lingered on the ribbon tying back the sheer curtains.

There wasn’t much to see, but he made a study of it anyway. I couldn’t help but wonder what his place looked like. Given the frills and flourishes of his wardrobe, I imagined his home would be extravagant, theatrical, and overflowing with personality. Compared to that, everything here must seem paltry.

But when he finally turned, he didn’t look disappointed. His gaze was thoughtful and warm as it softened with his smile. “It’s lovely, Mercy. She’s a lucky little girl.”

It was an approval I hadn’t known I’d needed.

Darby bent to straighten one of the plush kittens on the quilt, a simple gesture that tugged my memory back to his earlier confession about wanting to be a mother. I shouldn’t have questioned him.

With a final pat on the quilt, Darby exited the bedroom, and I pulled the door shut, sealing the space back into waiting.

“C’mon.” I tipped my head toward the kitchen. “Our sandwiches will go stale if we let them sit much longer.”

He brushed by me, plenty small enough to make close passes without body contact, but he seemed to do it on purpose. With a graze of his hand, hip, and tail, he moved ahead of me, sashaying down the hall on bare feet.