Better (Stark Ink Book 2) (11 page)

“It’s nice having meals I don’t have to cook,” Dalton said.

Adam lifted an eyebrow at him. “Can you actually eat anything you ‘cook’?” he asked while curling his fingers.

“Air quotes are for douchebags,” Dalton replied. “And no, you can’t eat anything I cook, but you can sit on a chair I make, which is way more useful than your chicken scratches.”

“Hey! That’s my art!”

“Is it ‘art’ if you use crayons?”

“They’re colored pencils! And who’s the douchebag?”

Dalton grinned. “Colored pencils. So… slightly more advanced than Kindergarten?”

Adam opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready with a comeback, but he frowned suddenly as Zoey came out of the bathroom. She smiled at everyone.

“You’re not at your parents?” Adam asked her.

“Hey,” Dalton admonished.

“Just seems to make the most sense, is all,” Adam replied. “Seems like it’d be more their responsibility.”

Dalton couldn’t believe his ears. “Zoey is
not
just a responsibility! And I don’t know-”

“Dalton?”

Everyone turned at the sound of Pop’s voice coming from the master bedroom down the hall.

“Dalton is that you?”

Dalton glared at Adam while he responded, “Yeah, Pop. It’s me.”

“Come here,” Pop ordered.

Dalton was caught between obeying his dad and kicking his older brother’s ass.

“Dalton!”

“Coming!” Dalton replied, throwing Adam a cautionary glance. “Be right back,” he said to Zoey as he headed off in that direction. When he got to the master bedroom, he turned the knob and stepped inside, stopping in his tracks. “Jesus, Pop!”

“Shut the door!” the old man said while gripping the .38 tightly.

“Pop!” Dalton cried and glanced back down the hall. Making too much noise might bring one of the girls, Zoey, Calla, Ava, any one of them could come in here and any one of them might not make it back out if they did.

“Give me the gun, Pop!” Dalton demanded firmly, but quietly.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Dalton.”

The old man’s voice was so strained, so soft that Dalton let go of the doorknob and moved toward him. “What’s… what’s going on?”

Pop grasped the barrel, let go of the grip, and handed the piece to Dalton with the muzzle pointing away from either of them. “I need you to take this,” he said.

Confused, but wanting to secure the weapon, Dalton took it slowly, slipping his finger between the trigger and the guard to prevent an accidental discharge. “Pop what’s going on?” he repeated.

“Sit down.”

Not many of the talks that Dalton had with the old man over the years had ever been very good, especially not the ones that started out that way. Growing up he’d listened uncomfortably while Pop, at Mom’s behest, explained how girls got in the ‘family way’ and how Dalton would have a red ass (and a new wife) if that ever happened. And then there was that time he’d ‘borrowed’ the car. None of the talks had ever involved weaponry, though.

Pop sighed as Dalton sat down on the mattress. “I don’t want it here,” he told Dalton. “I can’t have it here. I’m getting worse.”

“Pop-”

“I know it. You don’t have to sugar coat it. A man can’t hide from the truth, not if he’s a real man.” He reached out and picked up a framed photograph of Mom sitting on the nightstand. “I miss her,” he said quietly. “I miss her so goddamn much that it feels like a huge wound inside me, one that won’t ever heal.”

Dalton nodded. He knew that wound. He’d felt its raw ache a few times in his life.

“I’m gonna see her again,” Pop declared. “I will. But if that’s here,” he said, nodding to the gun in Dalton’s hand. “If that’s here, I might realize it. I might have that one moment, that one moment of weakness, and try to do it myself.”

“God, Pop.”

“It can’t happen that way,” Pop said fiercely. “
It can’t
. If I’m ever gonna see her again, and the Lord above knows I don’t deserve it, but if I’m ever gonna at least have a chance, Dalton, I’ve got to see this thing through to the end.” Pop ran his wrinkled thumb over Mom’s smile. “There are things a man’s afraid of, Dalton. And you’re a goddamn fool if you try to act like there aren’t things in this world that terrify the shit out of you, things like losing your mind, drooling all over yourself, wearing a diaper. But the thing I’m most afraid of is never seeing her again.”

“You don’t believe that,” Dalton argued. Pop had gone to church, but it had appeared to be only to appease Mom. He’d loved her so much he’d given up a part of every Sunday for forty years to make her happy. If that wasn’t love, Dalton didn’t know what was, but Pop had never struck him as a True Believer.

“She did,” Pop argued. “She believed it. And I’ll admit I don’t know what I believe, but if she was right, if there’s even a chance… Well, it’s a chance I won’t take.”

Dalton nodded, but kept his true feelings to himself. He wouldn’t let Pop go out like that, raving, undignified. Mom believed a lot of things and that was her choice, but Dalton refused to believe in a God that would let a good man be brought so low at the end of his journey. He would’ve spared Mom her pain, too, as she lay dying in this very room a few months ago, but in the end it had been taken care of for him.

“I’ll hold on to it,” he told Pop, checking the chamber. It was loaded, sure enough. He stood up and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. When it was secure, he clapped Pop on the shoulder. “I love you,” Dalton told him.

Pop’s withered hand patted his own. “You’re a good boy,” he replied. “And you know I love you.”

Back at the apartment, Dalton slipped the gun into his sock drawer. He didn’t really have a need for it, but it seemed wrong to sell it. After all, it wasn’t his. It was Pop’s, even if Dalton was just holding on to it. Though Dalton knew the Pop would never get it back, selling it seemed too permanent. He acknowledged that Pop was getting worse, but he wasn’t ready to accept it or start acting as though the old man was already in the ground. The gun would stay right where it was for a good long while. He closed the drawer quietly and got undressed in the dark.

He listened to the sounds of Zoey in the bathroom down the hall, brushing her teeth and changing her clothes. It was odd how little time she’d spent in his apartment, but already his bed didn’t feel right without her. Colder, less comfortable. He knew he couldn’t sleep until she was in it. Finally, she slipped into the room and climbed under the covers with him. He drew her close, kissing the top of her head as her eyelids started to flutter. She was already wiped out.

Once she settled into her slow, steady breathing, Dalton put his hand on Zoey’s belly. The baby found his hand immediately and thumped. “Hey, Tiger. How about we let Mom sleep tonight, okay?” He started to rub in slow circles and the baby seemed to calm down. “There you go.” He stopped and started to pull his hand away when he felt another sharp kick. “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “How about this? How about I tell you a story? Okay? I’ll tell you a story and you go to sleep. Ready? Once upon a time, there was an annoying, dirty, stinky, spoiled little prince who nobody liked. Nobody at all. That prince’s name was Aaron. Fortunately, for the King and Queen, Prince Aaron had an adorable and very handsome younger brother named Prince Dylan.”

The baby kicked again.

“What? Oh, I see. You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Just play along. Anyway, one day stinky Prince Aaron ate all the ice cream in the entire world and they had to roll him around the castle like a beach ball.”

Another kick.

“You should pay attention. This is what we call a cautionary tale. This one’s about greed and the importance of maintaining a balanced diet. And not being a douchebag. By the way, don’t say douchebag. So anyway one day handsome Prince Dylan, who, by the way, was the cleverest Prince in the Royal Family…”

Dalton woke the next morning to find that Zoey was already out of bed. He found her sitting at the kitchen table flipping back and forth through a small notebook while holding her cell phone in one hand. Deep worry lines creased her brow.

“Z?”

She looked up. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Was it the light?”

He shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Or at least, you didn’t wake me. Is something wrong?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No. Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t look like everything’s fine.”

“I canceled my last ultrasound with my regular OB. I booked another appointment here in town.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

Dalton sighed and pulled out one of the chairs. “I know I said you didn’t have to trust me because I’d just give you everything you needed. You don’t have to return the favor, Z, but I’d feel better if you did. Tell me what’s going on. Is it your insurance? Did he kick you off that, too?”

“No, I pay for my own anyway.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Zoey bit her lip. “I’ve never been to this new doctor.”

Dalton nodded, finally understanding. “And you don’t want to go alone.”

“I usually do, go alone. He’s never gone,” she said quietly. “The first time was hard, but after that at least I knew the Doctor and nurses.”

Dalton rose out of his chair and went to the counter to pick up his phone. “When is it? I’ll get a few hours off.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted.

Dalton leveled his gaze at her.

She looked up at him sheepishly. “
Can
you do that?”

“I’ll make it work,” he said, already dialing. “What time?”

Zoey worked her bottom lip again. “Today at two.”

“Not much notice,” he said quietly as the phone rang.

“Sorry! It was all they had.”

He nodded at her.

His boss picked up on the third ring. “Who is it? Somebody better be dead.”

“It’s Stark.”

There was a long pause on the other end. The last time a Stark had called him, someone
was
dead. “Oh. Sorry.”

It was a half-assed mumbled apology, but hey, at least he said it. Kellan seemed to get over it pretty quickly. “You’re not calling out. We’re too close to done.”

“I’m not calling out. I’m giving you a head’s up that I’ll be clocking out early today.”

“Bullshit!” Did you not hear me? I said we’re too close to done.”

Dalton drummed his fingers on the counter. “You won’t get done at all. Or at least not those custom cabinets in the master bathroom won’t.”

There was only silence on the other end of the line. Dalton let it sink in how badly Kellan had screwed himself. The foreman had only contracted the carpenter for the kitchen work, no doubt thinking to save a few bucks by using Dalton to finish the bathroom according to the specs.

Even with the bad hand, Dalton could finish the bathroom by the deadline, but by now the carpenter had surely moved on to another job. There would be no getting him back this late.

“Son of a bitch,” Kellan growled.

“Come on, Kellan. It’s a few hours.”

At one time, Kellan hadn’t been such a complete asshole, at least not to Dalton. The ice was thin these days, but Dalton was confident that this wouldn’t crack it.

After a tense moment, Kellan relented. “A few hours. That’s it. And overtime every day the rest of the week.”

Dalton sighed. “Thank you.”

Kellan hung up on him.

Dalton looked at Zoey. “See? Done.”

She nodded, frowning. “He’s taking advantage of you.” She hesitated. “I am, too.”

Dalton crossed the room and took her face in his hands. “I never want to hear that again.”

“Dalton—”

“Not one more time.”

He waited until she nodded before kissing her on the forehead. After he stepped back, he asked, “Is he going to look like an Alien chestburster?”

Zoey threw the notebook at him.

True to his word, Kellan let Dalton go in plenty of time to pick up Zoey and get her across town to her appointment. The office was nice and reminded him of the building he’d gone to for physical therapy. Zoey filled out the new patient paperwork, as best she could anyway. She dropped the pen a third time and Dalton bent over to retrieve it.

“What’s to be nervous about? The place looks nice.”

“I’m always this way. But I get to see him today, so that’ll help. Usually they use this thing called a doppler.”

“And it forecasts the weather?”

Zoey frowned at his attempt at humor. “No. It amplifies the baby’s heartbeat so we can hear it.” She pressed her hands to her belly. “That’s always the scariest part.”

“I don’t get it. Listening to his heartbeat is scary?”

She shook her head. “It’s not the heartbeat, it’s the wait. It takes a minute to find it with the wand. Sometimes a
whole
minute. I never told anyone, but in that minute I’m always afraid they won’t be able to find it.”

Dalton put his arm around her and drew her close.

Zoey put her head on his shoulder. “I know it’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy.”

Sometimes in the night Dalton reached across the bed to make sure she was still there. When you wanted something badly enough, the fear of losing it could cripple you.

“It’s not crazy at all. You love this baby. You wanted him from the minute you knew he even existed. There’s nothing crazy about that.”

Dalton squeezed her hand just as the nurse stepped into the waiting room. “Zoey Grant?”

Dalton gave her a reassuring nod and they both stood up.

In the ultrasound room, Zoey went behind a curtain and came out in a flimsy gown. Dalton rubbed her shoulders to keep out the chill while they waited. He’d certainly never been in a room like this before. Being surrounded by all this equipment would set anyone on edge. His jaw twitched as he thought of Grant making Zoey face it all alone. The bastard didn’t deserve to be anyone’s father. “It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly.

Zoey pressed her lips together but nodded.

The technician arrived, complete with blue goo, and he watched, fascinated, as she sent the first image to the large monitor mounted on the wall. Dalton stared at the screen. Face, feet, fingers— all there. A tiny gray flash pulsed in the middle of the screen. The baby’s heartbeat.

Zoey relaxed under his hands just as Dalton’s own pulse sped up. Looking at the screen, finally seeing the little guy, felt like all the pieces of a puzzle, previously scattered, suddenly coming together to form a picture. And that picture was more breathtaking than any portrait or landscape Dalton had ever seen. There was his little listener. The one-sided conversations they’d shared were fantasy, Dalton knew that. Every kick that felt like the answer to a question, hadn’t really had any meaning, of course. But this boy was real and he would be here soon, without a father, without anyone to protect him and keep him safe.

“There is he is, Mom and Dad!” the technician chirped.

Dalton shot her a dark look. He wasn’t the kid’s father. He was a damn sight better than that. Out of respect for Zoey though, he didn’t correct the woman. Zoey had enough going on without people judging her.

Afterward, the technician shut down the portable scanner while Zoey headed back to the changing room. Dalton waited, staring at the freshly printed black and white photo in his hand.

The technician grinned at him. “Not too much longer to wait, Dad. He’ll be here before you know it. Hope you’ve got your overnight bag packed!”

“Yeah,” he grumbled as she headed out the door.

The curtain moved and Zoey emerged fully dressed. She looked up at him with wide, cautious eyes. “Dalton—”

Dalton grabbed the door handle. “We’ve got to go. I’ve got to get back to work.”

He moved her quickly down the hall and toward the parking lot, trying to avoid an actual conversation. Would Zoey want him there at the birth? Maybe not. Despite their troubles, she might prefer her mother, instead. It was the logical choice, but Dalton was feeling anything but logical right now. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he soon wouldn’t be needed.

As he put Zoey in the passenger seat and shut the door, he realized how ridiculous he was being. He sighed as he looked at the rusted out clunker. It wasn’t like a car seat would fit in it, anyway.