Unexpected (The Protectors 10)

I could only stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Is that really what you think?”

“Why else would you do it? You went looking for dirt on me and you found it. The FBI didn’t even find some of that shit when they did their background check on me. And I know you told Everett because he’s been treating me different—”

“Nash,” I said softly as I covered his frantically drumming fingers with my hand before I could think better of what I was doing. He sucked in a breath and I quickly jerked my hand back. “Fuck, sorry,” I muttered. “Nash, I swear to you, I didn’t tell Everett a thing. As for trying to find dirt on you, I just wanted to try and figure you out. You were so adamant about keeping yourself apart from all of us… usually I’m able to get a read on people pretty easily, but with you, I couldn’t. I guess… I guess I was trying to fix something that wasn’t really broken.”

“It’s true,” my father interjected from somewhere behind us. I turned to see him pushing the screen for the sliding door open. He had a tray in his hands.

“Dad,” I said, not thrilled that he’d been listening to us. Though I suspected he’d only heard that last part as he’d been preparing to push the door open. I jumped up and slid the door the rest of the way open. The tray had several glasses of lemonade and three bottles of beer on it.

My father ignored me as he pushed the tray into my hands and grabbed one of the bottles of beer and approached Nash. “When he was about Charlie’s age, his mother and I had this huge fight that got started because we couldn’t agree on which one of us had forgotten to stop at the store to get milk. It wasn’t often that my Charlotte and I got into it, but we were both stressed with new jobs and we were struggling to make ends meet, so that gallon of milk just became the catalyst to get some stuff off our collective chests. We didn’t speak to one another all night, didn’t have dinner together. It wasn’t until my wife went to put Gage to bed that we realized he wasn’t there. We panicked because we’d been so caught up in fighting, we had no clue when he’d gone missing. Charlotte was on the phone with 911 and I was running out the door with my car keys so I could go look for him, when who do you think walked up the front steps?”

I rolled my eyes as my father looked at me. I’d been embarrassed with the recounting of this story more than once. I felt a shiver travel up my spine and shifted my gaze to Nash, who was watching me with an unreadable expression.

“I called out to his mother, who came running and cried all over him. It was a good five minutes before either of us could calm down enough to talk, but Gage beat us to it. He handed me a plastic grocery bag. Guess what was in it.”

I was caught in the snare Nash’s eyes created as he watched me. “Milk,” he said, his voice going softer than I’d ever heard it before. It was laced with a hint of amusement and something… more.

“That’s right,” my father continued, oblivious to the way Nash and I were caught up in watching one another. “He proudly told us that he’d ridden his bike to the store to get the milk and that now we wouldn’t need to fight anymore. As simple as that. He saw a problem and figured it needed to get fixed and so that was what he did.” My father laughed and handed the bottle of beer to Nash. “Charlotte started calling him her Little Mister Fix-It after that.”

“And never stopped,” I added, which actually made Nash smile.

He fucking smiled.

“Here you go, son,” my father said when he thrust the beer in Nash’s direction.

“Oh no, sir, I’m on duty.”

“Pish,” my father responded. “That man’s more in danger of Charlie talking him to death than anything else,” he added.

Nash took the beer. “Thank you.”

My father waved him off and then turned to me. He grabbed the tray and nodded to the other bottles of beer. I grabbed one, since I knew the third was likely for Everett. My father wasn’t much of an alcohol drinker. There were also three glasses of lemonade.

“Wasn’t sure what our guest would want,” my father said as motioned with his chin to the bottle. “Not sure if he’s a beer drinker.”

“He is,” Nash and I both said at the same exact time.

My father smiled wide and shook his head, but didn’t say anything. He reminded me of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.