“Marijuana,” Allison repeated, when he’d laid it all out.
Ian could hear her exhaled breath over the thousands of miles. “Yeah. And I’m still dealing with the dyed hair,” he admitted.
“You’re dealing well.”
Her reply took him by surprise. She’d never had much good to say about his parenting before. Not that he blamed her. He’d missed a lot, with one deployment after another. In those agonizing fights when their marriage had started crumbling, she’d claimed she was basically a single mom while Ian got to be the fun dad in between missions. “Thank you.”
“You’re doing everything that’s needed. But is it too much for you? Do you need me to come back?”
“No. No, Allison.” That wouldn’t be good for her or Wolf. “It’s fine. Well, not fine, but I’ve got this.” At least, he hoped he did.
They agreed on a schedule of updates, and he disconnected, taking a seat by Gavin’s bedside. He looked down at his son, reminded of when he’d been home on leave and watched him as a baby in his cradle, overawed at having created a new life. He’d stroked Gavin’s doll-sized hand, and Gavin had curled all his fingers around one of his father’s.
That tiny baby was now an often surly and impatient fourteen-year-old whose eyes would roll all the way back into his head at the mere thought of holding his father’s hand. Ian stroked back that lock of hair left longer to cover Gavin’s eye and huffed out a laugh, recalling the name of the shade of hair dye that Gavin used: Bad Boy Blue.
Lying there in a hospital bed, the rebellious teen looked more like a little boy lost. And Ian’s mission was to help him home…if only he knew how. There were no briefing or specs for this. Well, he hadn’t failed a mission yet or left a man behind on one so far.
“And I don’t intend to start now,” he vowed to his son as he tried again to get comfortable on the plastic chair.
It was going to be a long night.