"We did okay," Elena said. "I had a great childhood." She fidgeted a little, as if she was afraid she'd said something wrong. "I only mean that I didn't come here because my life is crap and I wanted you to fix it. My life's great. My mom's great. I really only came to meet you."
He sat back, made some sort of agreeable noise. The best he could manage, because at the moment he wasn't riding the Eva's Great train.
Elena looked down at the hands in her lap, her fingers twisting together. "She told me stories about you."
That surprised him. "About me?"
"Sure. She wanted me to know about my dad, right? She told me about you being a Marine. Said you were a hero."
Since he didn't know what to say to that, he said nothing.
"I wanted to know you so bad. And I missed you, too. Even though I'd never met you, I missed you. Does that make sense? Am I freaking you out? I'm sorry if I'm coming on too strong, but I--"
"It does make sense," he said gently as that little voice trilled in the back of his head. A daughter. He had a daughter.
And it did make sense. Because he'd missed her, too, without even knowing she existed, he'd missed her.
"I know it's probably crazy, but I've wanted to know you my whole life," she said. "And so when I learned that you weren't dead, I just came. I really am sorry if I'm being pushy, but I--"
"Wait." He leaned forward, his blood turning cold as he replayed her words in his head. "Who told you I was dead?"
"Well, I just knew. I mean, as I was growing up, and--"
"But who told you?" he repeated.
"I did."
He turned his head sharply toward the voice. Toward the woman standing in the doorway, a battered duffel bag hanging from one arm. A vision. A beauty.
A ghost.
His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, time stopped as memory layered onto reality. She wore her hair short, just as she had back then. As Elena did now. And she had those same huge eyes, that same wide mouth, those same striking cheekbones.
She'd put on some weight, but it looked damn good on her. At nineteen, she'd been a skinny thing. Now, she was a woman, with curves in all the right places. The same, yet different. And so damned lovely it made his heart ache.
Once, he'd believed she was his woman. Now, he didn't know what the hell to think other than that she'd betrayed him. Cut him more deeply than he could have ever imagined.
"I told her you'd died in combat," she was saying, and Tyree realized that the memory had crashed over him in the space of an instant.
A tear snaked down the side of her nose, and the lyrical voice he'd remembered so well sounded rough. "But you have to understand--"
"Understand?" He hadn't felt the rage building until it burst out of him, pushing him to his feet. All of his grief, his anger. All of his fears of being inferior. He'd known she was well-off. And he'd damn sure known that her father didn't approve of him. He'd thought it was real between them, but now--hell, now he knew that she'd just been having a fling. Screwing around with the soldier while she waited for her life to really begin.
"Understand?" he growled again. He saw Elena's eyes go wide and he tried to ramp it back, but
it was as if seeing Eva had opened a floodgate, and two decades of buried pain had rushed back into him.
"You couldn't even tell her the truth?" he demanded as Eva stood frozen and mute, her eyes as wide as her daughter's.
He moved around his desk and took a step toward her. She stiffened, but she didn't move. Just stood tall and still and silent.
His anger spurred him on. "Had to kill me off. Had to make me out to be some hero who'd died in combat saving the goddamn world? Couldn't give her one shred of truth about us."
He was only inches from her, so close he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He wanted her to answer him. He wanted a fight, and he remembered only too well how quick Eva's temper had been. "Or was there ever really an us at all?"
He didn't see it coming, but he damn sure felt it when her hard slap landed against his cheek, leaving it stinging.
Her eyes flashed with fury, and he could see a slew of words building up behind them. He waited, welcoming the tongue-lashing. The knockdown, drag-out he craved.