Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

He was thinking about returning Cooper to Gypsy’s arms and going for a long run. It would ease some of the aches from traveling and maybe even set Dylan’s brain right.

The door of another trailer across the property opened. The silhouette filling the doorway—a man in cargo shorts with one human leg and one machine-made prosthetic—could only be Marty’s.

The sight of the missing leg jolted Dylan again. Pain slammed his chest like a fist, an ugly blend of regret, loss, fury, guilt.

Marty started Dylan’s direction, and he pulled on his experience to corral all his crazy emotions into one tightly controlled package.

Once Marty stood at the base of the stairs to the porch, he smiled at Dylan. “Doubt you’ll remember me, but I dated your mom for a while.”

“And lived to tell about it.”

Marty chuckled and moved up the steps with the ease of someone who’d owned that prosthetic for decades. He was in his late fifties or early sixties, with heavily threaded gray hair pulled into a man bun. “Marty Birch.”

Dylan shook the man’s extended hand. “I wish I could say I do remember you, but my memories of my time with my mom are grayed out.”

“Based on how she neglected Miranda, I’d say you didn’t miss out on much. Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.”

Marty eased to the swing’s seat and poked Cooper’s stomach playfully. “Hey there, Coop.” Then he looked out over the property and sighed. “Beautiful night.”

“A little quiet for me,” Dylan admitted. “Still getting used to being back in the States.”

“No artillery falling from the sky,” Marty said, his voice even and matter-of-fact. “No running, no screaming, no blood flowing in the streets.”

“Exactly.” Dylan felt instantly comfortable with the man.

“I know. Took me a damn long time to get used to it when I got home.”

“Hey,” Dylan said, “thanks for letting me stay. I really appreciate it.”

Marty made a careless gesture. “You’re welcome as long as you need a place.”

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help out around here.”

Marty smiled down at Cooper, who was sucking on his fist. “You’re already doing it.” He glanced toward the front door, then lowered his voice. “Gypsy would take a beer bottle to my head if she heard me saying this, but between the bar and the baby, that girl is running on fumes.”

“I kinda figured.”

“So, what brought you home?” Marty asked. “I know this little guy is cute, but after being overseas all these years, I’m guessing it was more than a baby that brought you back.”

The question made Dylan focus on the rock where his heart should be, and he let out a long breath.

“Listen, don’t feel like you have to tell me anything,” Marty said. “I just lost my dad young like you did, and there were countless times when I wished I’d had his perspective on the world. I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Thank you. This trip is going to be messy. I may take you up on that offer.”

“Maybe not as messy as you think. Gypsy loves you to death. And between Gypsy and Jack, Miranda’s rough edges have all smoothed out. She’s just as happy you’re home as Gypsy is.”

“Really?

Marty smiled. “Really.”

“That’s great news.”

“Then why do you still have that concerned crease in your forehead?”

“Because while I know I have bridges to rebuild with Miranda and Gypsy, they aren’t going to be the hardest people to face.”