Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

Her mouth puckered in an ‘o’. “Oops. I’m not supposed to say that, am I?”

“Definitely not.”

Not the word or that she’d let on that her dad was throwing me under the bus.

“Daddy says bad words sometimes, even the really, really bad ones, usually when he thinks we’re not listening or when he gets stressed out. Like he is right now. It’s a good thing you got here when you did,” she rambled, all matter of fact, that speeding train so easily jumping tracks. “Things are gettin’ crazy in there. Looks like a tornado hit.”

She was totally spot on. I was holding it in my arms.

I feigned a worried frown. “Is that so?” I asked as I mounted the steps.

She gave an emphatic nod. “Yup, that is so. Soph is being a handful again, and Collin is screaming like a banshee, and Daddy-the-Great looks like he might be at his wit’s end. Grams said she is always at her wit’s end, and I don’t think we need to be driving Daddy there, too. It seems like a dangerous place to be. We might need an intervention.”

There she went, round and round and round. Spinning her little disorder.

“An intervention, huh? And what kind of intervention would that be?”

“The kind where everyone listens and does what they’re told to do. You’re a cop. Make it happen, Capin’.”

Amusement had me chewing at the inside of my lip.

“And am I to assume you’re already doing everything right? Following all the rules? No issues there?”

“Hello? Who do you think I am? I do all the things.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “And if I wasn’t, I sure wouldn’t be tellin’ a cop.”

Wow. I was gettin’ concerned this was how criminals were born.

“And what if I had to do a lie detector test on you?” I razzed.

She inhaled a sharp gasp. Clearly what I was offering up was cruel and unusual punishment. “Now that’s just not playin’ fair.”

“Who said life was fair?” I asked with my brows knitted up, trying to keep it light, but feeling the way my spirit wanted to trip into turmoil at the thought.

My own personal regrets and fuck ups on top of the bullshit that I couldn’t control.

Life wasn’t fair.

I saw the truth of it, day in and day out.

And fuck if I wasn’t feeling the weight of it right then.

The kid looked at me with a completely straight face. “Life is not fair. Mom already told us that life can be hard.” Her brow stitched up, clearly struck with an important thought. “But we already got our hero, so it’s not really hard anymore.”

She frowned in worry. “Well, except our hero is about to crack. Our hero needs a hero. You feel like bein’ a hero today?” she asked.

Emotion fisted my heart. Those steel bindings cinching tighter and tighter. Forever holding me prisoner. Didn’t matter that I’d dedicated my life to wiping some of the scum from the city. I’d already committed too many wrongs to earn that title.

I set the little girl onto her feet, and she grinned up at me, so damned sweet and innocent. I could feel the magnitude of it twisting through my spirit, this feeling that shouted out that there was something inside of me that would always feel off.

Something missing.

A piece I couldn’t regain.

I gave a little tug to a lock of her hair.

“Not sure I can reach hero status,” I told her, straight-up honest, “but I definitely think we can help out your dad.”

I stepped through the door into the cozy house. Inside, it was quiet. A distinct contradiction to the mayhem that had been going down in the background during our phone call that made it almost eerie.

My attention darted around as I crossed the living room. Guessed it was the detective in me that had jumped into action, taking note that the place was completely trashed, a fucking mountain of toys strewn everywhere, pillows and cushions tossed from the couch, trails of crumbs leading from one room to the other.

We definitely needed to sneak in a quick clean up before Grace made it home from her writing group.

First things first.

Hitting the swinging kitchen door, I pushed it open, making sure I had a smile pinned to my face. Last thing I needed was to go blurting out what was on my mind, the words a bitter burn on my tongue, vying for release.

But it made no sense to go spouting things I couldn’t change.

For a second, I froze at the archway, feeling a crack go breaking through the middle of me.

Guessed it was witnessing the sight of things turning out the way they should have always been. Something good for a guy who’d been dealt such an unfair life.

Ian was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a sleeping kid nestled in the crook of each arm. From the side, I watched as he gazed down at them, the guy appearing haggard and worn and lacking about a thousand hours’ sleep, and still, he looked the fucking happiest I’d ever seen him.