Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

I shrugged from where I was leaned against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest. “My daughter is the smartest kid around. She knows her stuff.”

He quirked a brow. “And that stuff is that you’re actually smarter than I am?”

My lips twitched. “Guess so.”

This time Frankie threw her arms all the way in the air. “I know all the stuffs.”

“Is that so?” He poked her belly. Instantly, she was howling, grabbing at his hand.

“It’s so! It’s so! It’s so, so, so.” She kept chanting as he jumped into a full-fledged tickle attack, and my chest was doing that crazy thing where it felt too full and too proud and too content, which happened just about every damned time I looked my daughter’s way.

I was telling no lies.

She was my light.

The life inside me.

She sobered about as quickly as she’d collapsed into laughter. “Am I alls better, Uncle Kale?”

He touched her chin with his knuckle. “All better, pumpkin pie.”

Her face scrunched. “I don’t likes punkin’ pie, Uncle. I likes cherry pie.”

Of course she did.

Incredulous, his brow lifted. “You want me to call you cherry pie?”

He was holding back laughter, looking over at me like he was just waiting for me to bust up.

“Uh . . . can we not?” I said, pushing from the wall, irritated because I knew exactly where Kale’s mind had gone traipsing. Right to that damned Warrant video Ollie had made us watch on repeat for the entire summer between third and fourth grade. Apparently, fourth grade was right about the time when Ollie had decided girls weren’t exactly gross.

Or maybe I was irritated simply because the mention of cherry pie had my mind traipsing straight to thoughts of Rynna.

Neither of us could seem to resist whatever the fuck that insanity was that burned between us. No question, she was just as much a prisoner to the ruthless energy that thrived between us as I was. This violent need. Growing stronger every time it forced us together.

Irresistible.

Stupid.

Reckless.

God knew that was what touching her had been.

Reckless. Just because you knew something that didn’t make you wise.

And I swore that touching her had scored the very depth of me.

It’d been too much. Too good. Too right when I knew every second of it was so goddamned wrong.

Most terrifying part was I wasn’t sure I’d ever wanted a girl the way I wanted her.

Not in all my life.

Watching her walk away with all that understanding on her face? That had been a kick to the gut. Hurting her when it was the last thing I wanted to do. But the only thing I had to offer her was the fucking mess I’d made.

I shook myself from the thoughts. “Everything look okay?”

“All’s good, my friend.”

From under the arms, Kale lifted Frankie, hoisting her into the air and making her squeal and flap her arms like she was flying, before he set her on her feet. He patted the top of her head. “Good as new, right, Frankie Leigh, Cherry Pie?”

He winked at me, and I elbowed him in the side. “Don’t even, man.”

Gasping through a laugh, he clutched his ribs. “Dude, not cool. Not cool. I’m just messing with you. Why so serious all the time?”

Frankie started skipping around the small examination room. “Rynna makes the bestest cherry pies ever, ever. Daddy even said they mights be better than her grammy’s.”

Kale looked down at her before looking at me with something gleaming in his eye. “Rynna, huh?”

“Yep,” Frankie answered, not having a clue that Kale’s question was actually directed at me. “She bringed me one when I had the sicks and her pots pie made me all better. Oh, Uncle Kale, it was soes good!”

“This Rynna sounds really nice,” Kale said. Again, eyeing me like the bastard he was.

“Mm-huh! She’s so, so nice. She even wrotes me a letter.” Frankie rambled off all the details I sure as hell didn’t want Kale to have as he opened the door. She kept at it as she capered down the hall, alternating between skipping and twirling and leaping, which she’d learned at ballet yesterday.

When we hit the waiting room, she darted for the children’s play area set up in the corner. The small space was packed with a ton of kids, their parents, most of them their moms, sitting around in the bright plastic chairs waiting for their names to be called.

I turned to Kale. “Thanks for doing this, man. Know it’s not standard for you to do follow-ups in here like this.”

Blowing out a long breath, he glanced over at Frankie, who had already struck a conversation with a little boy about her age. Swore the kid didn’t have a shy bone in her body. Always making friends wherever she went. Social in a way that made me itch. I always had to watch her like a hawk. Not that I wouldn’t anyway.