Heart of Glass (Fostering Love 3)

I’d hoped that Morgan would be a good mom. I’d prayed for it, actually, and I wasn’t a man who prayed very often. But what I’d seen while I was sitting in her little house was way better than what I’d been willing to accept. She was great.

I knew a lot of mothers. I’d spent my life around all different types: the bad ones, the good ones, the distracted ones, and every kind along the spectrum. I knew how to spot the bad apples. She wasn’t one. If anything, she reminded me of my cousin Kate in the way she parented, and that was a huge compliment.

I dropped down onto the edge of my bed with a sigh.

I’d ignored it for as long as I could, but now that I was alone I let myself think of how gorgeous Morgan was. I’d been so concerned with watching how she treated Etta that I’d been surprised by the punch of attraction that had hit me out of nowhere. Damn, Morgan was fine. She didn’t seem to realize it, either. I mean, she moved like a woman who knew she had it going on, but she didn’t capitalize on what she had with skimpy clothes or makeup. It seemed like she just took her good looks for granted, which was even more appealing. Too bad she was completely off-limits.

I needed to stay focused on what was important—Henrietta. If I’d thought that I could meet my niece once and then head back home, I’d been kidding myself. I hadn’t had nearly enough time with her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure any amount of time would feel like enough.

God, she was really something. She’d been pretty quiet, maybe a little shy, but she hadn’t seemed to care very much that I was there. She’d just taken it in stride, neither disinterested nor interested in me, just sort of accepting that I was going to hang with them for a while.

Two-year-olds were hard to read—catch them at a bad time and they seemed like complete lunatics or catch them at a good time and they seemed like angels. Right after nap time seemed to be the sweet spot for Etta, because she’d definitely fit into the angel category. She’d seemed confident in her surroundings. She was also easily riled, which was probably a trait she’d gotten from Morgan. Henry had been totally mellow from the moment he’d come to live with us, even though that was pretty uncommon for a toddler who’d had to switch homes over and over during his short life.

Henrietta. I shook my head in disbelief. Morgan had actually named her baby girl after Henry, the man who had deserted them. Even though I couldn’t understand it, I still loved that she’d done that. My mom was going to love it, too. She felt really strongly about names and the meaning behind them, probably because her kids already had them by the time they came to her. I asked her once why she hadn’t changed Hen’s name when he was little. She could have chosen anything she wanted, and he wouldn’t have known the difference. Mom had just shook her head and smiled. She’d said that she didn’t want to change our histories, and our names were a part of that.

Goddammit, I was angry with my brother. Even knowing how selfish Henry could be, more interested in showing off and charming people than in making real connections, I still couldn’t believe what he’d done. I didn’t understand how he could’ve left that sweet baby without a backward glance. Early on, after I’d read everything the military was willing to send me about the training accident where he’d died and had gone through all of Hen’s paperwork, I’d been so angry that it had scared me. I wasn’t that man. I didn’t rage. But knowing what I knew, and understanding just how selfish my baby brother had been? I’d felt myself turning into someone I didn’t recognize. After a particularly toxic conversation with Ani that left her in tears, I’d realized that I needed to lock it down, so I did. I pushed back all of that anger and rage until I could barely see it past the grief. Unfortunately, now, after I’d seen his child, I could feel that anger bubbling to the surface again.

Taking a deep breath, I squeezed my hands around a soft hotel pillow until the joints in my fingers ached. Closing my eyes, I pictured Etta’s face until the anger disappeared like smoke from a cigarette. Lingering, but invisible.

My phone rang as I slipped off my flip-flops and lay down on the bed.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Well?” my cousin Kate asked, her voice high and excited. “How did it go?”

“At least say hello, Kate,” Ani mumbled, surprising me.

“Did you guys seriously just group-call me?” I asked in disbelief.