One Night with a Hero (9 page)

“Ja?”

Tears sprang to Joss’s eyes as the gags continued. It was her fingers. From holding the hot dogs, her hands smelled of them. Still fighting back the retches, Joss crawled to the sink and scrubbed her hands until the skin threatened to come off. Then she held the soiled length of her hair under the running water and rinsed it out.

“Ja?”

“Coming, baby,” Joss croaked. She wiped the toilet seat and flushed, then forced some deep breaths. Better. It was better. Okay.

But how the hell was she going to feed Claire?

Feeling ridiculous, she reached under the sink and grabbed a hand towel. She pressed the folded square of terry cloth against her mouth and nose and went back downstairs. Claire was sitting at the bottom of the steps, stretching her little body up to look for her.

“Ja. Eat.”

“Yeah. Time for you to eat. Come on.”

Claire pushed herself up and toddled next to her.

When Joss grabbed the plate of food, her stomach rolled again. Though the nausea was uncomfortable, the barrier of the towel seemed to work, and she didn’t feel the need to get sick again. She sat at the table and pulled the baby onto her lap. Claire fed herself the hot dogs, and Joss helped with the applesauce.

When Claire was done, Joss decided to leave cleaning the kitchen until later, scooped the little girl up, and carried her upstairs for bath time. While the water warmed and filled the tub, she removed Claire’s clothes and diaper, and then settled her into the shallow water.

“Cup?” Joss asked.

“Cup!” Claire said, flinging water with her fingers.

Joss grabbed her stomach, which just wouldn’t settle down. So much for never getting sick.

After having her hair and body washed, the baby was content to play in the water for a while. Joss rested her chin on her forearms and breathed through the nausea. With the way she’d felt all week, she supposed it wasn’t surprising that she was getting sick.

Relaxing there as Claire filled and emptied the cup over and over, Joss’s mind wandered.

She gasped and pushed upright.

Calendar. I need a calendar.

She fished her phone out of her back pocket and hit a series of buttons.

Oh no. Nonono.

Twenty-eight days from August 18th was…

“Oh, no. Oh, my God.”

She was almost a week late.

Why hadn’t she realized? Between work and feeling so crappy, her head had been in such a daze. But still…

Another series of buttons brought her to a pregnancy calculator website. Shaking fingers punched in the first day of her last period and then she read the information that brought up.

Conception: September 1

Pregnancy Test: September 15

First Heartbeat: September 29

“Oh, my God.”

She scanned down the list of week-by-week dates.

Week 5: September 22

Tomorrow. That was tomorrow.

Due Date: May 25

She dropped the phone on the floor and grabbed a towel. Without even draining the tub, she lifted Claire, terrified that between the baby’s slippery body and her own shaking hands, she would drop her. But Claire was fine. Joss wrapped a towel around her and carried her into the bedroom.

September 1st. That was the night of the fireworks. The night of…

Get the baby to sleep. Just start there.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Diaper and pajamas in place, she combed Claire’s fine hair. They read a book together, then another. The girl’s presence allowed her to hold it together.

When Claire’s eyes started to droop, Joss laid her in the center of her queen bed. Earlier, she’d rolled blankets into makeshift bolsters and laid them along three sides to ensure the baby didn’t fall off the bed. Thank God Claire was such a good sleeper.

On autopilot, she pulled the bedroom door mostly shut behind her and retrieved her phone from the bathroom floor. She did, in fact, need help, so she made a call.

“Hello?” her neighbor from down the courtyard answered.

“Hi, Lisa. It’s Joss.”

“Well, hi, Joss. How are you? How’s the new school year treating you?”

She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Oh, good, good. Listen, I’m very sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I need a quick favor if you’re available.”

“Glad to help if I can,” she answered.

“I’m babysitting tonight and, uh, the baby needs something I don’t have. She’s asleep for now. Is there any chance you could just come sit at my place for ten or fifteen minutes while I run up to the shopping center?”

“You want me to come now?”

Joss nodded. “If you can?”

“I’ll be over in two.”

“Oh, my God, Lisa. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No worries. I was just Facebooking.”

Joss chuckled and worried it sounded a tinge hysterical. “Okay. Okay, thanks.”

They hung up and Joss went downstairs to slip on some shoes and grab her purse. Her neighbor from three doors down arrived instantly, dressed nearly identically to Joss in a pair of capri yoga pants and a T-shirt. She was a few years older than Joss, but they’d been friendly ever since Joss moved in.

“I won’t be long,” Joss said. “The girl’s name is Claire. She’s not quite two. But she’s sound asleep, so I doubt you’ll even hear from her.”

“Don’t worry. I babysit my sister’s kids all the time. We’ll be fine.”

Joss wasn’t sure how she got to the drugstore. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the aisle clutching her stomach and staring at about four hundred varieties of pregnancy tests. She bought three, one each of a different brand, just to be extra super triple sure that she’d totally gone and ruined her life.

By having a one-night stand. In her freaking truck.

Brady’s more than a one-night stand
, part of her whispered.

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to him,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?” the man at the register asked.

“Nothing. Sorry.” He rang up the tests without any commentary, and she about choked when she saw the total. Thirty-five bucks. Oh, God, babies were expensive. They came with so much…
stuff
. How was she going to afford it all?

My savings.

The money she’d started to set aside for a house. Well, this certainly killed that idea, didn’t it? But at least she had a little extra money tucked away. The rest she’d have to figure out later.

Back home, she and Lisa said quick good-byes that felt like five years were passing as the tests burned a hole in her bag, and then Joss went upstairs to confirm once and for all that she was as screwed as she believed she was.

She opened all three tests, read the directions, and lined them up on the counter next to the toilet. Annnnnnd of course she couldn’t pee now.

She sat staring at the design in the tile floor for several long minutes. Finally, her body cooperated.

Test one. Test two. Test three.

She flushed, washed her hands, and glared holes in the plastic sticks.

I’m on the pill. Maybe this is just a mistake. Maybe my body is just out of whack from a virus.

That could totally be it. Right?
Please
.

Millennia came and went during the three minutes the instructions told her to wait. Except, it turned out three minutes weren’t really necessary.

Test one showed two blue lines at about two minutes.

Test two gave her a plus sign a few seconds later.

Test three very helpfully provided the word, “Pregnant.”

Joss stared at the tests. Blinked. Stared some more. Results were still the same.

She was pregnant.

What the hell was she going to do now?

And how was she going to tell Brady?

Chapter Ten

Brady was many things, but not often in his life had he felt like as big of an ass as he had ever since walking out of Joss’s house last Saturday morning.

And he didn’t know which made it
more
right—leaving her alone to live the life she deserved without someone as fucked up as him in it, or apologizing until she understood that being this fucked up was going to make him do stupid-ass things sometimes, but that he cared for her more than any other woman he’d ever known.

Jesus. Out in the field, out on the front lines, he was fearless and carefree. There, he knew who he was and what he had to contribute.

But with a woman? He’d never even let himself consider it. His father was an angry, bitter, violent son of a bitch, and so was Brady. The “little disciplinary problem” that had him sent stateside? Yeah. That involved punching an officer and inadvertently starting a bar fight. Made no difference to his CO that the guy had been manhandling a waitress who looked like she was none too happy about it. Because it wasn’t the first time Brady had lost his shit, and it wasn’t the first time he’d reacted fists first, brain second.

Now, he’d been branded a troublemaker and his whole damn career was on the line.

And the only way through the fucking morass was to confront his father and say everything that had been pent up inside him all these years. To lay it all bare. His stomach lurched and his chest went acidic at the thought. Especially because, after his little dream last weekend—the one that was now keeping him awake most nights—Brady’s whole worldview about what his youth had been was threatening to tilt on its axis.

He’d
always
hated his father for what he’d done to Alyssa. Twelve when their mother died, she’d essentially been orphaned when their father fell apart not long after. But turns out that shit had happened to him, too, hadn’t it? Not just Alyssa. Not once had he ever looked at it that way—or maybe he just hadn’t
let
himself look at it that way. No matter how he sliced it, though, now he didn’t know whether he was coming or taking a motherfucking trip to Mars.

And that meant he had no fricking clue what to do about Joss Daniels. Jocelyn. Someone who knew what a shitty childhood was all about if anyone did. The kicker was, she would probably understand the big, steaming pile of screwed-up that occupied way too much space in his head.

And why did that scare him even more?

Slowly, Brady became aware of crying—loud, persistent, and cranking up in intensity moment by moment. He concentrated on the sound. It was coming from Joss’s.

Oh. Right. She was babysitting again tonight.

Brady reclined against his new leather couch and blew out a deep breath.

Fine. He’d go see his father during one of the next couple weekends. He needed to get that shit over with. Not just because the doc told him to, but because being wound this tight was going to put him—or, worse, someone he cared about—in an early grave when he inevitably lost it. So it was time to get control of his shit and man up.

But first, he wanted to talk to Alyssa. Damn, it had been years since they’d last had a serious conversation about what she’d—okay,
they’d
—gone through. In fact… Son of a bitch. The last time they’d talked about it was when he’d called from the Special Forces Qualification Course and learned she’d started going to the college therapist. Well, wasn’t that a smack in the ass. No doubt he could learn a thing or two from his little sister. She was stronger than she looked and more courageous than he’d probably ever given her full credit for.

So, yeah. First Alyssa, then their father.

It was a plan.

Is that crying getting louder?

Brady pushed into a sitting position and listened. The baby’s distress had escalated into a full-out DEFCON-5 wail. Last week, he hadn’t heard a peep out of Claire when she was at Joss’s. Now that he thought about it, he’d been hearing her cry for at least ten minutes and not only was it not getting better, it was getting worse.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Joss wouldn’t let her cry.

So either something was wrong with the kid, or something was wrong with Joss.

He was out his front door in mere seconds and knocking on hers not long after that.

No answer.

He knocked again and tried the knob, but it was locked.

“Joss?” he called, knocking again.

Jesus. He could hear the baby from here.

He jogged back to his place and made for his bedroom, where he retrieved his lock pick set from a pack in his closet, covert methods of entry being a skill in which all SF personnel received training. It took all of five seconds to pick the residential-style door.

“Joss?”

“Brady?” Her voice sounded thin and strained.

Brady sprinted up the steps.

She was hunched over the toilet, dry heaving. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the seat. “Can you please…get…Claire? I…accidentally woke her,” she said, fighting back gags.

Get Claire?

“Oh. Okay.” Brady hesitated to leave Joss, but then turned to her bedroom door and pushed it open. Slowly. Tentatively.

Claire sat in the middle of the bed, eyes clenched, mouth open in a shriek, red face apparent even in the dimness of the small lamp.

“Hi, Claire. Um…it’s okay.”

She wailed louder. Those were some serious lungs.

He approached her slowly, like she was a suspect or an enemy informant.

Actually, he’d be much more competent handling either of those.

At the bed, Brady held out his hands to try to quiet her down. “Shh. No need to cry. It’s okay.”

The wailing continued.

What now?

“Get Claire.”
That’s what Joss had said. As in…
Oh, right
.

He leaned forward, slid his hands under her arms, and lifted her. For a moment, he held her straight out from his body, her little legs pumping and kicking. Her screams seemed to say,
Hey, idiot, you don’t know what the frack you’re doing
.

And she was right, seeing how she was the first baby he’d ever held and all.

The image of the way Joss carried her came to mind. Brady brought Claire against his chest. It was truly amazing that something that weighed so little could make this much noise.

He bent his knees a couple of times and bounced her. He tried to think of something to say. Or, better, sing. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single kids’ tune.
Think, Scott, think. The enemy is approaching and the attack will commence in T-10 seconds.

“Uh…uh…
First to fight for the right, And to build the Nation’s might, And the army goes rolling along, Proud of all we have done, Fighting till the battle’s won, And the army goes rolling along
.”

Claire’s wails lessened to a series of hitching breaths and uncertain whines. Brady smiled.

“
Then it’s hi, hi, hey, The army’s on its way, Count off the cadence loud and strong
....”

She yawned so big Brady could see her lungs. It wasn’t a rousing endorsement, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

Brady put his hand on her back and patted her a couple of times while he continued to sing.

Yeah. Okay. He was doing this.

Claire looked at him and burped.

He stared at her a long moment, then grinned. “Good one. A solid B-plus, at least. With a little training, you could be doing A work in no time.”

“Army theme songs and burp training. That’s all you could come up with, sailor boy?”

Brady turned and found Joss leaning against the doorjamb, face pale, one hand clutched around her stomach. Actually, he was pretty sure the wall was all that was holding her up. She gave him a small smile.

“What’s the matter?”

She closed her eyes and heaved a deep breath. “Just a very bad upset stomach. I made the mistake of trying to clean up the dinner mess after the nausea started, and then I tripped and fell running up the steps and woke Claire up with the latest round of…” She thumbed over her shoulder.

“Shit, Joss, are you okay? I knew you were gonna catch what I had.”

“I’ll be okay.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “And that was two weeks ago. I don’t have what you had, trust me. And, uh, language, please.”

“Huh?”

She looked at Claire.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I suck at this. Sorry.”

“You don’t. You got her to stop crying, didn’t you?” She pushed off the wall and immediately swayed.

Brady rushed forward and grabbed Joss’s shoulder, hauling her against his chest. It hadn’t been his intention—holding the baby with the other arm threw off his balance. And for a moment, he held the two girls tight in his arms, like…like they were…

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

“Lie down,” he ordered, the words coming out harsher than he intended.

Hurt flickered through Joss’s green eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered, moving gingerly into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “Here, give her to me. The two of us can rest together until her dad arrives.”

He frowned. “And what time is that?”

“Should be about eleven thirty, unless he gets caught at an incident.”

He glanced at his watch. That was still ninety minutes away. “But what happens if you get sick again?”

“I’ll manage. It’s not that long.” Joss’s gaze narrowed at him. “Hey, how did you get in here anyway?”

The question caught him off guard. “Uh.” His gaze followed Claire’s hands, gripping and pulling at his watch. “I picked the lock.”

Her jaw dropped open. “You
what
?”

“What?”

“Brady, you can’t just go around picking locks.”

He nailed her with a no-shit stare. “Obviously. But I could hear Claire crying through my wall. And I knew there was no way you’d let it go on that long. So, when you didn’t answer the door, I did what needed to be done. Be glad I used a pick and not my shoulder or you’d have a door to replace right now.”

After a few moments, her expression softened. “Okay. I see your point. I guess…thank you.”

His ire died down. “You’re welcome.”

“Ja. Eat?” Claire said.

Brady frowned at the kid, and then at Joss. “Translate.”

“She’s hungry.”

“You got
that
from
that
?” He nodded at the kid.

Joss chuckled, but it was a tired, hollow sound. She swung her legs off the bed.

He held out a hand. “Whoa, whoa. Where are you going?”

“She’s hungry,” she said like it was obvious.

Brady’s mind flew for a solution that resulted in both of the women getting what they needed. And the only one he could come up with involved him playing babysitter. God help the baby. “Aw, shit—I mean… Sorry. Sorry. Just, uh, tell me what to feed her. Maybe I can handle it without, you know, dropping her on her head or something.”

Joss pressed her lips together and tried not to smile. “You think?”

“I give us a fifty-fifty shot.”

“In the cabinet next to the fridge there are Goldfish. See if those will work.”

He grimaced. “She eats goldfish?”

Joss rolled her eyes. “They’re crackers.”

“Fish crackers?”

“Oh, my
God
. They’re cheddar crackers in the shape of fish.”

“If they’re cheese crackers, why are they shaped like fish?”

Joss flopped back against the bed and curled into a ball.

“Right. Goldfish it is.” He carried Claire out of the room and down the steps, feeling the whole way like maybe he should hold onto the railing.

“Ja. Nigh-nigh,” Claire said, big blue eyes looking at him.

“Uh, sure.” He knew three languages, and none of them were helping him out right now.

In the kitchen, the remnants of an earlier meal lay on the counter and dishes filled the sink. Brady stopped at the cabinet closest to the fridge and found the package of Goldfish crackers. Claire held her hands out. “Oh, yeah? Like these?”

“Eat.”

That one Brady understood. He sat her on the counter and poured some out next to her. She grabbed a handful and stuffed them in her mouth.

“Why are they smiling?” he asked her.

Claire just looked at him and ate her crackers. “Ding,” she said.

“Er…come again?”

“Ding.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shook his head and debated asking Joss what “ding” might mean, but then Claire mimicked drinking from a cup.

“
Oh
, drink? Do you want a drink?”

“Ding.” Claire knocked three goldfish on the floor while grabbing another handful.

“Dings we can do,” Brady said, opening cupboards looking for Joss’s cups.
Bingo
. He grabbed a glass and turned to the sink to fill it.

When he turned around, Claire was leaning way far over the counter to look at the dropped crackers.

Brady dashed across the narrow kitchen and caught her with his palm. Water sloshed over the edge of the glass and ran over his hand and down his shirt.

“Uh-oh,” Claire said.

“Why is it always possible to understand a woman criticizing you?”

“Uh-oh,” Claire repeated, pointing at the wet trail.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s only water.”

Claire giggled and ate more fish.

Brady popped a few in his mouth. “Mmm, not bad.” Hey, these were kinda addictive. He ate a few more.

Finally, she seemed to be done. Brady returned the package to the shelf and picked her up off the counter. Her pants felt damp on the bottom.
Aw, hell no
.

Debating, he went upstairs, totally intent on a handoff. He turned into Joss’s room. “Hey, uh, I think—”

She was curled into a fetal position, a pillow balled up against her stomach, softly snoring.

“Ja nigh-nigh,” Claire said in a loud, happy voice.

This time Brady understood her. “Yes, so shh,” he whispered. Now what was he going to do? On the long dresser, he spied the baby’s bag he remembered Joss carrying and grabbed it, then took Claire downstairs again.

He looked at his watch. Nearly ten forty-five. Forty-five minutes until the parental unit should arrive. He could handle that, right? No problem.