Take a Chance on Me(12)

Darek kissed Tiger on his chubby cheek, tucked his worn stuffed tiger—the one Felicity bought him at the hospital after his birth—into his arms. The hospital had thrown out his precious Spider-Man sleep shirt, too bloodstained to save, so he’d have to head down to the Ben Franklin and order a new one.

Oh, Felicity, he has your nose. Your freckles.

In every other way, Tiger had inherited his father’s traits—his recklessness, his sense of danger, his independence. It scared Darek sometimes how much he loved his son. And feared moments like this.

If Felicity were here, none of this would have ever happened. But if Felicity were here, maybe Darek never would have realized how amazing and precious his Tiger was. He’d still be chasing fire, part of the Jude County Hotshot team, possibly working as a fire manager by now. He would be spending even less time at home—and who knows if their marriage would have lasted?

He might have a son who didn’t even know his name.

But that couldn’t be worse than being motherless, could it? Darek pressed his hand against the burn in his chest and closed the door, after making sure the Spidey night-light was on.

Felicity might have had her faults, but she adored Tiger. She had been a good mother, tried to be a good wife. They might have had a good marriage, been able to figure out their problems, if he’d been a better man, ready for marriage, ready for responsibility. Yes, he could blame this entire mess on himself.

Mostly.

Partly.

He grabbed a blanket and pillow from the hall closet and headed for the couch. The tiny cabin could fit inside his parents’ great room. A small hallway connected the open family room and kitchen to the main-floor bedroom. He’d created a loft upstairs for Felicity and himself, but toward the end, she’d slept on the sofa downstairs. She blamed it on wanting to be close to the baby, but he knew better.

She’d furnished the place—it still had her sense of opulence, with the oversize leather sofa and matching ottoman, the red suede recliner, the fifty-five-inch flat-screen TV for the satellite dish he’d long since disconnected. Stainless steel appliances and granite countertops in a kitchen the size of a boat galley.

Cadillac tastes on a firefighter’s salary. He was still paying off the credit cards.

He winced as he remembered his accusations. You should have married Jensen Atwood!

Yeah, well, you’re probably right! But he didn’t get me pregnant, did he?

They’d had better times before that. Like when Tiger came into the world. For a brief moment he’d thought it might work.

The lake glistened tonight under the caress of moonlight. The Atwood place loomed across the water, a hulking castle in the woods.

Darek tucked the pillow behind his head. Stared at the ceiling.

Tried to figure out a way to save the resort. It remained the only thing he had to give to his son.

Instead, Ivy drifted into his head. His hand slid to his arm where she’d touched it. He hadn’t expected that, a moment of kindness from a woman he’d all but growled at.

He should have given her the attention she deserved. But according to Felicity, he hadn’t a clue how to give of himself, how to pay attention to others.

A knock at the door jerked him up. He opened the door to his mother standing on the stoop, holding tight the cardigan wrapped around her. She had her blonde hair pulled back, and her face looked gaunt and tired.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” He turned on the light and moved aside.

She stepped in, and only then could he see that she’d been crying, her eyes void of makeup, a little bloodshot.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head over and over. “I just keep thinking, what if something had happened? He could have lost an eye. I would never forgive myself if . . .”

Darek drew his mother into his arms. “Shh. I know. And it was an accident, Mom. We can’t hover over him every minute.” But oh, how he wanted to. To wrap the kid up and protect him from life. From bad decisions. From the mistakes of others. Even from his own father’s stupidity.

“He’s so much like you,” his mother said, disentangling herself from his arms. She wiped her cheeks. “I was always terrified you’d fall into the lake and drown. Or go headfirst over your handlebars and lose your teeth. Or go hiking in the woods—”

“And get eaten by bears?”

She gave him a little push. “You know what I mean. Those woods are dangerous. And none of you boys had a lick of fear in you. I call it boy brain. And Tiger seems to have inherited every bit of yours.”

“Um, thanks, Mom?”

She caught his face in her hands. “That’s not a criticism. It’s a warning.”