13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Clint woke up early the next morning. He wanted to be on the first ferry over to Seattle, so as much as he didn't want to leave Brooke alone in his big, warm bed, he had to.

She seemed to be okay on her feet, but even if she wasn't, Jagger would come over later to help get Talia out the door to the school bus. He could assist Brooke with the stairs if she needed it. Not that Clint liked the idea of his brother carrying Brooke around like some lumberjack, but after their night together, he figured he didn't have anything to worry about with Brooke.

Besides the obvious, of course.

There was no point wasting a trip over to the mainland, so he loaded up the cube van with cases, kegs and swag, and double-checked the delivery route with Bennett before he hopped in the truck and was on the road before seven o'clock.

Last night with Brooke played over and over in his mind as he sat in the line for the ferry with the rest of the islanders. Quite a few people worked in Seattle but lived on San Camanez so they commuted every day. It wasn't that long of a ferry ride, but the idea of not being able to just roll out of bed and walk to work was about as appealing to Clint as an appendectomy without anaesthetic.

She forgave him for his idiocy of running away—twice.

She had no reason to, and yet she did. Because she was pure sweetness.

Well, sweetness with a whole lot of spice. But he liked the spice. He liked that she didn't take crap from him or anyone else. That she wasn't afraid to ask for what she wanted, or say what she needed, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

She was stubborn, though. Fuck, was she ever stubborn.

That just made him like her more.

And he couldn't forget the way her body melted into the hardening contours of his, fitting into all the places he never realized were so empty, as if they were just waiting to be filled by her.

They fell asleep like that. With his body curled up around hers, and he awoke on his back with her leg curled over his, her hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder.

He took a long moment to just watch her as she slept. To press his nose into her hair and envision a life where they woke up like this every day. Then they'd head downstairs and have breakfast with Talia before he headed to the brewery and Brooke ...

Brooke what?

Brooke caught a helicopter to Hollywood for the day? She'd shoot movies until four o'clock then be home by six? How long did it take to fly from Seattle to Hollywood anyway?

He was living in a dream world, and not just because he figured it'd be easy to take a helicopter to L.A. every day, but because he thought he and Brooke had something more than what rested on the surface. More than attraction to each other.

Even if there was more, there was no way it would work.

And he had to resign himself to that and just enjoy what they had for as long as they had it. He just had to make sure Talia stayed ignorant. The last thing he needed was a broken-hearted eight-year-old moping around the house all summer.

He boarded the ferry and scrolled his phone as they sailed across the calm channel that spanned between Seattle and San Camanez. The water glittered like a diamond blanket in the rising morning sun, and seagulls squawked overhead as they rode the warm breeze.

After they docked, he made three deliveries that were within a few blocks of the ferry terminal, then he headed further inland.

A brief stop at the care home where their father lived was next on the agenda, though Clint wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

He loved his dad, but the man was deteriorating quickly and every visit just made his decline all the clearer. They rarely took the kids anymore since usually one of them was sick and if Clint's dad got sick, that would be the end of him for sure.

It was just so painful to see a man who, not too long ago, had been so incredibly strong and, with it, suddenly reduced to a frail shadow of his former self.

Clint emailed the care home the night before to let them know he was coming. He planned to have breakfast with his dad before going out on a few more deliveries, and then finally picking up Rocco at the airport at two o'clock.

He found a parking spot big enough for his cube van on the side of the road near the care home. No parking stalls inside the parking lot would be big enough, so he didn't even bother trying. Then he hoofed it to the front entrance, reaching it just in time to hold open the door for a woman in her late forties who was carrying a big tray of what looked like cupcakes.

"Thank you," she said. "It's my grandfather's birthday today, so we're throwing him a little party in one of the event rooms."

"No problem," Clint replied. "Wish him a happy birthday."

"I will! He's one hundred and three today."

"Wow!"

The woman took off in the opposite direction, and Clint checked in at the front desk before making his way toward his father's room.

He never knew what he would walk into when he went to see his dad. His dad could be in a great mood and be fine with the fact that he didn't recognize Clint, or he could be quick to anger and tell Clint to take a hike. Clint got called Gerald (his uncle's name) a lot.

He reached the door and gave it a gentle rap with one knuckle.

"Come in," came a grizzled old voice.

Clint turned the knob and opened the door to his father's room to find his dad fully dressed and sitting on his bed with his hands clasped in his lap. He glanced up at Clint. "Hello. Who are you?"

Clint pressed his lips together for a moment. Sometimes his dad was fine when Clint told him the truth. Other times it was too much to handle, and he got angry and aggressive.

"How old are you?" Clint asked gently.

His dad's thick gray brows knitted together. "I'm thirty-six. How old are you?"

Shit.If Clint told his dad that he was Clint, his dad would probably try to start an argument. How could Clint be forty-four if his dad was only thirty-six?

"I'm thirty-eight. I'm Gerald, don't you remember me?"

His dad's blue eyes went wide, then a smile broke out on his weathered face. "Gerald! Oh my gosh! I barely recognized you. You've changed your hair." He pried himself off the bed with a grunt and a groan, then made his way over to Clint, wrapping him up in a big hug. "How is Martha? How are the twins?"

"Everyone is happy and healthy," Clint said. "How about you, Peter? How are Janet and the boys?"

His dad heaved a sigh. "We're having another baby, if you believe it. Number four."

Clint smiled and patted his father on the back. "That's wonderful news. We need to celebrate. How about breakfast?"

His dad smiled even wider. "Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you. How about The Diamond Diner?"

"I'm afraid that place closed down a few years ago." They headed for the door.

His dad stopped short and glared at Clint like Clint had three heads. "It did not. I was there last week. Got a BLT on rye with the corn chowder. Have you lost your damn mind?"

Clint chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, uh ... silly me. Must be thinking of another diner. But anyway, there's a great place called the Lilac and Lavender Bistro that I think you'll really like. I thought we'd try there. It's also walking distance so we can get some exercise."

His father settled down and nodded. "Sure. Though you can never go wrong at The Diamond."

"No, you can't. But it's always nice to try something new."

His father nodded, and they walked through the hallways toward the front door. "I'm not familiar with this hotel," his dad said as Clint held the door open for him. "It was strange waking up not at home with Janet. Only been gone one night and I already miss her terribly."

Clint patted his dad on the back. "I know what you mean." His mind immediately went to Brooke, who was back on the island, in his home. He'd only been away from her for a few hours, and he already missed her terribly.

He knew that he and Jacqueline didn't have the kind of love that his parents had, and if he was being honest, he knew they didn't almost from the beginning. But he tried anyway. He tried for that kind of love with her. Maybe that's the kind of love you shouldn't have to try for, though.

They walked the three blocks to the bistro. It was a slow walk, since his dad was getting up there in age and walked with a bit of a hunch now, but they arrived and thankfully, there was a free table.

Clint settled his father at the table, then went back up to the counter and placed their order. He'd been to the bistro a few times, and their menu changed with the seasons. He ordered his dad the harvest breakfast with yam hash browns, poached eggs on sourdough and fried tomatoes, while grabbing himself the everything but the kitchen sink breakfast wrap. Then he ordered them each a coffee and greens smoothie and took their coffees over to the table while they waited for their food.

His father admired the floral mural painted on the wall. "This is very lovely. Don't see this kind of thing at The Diamond."

Clint smirked and set his father's coffee down in front of him, then took a seat across in the booth. "How'd you know Janet was the one?"

His dad's brows pinched together in thought. "You having issues with Martha?"

"Oh, no, no, no, nothing like that. Martha and I are solid. I'm just ... curious." Clint quickly wracked his brain for more information about his uncles. Gerald and Martha had been married for fifty-eight years now and were still in love and living in their family home. Gerald had a scare with prostate cancer a few years ago, but he was healthy as a horse on their ranch in Idaho, now.

Oliver was the middle brother—Clint's dad was the baby of the three boys—and if he remembered correctly, Oliver didn't marry until he was closer to forty. That could work in his favor for this conversation.

"Oliver came to me. Guess he has a new lady in his life, and he was just asking how I knew that Martha was the one. Now I'm asking how you knew Janet was the one."

Clint's dad nodded in understanding, then sipped his coffee and removed his tweed hat, setting it beside him on the table. "It was just a feeling I had in my gut. You know? Deep in my belly and in my bones. I saw her, and I just knew my life would never be right unless I went over and talked to her. And after talking to her, I ..." His smile was so full of love Clint had to make fists beneath the table to keep his emotions in check. "I went home, called Mom and said I found the woman I was going to marry. I was just sure. She keeps me on my toes. She challenges me. She excites me. And I knew after just one conversation that she has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met."

Something wonderful and warm filled Clint's chest hearing such true and beautiful things about his mother. But it also made him sad. That his parent's love had been cut short because of their illnesses. At least the time they had together had been full of love and joy, as well as five rowdy boys.

"I still catch myself looking at her sometimes, wondering how I got so damn lucky, you know? How she, a goddess, fell for a schmuck like me. Maybe she's the crazy one, but if that's the case, thank God." His father chuckled, but it quickly turned into a cough.

Panic flooded Clint, and he got up from his seat to grab his dad some water.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," his dad protested when Clint returned and rubbed his dad's back. "Just swallowed my spit wrong."

Their breakfast and smoothies were brought to them shortly after and they dove in.

Even though his dad thought Clint was his Uncle Gerald, it was one of the better visits he'd had with his dad. His dad spoke so fondly of Clint and his brothers. Called them wild heathens, but there was so much love and pride in his blue eyes as he said it that he knew it was in jest.

"You're lucky you just have the twin girls," his dad went on, spearing a piece of yam with his fork. "They don't pee everywhere like boys do. I caught Clinton pissing in the damn houseplant the other day. Said Bennett was in the bathroom and that he couldn't wait."

Clint snorted. "At least he didn't just pee on the floor."

"The boy could have gone outside!" his dad exclaimed. "We have over an acre of land. Why didn't he pick a tree outside to water? We're in the middle of a freaking drought, as it is. Could have used a bit of piss on Janet's rhodo, anyway."

Clint chuckled. "Boys!"

"And then there's Wyatt. Can't keep clothes on that child to save his life. We took them to the mall, and he stripped down to nothing in the food court and was running around with his tallywacker out, flashing the poor old ladies who were playing Keno. Then he tried to go swimming in the water fountain." He sipped his coffee. "Janet's worried he's going to be a stripper when he's older. The way he takes his clothes off with such flare and enthusiasm, I wouldn't put it past him. And he's such a charmer, too. He'll take his clothes off, then charm the money out of everyone's pockets."

Clint's face hurt from laughing and smiling so much. It'd been so long since he'd talked with his dad like this. So long since he'd heard stories of his childhood. It was the perfect salve to soothe his conflicted and tattered heart.

They finished their meal and their coffee way too soon, and Clint had to get back out to his deliveries. He wished for even just a minute that his dad remembered who he was and that they could have a real conversation. He wanted to tell his dad about Talia, about the business, and even about Brooke. Ask his advice and how he should handle their growing affections for each other.

But there was no sense asking for more than the universe had already given him, which was a beautiful breakfast with his father—even if his dad thought Clint was someone else.

They took their time walking back to the care home, and Clint wrapped his arm around his dad's shoulders and pulled him into a side hug. "I've missed you," he said, pressing a kiss to his dad's head over the top of his hat. "Missed this."

"Then you need to leave Idaho more often and come visit."

"Yeah, maybe I will."

With his arm still around his dad, they walked back to the care home in companionable silence. He saw his dad to his room, made sure he was settled then pulled him into a long hug. "You behave, okay?" he said, still squeezing his dad's slender frame.

"Never," his dad replied with a raspy chuckle. "What's the fun in that?"

Clint blinked back tears, the sting behind his eyes a reminder of how precious this time with his father was. His throat was tight, but he fought past it and released his father, smiling through the pain. "Give Janet and the boys my love."

"And you do the same for Martha and the twins."

Clint nodded, forced another smile and turned to go.

"I love you," his dad called after him just as he reached the door.

Clint spun around. "I love you, too."

They shared a smile for several heartbeats before his father nodded, broke eye contact and turned to his crossword puzzle on the table.

Clint took that as his sign and left, fighting back more tears as he headed down the hallway to the front door.

He couldn't dwell on the negative. It'd been a fantastic visit. That was what he needed to focus on. His dad helped provide Clint with some clarity about his feelings for Brooke.

Because, just like his dad, when he first saw Clint's mom, Clint was drawn to Brooke. He already missed her, and he couldn't stop thinking about her.

He finished his deliveries, then made his way to the airport. He'd always been very good at time management and the fact that he reached the airport at exactly two o'clock didn't come as a surprise. Rocco would still have to exit the plane and go through customs, but that just allowed Clint the opportunity to call the house and check in on things.

It rang six times before the answering machine kicked in—yes, he still had an answering machine.

"Hey, Brooke, it's me. You can pick up if you're close to the phone."

He paused for a moment.

"Or I can call back."

Another ten seconds passed, and he was about to hang up when an out of breath, "Hello!" burst through the other end. "Clint? Sorry, I had to run to the phone."

"You shouldn't be running."

"I didn't ... not really. I butt shuffled, but I did it really fast. Where are you? Do you have Rocco with you?"

He glanced up at the screen with all the flights listed. The one Rocco was on had just landed. "I don't have him yet. His plane just landed. But I'm at the airport."

She exhaled a loud sigh. "I can't wait to see him. When do you think you'll be home?"

Even though it was his home that she was talking about, it felt oddly terrific hearing it from her in that way. Like it was her home, too. Because for the moment, it was. He liked the sound of it. He more than liked it.

"Well, if he's not too tired, I think we'll go to the police station and he can see if they have any information, then we'll head to the ferry. I can call you again when we're in the line."

"Okay ..." she didn't sound confident. What wasn't she confident in?

"What's wrong?"

"Just ... um ... Don't be surprised if the police are useless, okay? I know Rocco won't be. But I honestly doubt they're even still looking for me, let alone the person who tried to kill me."

What a weird thing to say. "Why do you say that?"

"Just ... it doesn't matter. Just don't be surprised, okay?"

"Okay ..."

She hid something. A distrust in cops. she'd displayed that early on. The moment she woke up after he found her and he suggested going to the police, she'd been adamant about not involving them. Then there was that email exchange between her and her brother about being raised by an asshole.

Had her dad been a cop?

A dirty cop, maybe?

He didn't want to push her for answers, but maybe some one-on-one time with Rocco would give him the answers he needed without having to unearth any unnecessary trauma for Brooke. Because one way or another, the police would have to get involved.

He and Rocco couldn't go full Batman vigilante with this kind of thing and operate outside the letter of the law. First of all, that was dangerous as fuck, and he had a kid at home he needed to think about; and second of all, he didn't even know where to begin when it came to being a vigilante.

He was a marine and used to following orders. Used to following protocol and operating in the best interest of his team and the task. But not even being a marine had prepared him for trying to uncover a wanna-be murderer. His detective show obsession did more for him in that department.

But this was real life. Big fucking difference.

"Can you call me when you have Rocco?" she asked. "I want to hear his voice."

"Of course. I'm sure he'll be eager to hear your voice, too."

"Thank you for doing this, Clint. I don't know what I'd do without you."

A sharp pinch in his chest made him suck in a quick breath. "Well, good thing you don't have to worry about that," he said jovially. "I'll call you once I have your brother."

"Thank you."

Then they said goodbye and disconnected the call.

Even though he felt like he really knew this woman—at least the parts that mattered like her integrity, morals, soul and goodness—he still had so much to learn. She was a mystery, and it seemed like she was content staying like that.

Even though he liked mysteries, he didn't want to be in a relationship with one. He wanted to know the person he was with. Inside and out. Know their quirks, their secrets and how they liked their coffee in the morning. He wanted to know it all.

You're not IN a relationship with her, though. It's temporary, remember?

He ignored his conscience. Yeah, maybe they weren't in a conventional relationship, but they were in a sexual one. A sexual one with feelings and chemistry.

He'd never been the type of person to not know who he was sleeping with. Whether it was for just one night or longer. And he wanted to know Brooke.

Would he ever know it all with her, though? Or would she keep him at an arm's length forever?

It's only day three. Give the woman some time.

She'd also been through a pretty traumatic ordeal and was still dealing with the aftermath of it both physically and mentally. She was letting him in as much as she could, and he needed to calm the fuck down. She said she trusted him, and he needed to show her that she wasn't wrong in doing that.

He made his way to the arrivals section of the airport and waited. Brooke had located Rocco's Instagram profile on Clint's phone and showed him enough pictures that he'd be able to pick the guy out of a crowd pretty easily. He was essentially the male version of Brooke. Blond, green eyes, tall.

With every surge of new arrivals, Clint's nerves grew more and more frayed, distracting him from his palpable fear of crowds.

What if Rocco got detained? What if he didn't get on his flight? What if he was actually the mastermind behind Brooke's attempted murder and here they were bringing him in to finish the job?

He was studying Rocco's face on one of his Instagram pictures when another wave of arrivals funneled through. Clint lifted his head and spotted Rocco immediately. A nervous, but also hopeful look creased the young man's face. He clued into Clint's eyes on him and gave a squint and head tilt to ask the question.

"Rocco?" Clint asked, holding out his hand, since he already had his answer.

Rocco's mouth split into a big smile. "Clint?"

Clint nodded, and the two shook hands.

"How is she?" Rocco asked, jumping right to the point.

"Alive. Anxious to see you and going stir-crazy being stuck in my house."

"Why is she stuck?" Rocco asked, angling his head to the side so they could go wait for his luggage on the carousel.

"She cut up her feet pretty badly on the rocks and barnacles. So she can't really walk anywhere. I think she's mostly healed now. But the first day, she said fuck my injured feet and went traipsing up a hillside with my daughter and her cousins."

Rocco snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"She also can't be out in public, though. She wants the world to still think she's dead until we figure out who pushed her off the boat." He made sure to bring his voice down so only Rocco could hear him. Brooke Barker was an A-list celebrity, and her disappearance was all over the news. The likelihood of a passerby understanding who they were talking about was high and something he wanted to avoid. "She wanted you to call her as soon as you landed."

Rocco accepted Clint's phone, which Clint had already dialed for him.

The moment Brooke answered, tears erupted into Rocco's eyes and relief streaked across his face.

"So good to hear your voice," Rocco choked out. "I just ... I can't even ... I know. I know. I don't know what I would have done if ... yeah, I know."

Clint wished that he could hear what they were talking about, but he didn't want to pry. This was a private moment between sister and brother. But Brooke seemed to be speaking quickly because Rocco could barely get a word in.

"I know that," Rocco went on. "I already know. Yep. Not super confident, but you know, it'd look weird if I didn't, right?" He listened for a moment, nodding and going, "Mhmm." Then he glanced at Clint and pointed to a red suitcase that was coming toward them on the carousel. "That's mine, do you mind?"

Clint nodded and stepped between the crowd to grab Rocco's bag. By the time he returned, Rocco was no longer on the phone and handed it back to Clint.

"She okay?" Clint asked.

Rocco nodded. "You know, as well as anybody can be when they've gone through what she has."

Clint grunted, and they made their way to the front doors.

They were on the road in no time, and Clint punched into his GPS the best route to the police station.

It was a thirty-minute drive. Hopefully that was enough time to get the skinny on Brooke from Rocco and finally find out why she didn't trust the police.

Otherwise, their meeting with the cops would be very awkward indeed.