Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) (15 page)

Breakfast was gone, Francis had left, and Frank had cleared the table. With his back to Dax as he washed dishes, Frank spoke, “So, son. You want to give me an outline of what’s going on or do you want me to guess? Or do you want me to continue to wash dishes and keep my damn mouth shut?”

And that’s why I love this man like a father.
Frank gave Dax the choice if he wanted to talk or not, letting Dax take the lead. Either way, Frank would respect it. And if he chose to talk, Frank wouldn’t give unwanted advice; he’d make that Dax’s choice, too.

Sparing Frank the intimate details, Dax highlighted his relationship with Stacy to date, only telling what was necessary where Hank was concerned. That was Stacy’s story to tell, not his.

Frank listened intently, nodding every so often, but not turning around. Dax took note that the dishes were done, and Frank was drying his hands. “Do you want advice, son, or are you just looking to unburden yourself and work it out on your own?”
Just as I expected.

“I’d like to hear your thoughts. I value your wisdom, you know that.” Dax rose to rinse his mug as Frank turned around. The older man’s eyes glittered with unshed tears and a look of pride graced his face. As Dax placed his mug in the sink, Frank clapped him on the back. “Then, walk with me. I’ve acquired an old Triumph that needs some TLC and I could use an extra set of hands.

Dax trailed Frank to the garage. This was usually how it went when someone came to Frank for advice or just a talk. It seemed to Dax that Frank kept these projects around strictly for the purpose of advising his
sons
on life. Dax had never witnessed Frank working on anything in the garage for the sake of fixing it or working alone. It was male bonding at its finest.

Dax grabbed a wrench and waited for Frank to formulate his thoughts. “How much do you love her, son?”

Clueless didn’t begin to describe it. Dax was lost. What did Frank mean by how much?

“Don’t give me that look, it’s a simple enough question. How much do you love her? Do you love her just enough to accept less than her whole heart or do you love her so damned much your soul demands you wring every single drop of love from hers? See, simple. How much?”

It took Dax some time to comprehend what Frank meant. And Frank, as always, just shut up and let Dax puzzle it out. So much in his life suddenly made sense. He
had
loved Sam, but he had loved her just enough—just enough to be content with what she gave him. His soul didn’t thirst for what she didn’t freely give. It was different with Stacy. Every fiber of his being cried out for everything—every single thing she had to give, not just what she was willing to either, but to wring out every ounce.

Thor’s heavy hammer.
It hit him like a like an uppercut thrown by
The Champ
. That’s why he left. Stacy had not given him everything. She held something back and that was unacceptable to his heart. The body and mind were willing, the heart and soul were not. Legendary patience had nothing to do with it. The heart had made a demand and he unknowingly obeyed.

Standing and depositing the wrench in the tool box, Dax scrubbed to grease from his hands. He dried them, looked Frank in the eye for a moment, then embraced the only real father he’d ever known. “So damned much. So. Damned. Much.” Frank returned his embrace and waited until Dax broke contact to speak.

“Then, she deserves to know that. She’s holding back for her own personal reasons, but it’s not fair to hold her accountable, and make no mistake son, you are. Even if it’s not a conscious decision, you are, and that will destroy a budding relationship, especially with a headstrong lass like our Stacy.”

“But I told her I loved her, repeatedly. How can she not know?”

Frank gave Dax a look that reminded him of Francis. That,
boy you ain’t got the sense God gave a Junebug, do ya?
look. “Existence and quantity are two different animals. People say they love people all the time. Most mean it; some don’t. But the word itself has been diminished by overuse. People love ice cream. People love reality TV. Hell, you love that Nickelback…”

“Nobody admits to loving Nickelback, old timer.”

“Calm down, slugger, your secret is safe with me. My point is, the word doesn’t convey depth. Just as you’ve loved before, so has she. We use our past experiences as a litmus for new ones. So, love to her may not mean the same as love does to you. She needs to know how much skin you’ve got in the game before you can expect her to understand the prize she’s playing for.”

Did Francis just inhabit Frank’s body?
That round-about talk and shit wasn’t Frank’s way as a rule, but it happened to be exactly what Dax needed. Stacy needed to know the stakes before he could fault her for holding back.

“Thanks. You’ve always been a father to me, and I can’t thank you enough for all the times you’ve set me straight. Now, more than ever.” The words left Dax’s mouth without thought.

A choked reply, short and sweet followed, “Always, son.”

With a renewed sense of hope, Dax rode home on autopilot and had fired up the forge before it’d even registered what he was doing. Something compelled him to finish the blade he’d been working on for quite some time. It was another gift for Stacy, but unlike the table, this one was for her and her alone. Maybe it was the innate need he had to protect her that swung the hammer that shaped the steel. Perhaps it was something else, something more symbolic and primitive, either way, it was finally done.

When the metal was cool, he slid it into the sheath and held it to his heart for a moment. The ringing of his landline almost caused him to drop it. Shaking himself from his own head was damn near impossible when the dots started connecting in reality. By the time the astronomical significance of its ringing hit him, it had stopped.

It had to be Sam. It was the same number they’d had when they were together. He hadn’t changed it since she left. When he moved, he had it transferred in hopes she would try to contact him. It had never rung as long as he’d lived in that house.

He tripped over his own two feet to lift the receiver from its cradle. “Hello, Sam? Are you there?” But she wasn’t. All that greeted him was a buzzing that taunted him with missing possibly the most important call of his life.

Yanking the cell from his jacket pocket, which hung by the door, he saw a flurry of missed calls and texts. Scrolling and reading as fast as he could, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Chuck had already made contact with Sam and she would call him during her slotted time.

“DAMN IT!”

Dax cursed and slammed the sheathed blade into the wall, letting it drift from his hands to land softly in a pile of rags and towels. The blade forgotten and his anger under control, Dax returned his attention to his cell. After reading the text, he gave Chuck a call for the rundown. Chuck answered, but before he could finish his hello, Dax begged, “Tell me this is for real, I’m having a hard time believing what I’m reading.”

“Yes, man, it’s for real. I wasn’t planning on making direct contact, but it was what she wanted and how it played out. I was following a lead to Macy. I found the old lady, Adelaide Jerkins, Macy was staying with while Sam is in rehab. The old gal slipped and fell last week. Admitted into the hospital for a broken hip. Too drugged out to chat with me much, but I did meet her daughter who was looking after Macy and not happily so, while her mom is unable.”

“Did you say Jerkins? I never even thought to check with them. They were family friends of Sam’s when she was growing up, but I assumed that Old Addy, the only one to move away, was too old or had passed.” Dax felt a lead ball form in the pit of his stomach for not looking up the Jerkins’. He knew Sam would turn to them if she got in a bind, but shit, Addy was living the AARP life when they were in kindergarten. Dax just assumed…
Really, Dax, you should’ve known that old lady would still be kicking and screaming.
Memories came flooding back. Addy was the rowdiest woman he knew. She never acted her age and was always Sam’s protector. “Damn it. I probably could’ve saved myself years if I had just thought of Addy.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, man, the lady I met came over on the Mayflower. Shit, if she hadn’t told me I was a hot slice of beefcake, asked me for a sponge bath, then pinched my ass from her hospital bed, I would’ve sworn she was dead. The important thing is, Macy is coming home. I visited Sam at the request of Addy’s daughter. Sam had paperwork in place for Macy to come to you if anything happened to her or Addy, but the daughter didn’t know. Apparently, she doesn’t give a damn about the mom and only came to take care of Macy because the hospital called her as emergency contact when they admitted Addy. Addy is bribing her to stay, from what little I could get from the old horn dog before the meds kicked in.”

“Home.” Dax breathed the word and let it fill his heart with warmth. “And Sam wants this? You’re sure. I know what your text said, but I don’t understand.”

“Short version. Sam had felt bad for a long time, according to her, she didn’t know how to approach you and the longer she waited, the harder it got. Then came a back injury from a car accident and the prescription painkillers. When that wasn’t enough, she turned to alcohol. During her last clean streak, she had legal documents drawn up in case something happened to her, but she didn’t know how to get in touch or how to take that step, you know. She was blown away when I told her you kept the same number all these years just for her. She seemed to be in a really good place in her recovery, and for what it’s worth, she regrets what she stole from you and Macy. There is more to the story she wants to tell you herself, but, bottom line, she wants you to pick up Macy and bring her home. Addy told me where to find the papers and I met your daughter. She’s beautiful.”

Dax was too stunned to speak or even stand. He fell to his ass on the insulated floor and cried into the phone. “This is really happening, my Macy Bug is coming home. What if she hates me? What if…?”

“She doesn’t, Dax. I’ve spoken with her, we spent a few hours talking, but that’s her story to tell. I’m waiting for you at the air strip with Andy’s plane. When you gather yourself together, meet me there.”

They said their goodbyes, but Dax would be hard-pressed to remember them. He was in a total catatonic state—confused but relieved, shocked but ecstatic.
Stacy
. That word whipped through his mind like a hurricane. So much he need to say, to hear. So much up in the air where she was concerned, and now he was bringing a child into this storm that had become his life. Where did they stand? Could Stacy give him all now? If not, did he have the balls to walk away until she could? He had to nut-up, for Macy’s sake. He couldn’t bring a child into an unstable relationship. It wasn’t fair to her. Hell, nothing about this mess was fair.

Still sitting on the floor, he dialed Stacy. She didn’t answer, so he left voicemail after voicemail. His biggest fear was she was avoiding his calls and not just busy. There was nothing he could do now but get cleaned up and go get his daughter. Stacy had to make her own choices, and if they involved him and Macy, he would have the life he wanted, and if they didn’t, he and his daughter would forge a new life that he could live with because at least he’d be with Macy.

A
fter what felt
like hours of self-reflection, Stacy called her brother. John came over with two tubs of ice cream, tequila, and the best set of ears known to man. If anyone could pull her head out of her ass, it was John. He was her rock and, of course, Dax’s champion. John had grown close to Dax over the last year, too, and wanted them both to be happy.

As shitty as it started, it was turning out to be a great day, on a deeper level. Stacy hadn’t been this honest with herself, or John, in years. The exposure and self-examination did them both good.

“No shots for you, big brother?” John wasn’t much of a drinker, never had been, but he never shied away from Cabo shots with her when they needed to get to the meat and potatoes of the matter. Something was up and Stacy wanted to know exactly what. “Spill. You’ve listened to me drone on and on about myself, your turn.”

“Nothing to spill, little sis, I’ve gotta head to Alabama with Michael in the morning. I’m just along for the ride, but I don’t think it wise to tie one on tonight, but you enjoy, sounds like you need it.”

“Half-truth, big brother, half-truth.” Stacy would wager the thing occupying his mind started with a G and ended with an
us,
but she would let it slide for now, because she couldn’t really listen and be there for him with all the crap in her own head right now.

She poked him in the ribs playfully and almost upended herself off the couch. “Damn it,” she slurred, not because she was angry about tilting sideways, but because of the lyrics running through her head.
Tequila just hit me
. Lyrics by Nickelback, which of course, brought her brain back to Dax. “How can I be in love with a man that likes Nickelback? Nickelback? Hey, I keep tipping over, is that why they call it getting tipsy?”

John took the tequila to the kitchen and cleaned up their ice cream bowls. Stacy rose to follow, probably to argue, but she forgot what about by the time she staggered over to the end table where he set her phone.