Chapter One
The nightmare was back. Engines roaring. The fiery crash. Tremendous heat. Stunning pain. Screaming—was it him or someone else? And then the relentless hammer pounding inside his skull. Hunter fought his way back to consciousness, knowing it was the only way to escape. But the pounding didn’t stop when he opened his eyes.
Disoriented by the sunlight spilling through his bedroom windows, he glanced at the clock. It was four o'clock Thursday afternoon. He'd only meant to take a quick nap after his grueling physical therapy session, but he'd slept for over two hours.
He groaned as the pounding started again, finally realizing that someone was at the door to his apartment, and they weren't going away. Rolling out of bed, he pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats, then headed into the living room.
He opened the door with a scowl—and froze.
Bree Larrimer, a thirty-year-old brunette, stood on the threshold, wild-eyed and panicked. Bree was the wife of his best friend—widow, he mentally corrected. Clutching Bree's hand was Olivia, a freckle-faced little girl with the same dark-red hair as her father.
"What’s going on?" he asked, stunned by their appearance. After Gary had died, Bree had taken Olivia and moved back to Nashville, where her parents lived. "Is everything okay?"
"No. It's not okay. I need help," she replied, her voice fast as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
"What can I do?"
"Watch Olivia for me."
"What about your parents?" he asked, alarmed by her request. "I thought you were staying with them."
"I was, but my father is an alcoholic, and my mother is an enabler. I can't trust them to take care of Olivia while I look for work. And I have to work because I need money, and I need a career. I have to make a life for my daughter now. It's all on me."
Her voice cracked with panic and fatigue. Hunter hadn’t seen her in months. Actually, he hadn't seen her since Gary had died. His own recovery had consumed him. Reaching out to Bree had just...hurt too much. Seeing her now, terrified and trembling, pulled at something deep inside him. Guilt.
"Come inside," he said quietly. "We'll talk."
"I’m not coming in," Bree replied in a hard voice. "You won't talk me out of this, Hunter. You owe Gary. You owe me. You said you'd take care of him. That you'd bring him home."
Her voice broke. And so did his heart.
"It will only be for a few days," Bree continued, clearly ready to run before he had time to think.
"Hang on," he said quickly. "I'm not a babysitter, Bree. I don't know anything about kids. What about one of your friends? What about a nanny? I'll pay for one."
"That takes time. And I don’t have time. All my friends are gone. The ones from the base don’t even want to see me. I remind them of what they could lose. I haven't heard from anyone in months, including you."
"I know. I'm sorry. I've been…dealing."
"Well, at least you're still alive to deal," she retorted.
That cut deep. But he didn’t flinch. He deserved every harsh word she had to say, because he'd been in charge of that fatal flight. He'd failed to bring his team home safely. He only wished he'd been the one to die, because there wouldn't have been anyone to suffer like Bree was suffering. He wasn't married. He didn't have a girlfriend. In fact, he'd avoided long-term relationships because he'd grown up watching his mom pace the house every time his dad, who was also in the Marines, was unreachable.
"I shouldn't have said that," Bree added, wiping at her tears with a rough swipe. Then she knelt down and pulled Olivia close. "I’ll be back soon, Livvy. Hunter will take care of you."
Olivia gave her mother a doubtful look. "He looks grumpy and mad."
"Hunter is a good guy. Your daddy's best friend. He'll make sure you're okay. You be good for him, okay?"
"I want to go with you."
"I know. But Mommy needs to find a job and a place for us to live."
"Why can't we live with Nonna and Papa?"
"Because we can't. It's going to be fine. Everything will get better." Bree kissed Olivia again, then stood up, grabbed a pink suitcase, and rolled it inside his front door. "Hold out your hand," she told him.
"Bree. You need to rethink this." He felt desperate to get her to change her mind. "Why don't you both stay? We can work on things together."
"I need time to myself. Please, Hunter. Give me your hand."
He saw the determination in her eyes and held out his hand. Bree put Olivia's tiny hand in his. The little girl gave him an unhappy and suspicious look, but she didn't pull away.
"I love you, Livvy. I'll call you soon," Bree promised, then turned and practically ran toward the parking lot.
"Wait, Bree!" he called. "You can’t just—"
But she was already gone.
"You don't like me, do you?" Olivia asked, drawing his attention as she burst into tears.
He flinched, feeling completely out of his depth. A crying female had always been his kryptonite. He had no idea how to handle all that emotion.
"Is everything all right?" a female voice asked.
He turned to see one of his upstairs neighbors, Emmalyn McGuire, a pretty woman with blonde hair and hazel eyes. She approached him with concern in her gaze.
"I couldn't help overhearing," she continued.
Of course, she couldn't. She was one of his too-friendly neighbors who kept inviting him to things when he just wanted space to be alone.
"Is this your daughter?" Emmalyn asked.
"God, no!"
At his vehement words, Olivia cried louder. He stared down at her in alarm, her sticky little fingers still clinging to his. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Don't cry," he begged.
"I want my mom," Olivia said through her sobs.
He wanted her mom, too. He awkwardly patted at Olivia's shoulder as his gaze met Emmalyn's once more. "She's my friend's daughter. She just got dropped off. And I—uh—you don't know how to make her stop crying, do you?"
Emmalyn came forward and squatted in front of Olivia. "Hi. I'm Emmalyn. What's your name?"
"Livvy," she mumbled in between sobs. "My mommy says I have to stay with him." She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "But he's too grumpy."
"Sometimes people just look grumpy when they're thinking hard," Emmalyn said.
"That's right," he said quickly. "I'm just thinking, Liv."
Olivia gave him a skeptical look, but her sobs slowed down.
"Do you like chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, Livvy?" Emmalyn asked. "I just made some, and they are warm and gooey, just the way I like to eat my cookies. What about you?"
"I like gooey cookies," Livvy said. "Can I have one?"
Emmalyn gave him a questioning look. As far as he was concerned, Livvy could have anything if it would make her stop crying. "Sounds good," he said.
"I live upstairs. If the two of you want to come up, I'm happy to share."
"Do you have milk?" Olivia asked.
"Of course," Emmalyn said. "You can't have cookies without milk."
The last thing he wanted to do was go to Emmalyn's apartment. Actually, that was the second to last thing he wanted to do; the first was taking care of Olivia for however long her mother would be gone.
What he really wanted to do was go back to bed, even if it meant reliving his nightmare. But Olivia had let go of his hand to take Emmalyn's. She already trusted his neighbor more than she trusted him. That stung. But he told himself it was a good thing. Maybe he could get Emmalyn to watch Olivia for a minute while he tried to get Bree on the phone so he could tell her he was not at all equipped to care for a six-year-old child.
"One second," he said. "Let me put some shoes on." He dashed into his bedroom to put on sneakers, wishing he had time for a shower and a change of clothes. But he needed to get Bree on the phone before she got too far away.
After slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his phone and followed Olivia and Emmalyn upstairs. He couldn't blame Olivia for being upset. He wouldn't want to be left with a stranger either, especially not one who looked like he'd been dragged backward through hell, which was basically how he would describe his life for the past seven months.
But Livvy had had a rough time, too. She'd lost her dad, and clearly, the rest of her family was falling apart. He needed to be there for her. He just hadn't expected to have to deal with this situation today after completing a challenging rehab session that had taken a lot out of him, both physically and emotionally. He'd been pressing hard because he would have to take the physical exams required to prove he was physically fit for duty within the next two weeks. Then he'd have to convince the board he was also mentally ready, which seemed just as challenging. His future as a military pilot would be decided in the next month. Focusing on that had been his only priority until now.
Olivia's sudden arrival was an obstacle, a challenge he hadn't expected. But she was here, and he was going to have to deal with her because she was six, and she definitely couldn't take care of herself.
As he followed Emmalyn up the stairs, he realized he'd finally had to say yes to someone in the building after months of rejecting every invitation. He'd moved into Ocean Shores because it was close to Camp Pendleton and the hospital where he'd spent the majority of his time the past seven months. But he hadn't anticipated the complex being so friendly. There were community events every other day, and because the two-story building was set around an outdoor courtyard and pool, with everyone's front door facing that yard, it was difficult to go anywhere without running into someone, without being invited to a pool party or a poker game or a taco night.
He'd always said no, which made him wonder why Emmalyn had offered him a lifeline. He'd never been friendly to her. His grief and trauma since the crash had sent him into a dark hole of depression that had made things like simple greetings almost impossible. He'd just wanted to be left alone.
But he wasn't alone now…
"Here we go," Emmalyn said, interrupting his thoughts as she opened her door and waved them into her apartment.
The contrast between their apartments was immediate and jarring. While his place was sparse and utilitarian—a reflection of his military background and his current state of mind—Emmalyn's was warm and inviting. Soft throw pillows adorned a comfortable couch and matching armchair. Potted plants thrived on every available surface. The walls featured cheerful watercolor paintings, many of the sea and local landmarks. Everything about her apartment was warm and inviting, maybe even a little messy, but it felt like her. She was attractive in a sweet, girl-next-door kind of way, with long blonde hair that was often falling out of a ponytail or a braid.
As Emmalyn took Olivia into her small kitchen, he pulled out his phone and punched in Bree's number. It went straight to voicemail, and he felt a wave of frustration at his inability to fix the impossible situation she'd put him in.
"Bree, it's Hunter. Call me back. We need to talk about this." His voice came out harsher than he intended, and he glanced up to see Emmalyn watching him from the doorway to the kitchen with concern on her face.
"I take it she's not answering," Emmalyn said as he ended the call.
"No."
"I'm not trying to downplay whatever is going on, but maybe a cookie would help?"
Her smile loosened the tense knot in his gut. "Well, it couldn't hurt," he said as he followed her into the kitchen. Olivia sat on a high stool at the counter, already eating her cookie, with a glass of milk in front of her.
His glance moved around the kitchen, noting more colorful touches and whimsical items that were mostly shaped like apples, from the salt and pepper shakers to the napkin holder, and the apple-shaped vase on the adjacent kitchen table that was covered with kid drawings and children's books.
As Emmalyn handed him a cookie on a red plate that was also shaped like an apple, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
"It was a gift from a parent," Emmalyn said. "I swear I don't have an obsession with apples, but a lot of the parents do. I'm a kindergarten teacher."
"An apple for the teacher," he muttered.
"Exactly. And they're kind to think of me at all, so I've decided to embrace the new apple décor I get every year."
"It looks like you bring your work home with you." He tipped his head to the table.
"We did those pictures today. I'm going to hang them tomorrow, but I wanted to look through them since it's a new year and a new group of kids. Do you want some milk to go with your cookie? I also have water or juice."
"No, thanks." He took a bite of the warm cookie, surprised by the chocolate perfection. "This is good." He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten anything sweet, anything just for the pure pleasure of eating. In fact, most days he only ate because he needed the strength to do his rehab.
"You can sit down if you want," Emmalyn said, pointing to the stool next to Olivia.
"Actually, it's good for me to stand."
"How is your leg? I noticed you haven't had your cane for a while."
"It's healed." He saw the questions brimming in Emmalyn's hazel eyes, and the last thing he wanted to do was answer them. Thankfully, Olivia interrupted.
"Can I have another cookie?" she asked.
"One is enough before dinner," Emmalyn answered, not bothering to check with him, although she did immediately give him an apologetic look. "Sorry. Habit. I should have let you respond to that."
"No. You're right. One is enough for a snack."
"But I'm hungry," Olivia protested.
"How about a banana?" Emmalyn suggested.
Olivia sighed. "I don't want a banana."
"Then it sounds like you're full." Emmalyn picked up her own glass of milk from the counter and took a sip.
He was somewhat fascinated by the sight of her drinking milk. He couldn't remember seeing a woman drink milk in a long time—maybe ever. But then, Emmalyn had a wholesomeness about her, an innocence he could probably crush very easily. She was exactly the kind of person he should stay away from because sometimes his dark mood could spill onto others, and she didn't deserve to have her light dimmed.
Olivia didn't deserve that, either. He frowned, wondering again what on earth he was going to do about her.
"When is my mommy coming back?" Olivia asked, looking directly at him for the first time since her mother had left.
"I'm not sure, but she'll let us know."
"Mommy is sad. She cries a lot. She says Daddy is in heaven and he watches over us from the clouds, but I think she wishes he wasn't in the sky."
His chest tightened at Olivia's words. He should have been the one in the clouds—not Gary. His friend had had so much to live for.
"Mommy says if I close my eyes, I can still see him whenever I want," Olivia continued. "I do that a lot."
His heart squeezed again. Olivia should not have to close her eyes to see her dad.
"Are you a mommy?" Olivia asked, turning to Emmalyn.
"No. I don't have any kids of my own, but I'm a teacher at Ravenswood Elementary, so I'm around children every day."
Olivia's eyes lit up. "That's where I'm supposed to go tomorrow. Will I be in your class?"
Emmalyn looked taken aback by Olivia's words. "Well, I don't know. How old are you?"
"Six."
"Then I'm guessing you already finished kindergarten. That's what I teach."
Olivia's eyes filled with disappointment. "I'm in first grade now."
"Well, we have two great first-grade teachers, so you will love whoever you have." Emmalyn's gaze swung from Olivia to him, a question in her eyes. "Did your friend tell you about school?"
"No." The pink suitcase Bree had pushed into his apartment now seemed ominous. How long was she planning to be gone? And why would she have enrolled Olivia in a school nearby if she wasn't going to be away that long?
"I wish I could be in your class," Olivia said with a worried sigh. "I don't know if anyone in first grade will like me."
"You'll make friends, and you're going to love your class, too," Emmalyn quickly reassured Olivia. "In fact, I could go with you both to school tomorrow if that would help."
He wanted to refuse. He preferred to handle problems on his own, to not owe anyone anything. But he owed Gary and Bree, and Emmalyn knew a hell of a lot more about kids than he did. Still, he hesitated, looking back at Olivia. "Did your mother tell you anything else about school or where she was going?" he asked.
Olivia shook her head, her bottom lip quivering once more.
"It's fine," he said quickly, sensing tears were not far away. "Everything will be okay."
"You don't like me, do you?" Olivia asked, giving him an accusatory look.
"Of course, I like you," he said quickly. "I'm your godfather. And your dad and I were best friends. I was at your fourth birthday. I saw you jump off the diving board for the first time, remember?"
Olivia's tension eased. "Mommy didn't think I could do it, but Daddy did."
"He was right." Gary had also believed in him, probably more than he should have. And he needed to take care of Olivia the way Gary would expect him to. Which meant… His gaze moved to Emmalyn. "It might be easier if we go to school with you tomorrow."
"Then let's do that." She paused. "It's possible Olivia might need some things for school."
"There was a suitcase that came with her. Maybe Bree packed whatever she needs."
"Hopefully. What about food for tonight, breakfast tomorrow, or her school lunch?"
He frowned at her very practical but also unsettling questions. "I don't have much food in my apartment," he admitted.
"Then you'll need to get groceries for both of you. That small suitcase didn't look big enough to hold a backpack or a lunchbox, so you might need to pick those up as well. I can help you make a list."
"Why would you want to?" he couldn't help asking. "I'm sure you have your own life, your own problems to worry about."
"At the moment, I'm problem-free, but there was a time when I was in Olivia's situation, and if there's something I can do to make her life easier, I'd like to do it."
Her words caught him off guard and the shadows that suddenly passed through her golden eyes made him wonder if there was more to her than the sunny smile she usually wore.
"It's up to you, of course," Emmalyn added. "You don't seem like someone who accepts help. But there aren't any strings. Whatever I do is for Olivia, not for you. Does that make it easier?"
Surprisingly, it did. "All right. I'll take the help. Thank you." He blew out a breath at the end of his statement.
"That was really hard for you to say, wasn't it?" she asked with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
He had a feeling he was going to regret taking her help because it would probably take him down a path he didn't want to go. But he had no choice. "Just don't make me say it again."
