Page 11 of The Ones We Fight For

“Not the point.” Walker shook his head in admonishment.

“So that’s a yes.” His nephew gave him a cocky grin.

“We are going to address your whole Ladykillercarter007 email address later,” Walker chastised, ignoring the musings of a teenage boy who seriously needed to learn how to think with his head and not his… other things.

“Oh-two, not double-oh seven,” Carter corrected.

“That’s not as cool as double-oh seven, but, again, not the point.”

“At least I didn’t use sixty-nine.”

Oh, yes, thank fuck for small mercies.

Walker blew out a breath. “Carter, I need you to be serious for two seconds. You can’t forge my signature on documents. I can’t not know where you are, and you can’t ignore my phone calls. It’s not okay. It gives me that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that we could lose you too. Without even mentioning how dangerous it is, you can’t be sitting on the curb where your parents died and expect me to think you're okay. ” He tilted his head toward Carter and saw his Adam’s apple dip in his throat.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did it. I just wanted to… feel them again? Like maybe I could tell if my dad was angry that I skipped school?” The tears started to slip down Carter’s cheeks. He reached up to angrily wipe them away, turning his head to look out the window. “It’s stupid.”

“You are not stupid. If it helps, I can assure you your dad would have been pissed. Actually, I guarantee he’s looking down right now and seething.”

Walker laughed, and Carter looked back toward him, the hint of a smile playing on his own lips. “But… he would also say that all of that,” Walker gestured in the direction they came from, “is not the way to feel him. I think you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“Not me. A therapist. A counselor. Hell, literally anyone who knows what they’re doing better than I do.”

“You aren’t doing so bad,” Carter murmured.

The urge to argue almost won out. Walker did not, for one second, believe that he was an admirable guardian. It was glaringly obvious to him that he wasn’t anyone’s knight in shining armor. But if his nieces and nephews needed to believe that he was somehow holding it together, he would give that to them. He could pretend to have the kind of confidence and stability of someone like their parents if that was what made his family feel safe.

“Thanks.”

Chapter 4

Talia

It had been a week since Talia’s last Walker sighting, which made it entirely possible they could never cross paths again. Archwood wasn’t a big town, but it wasn’t small, either. There were just enough people to go your whole life without meeting some that lived there while simultaneously running into everyone you knew all the time. And yet, even with no hint that she would ever see him again, Talia found herself dwelling on her conversations with Walker and the emotions that gnawed at her after.

Walker was a decidedly irritating person. Talia had given herself the mental pep talk to play nice so many times it was becoming borderline psychotic. His current stage in life was heartbreaking, to say the least, but it didn’t give him free license to be a dick to her. If she could have chosen her family, she would have cast a different man for the role of her father forever ago. Walker could just ignore her and pretend she didn’t exist, but instead he acted as if her only reason to get a coffee was to stalk him. Granted, she did offer to stalk his nephew, but he should have been grateful for her assistance, not bitter and rude.

Neshama sheli, you must learn to be the picture of kindness and grace.

Talia’s mother always popped into her head at inopportune times, the ever-present angel on her shoulder. Lydia Cohen was the epitome of everything she preached, but in the end, all it had gotten her was a sorry excuse for a husband and a short life.

"No thanks." Talia shook her head. "If Walker’s going to be an ass, two can play at that game."

“You going home soon? You do realize it’s one a.m., right?” Amala, the store manager and Talia’s one and only friend since moving to town, popped her head into Talia’s office.

“Yeah, in a little bit. I’m balancing the books. Why are you still here? It’s your day off tomorrow, or I guess I should say today.” Talia blanched, realizing the time. She could have sworn that she saw Amala leave earlier when the store closed.

“I was craving a burger, and I saw your car still out front.” Amala lifted one shoulder and patted her barely pregnant belly. “My husband’s with Jayla, who will hopefully still be asleep when I get home, or there will be hell to pay.”

Jayla, Amala’s eight-year-old daughter, was a little ball of joy who had more confidence in the tip of her pinky finger than Talia had ever had. The joy in children was often something that dwindled with age and the wearing down of life. The longing Talia felt to witness that in a child of her own was still there, despite knowing it would never happen for her, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. She wasn’t destined to be a mother, but that wouldn’t stop her from surrounding herself with kids all the time.

Amala had already taught Talia how to put castor oil in Jayla’s hair, and Jayla had taught Talia the newest viral TikTok dance when Amala invited her over for dinner one night. Talia enjoyed every second of it. Her dance skills weren’t terrible, but her ability to do hair was. Talia could never braid her own hair, let alone someone else’s. The craziest updo she ever did was a ponytail.

Jayla’s hair ended up looking like a five-year-old or maybe a bird had braided it. Amala promptly redid it while they all giggled hysterically through tears over the lopsided mess Talia had created. But that, that was the moment Talia decided moving had been the right decision. She had something here in Archwood that New York City hadn’t given her since her mother had passed. Maybe she could choose her family.

“I promise I’m going to leave soon, I just have to finish this.” Talia held her hands up in defense, noting the motherly look of reprimand on Amala’s face. “I swear.”

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