Page 1 of Under His Control

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LIAM

Ispent the last several years on planes and flying off to all kinds of locations. Most were dangerous destinations. The missions were for combat or to offer backup for those fighting. My fellow passengers were the other members of my troop.

But no flight had ever given me so much terror and confusion as this one.

“She is justadorable!” the gray-haired woman seated next to me exclaimed. Her glasses lifted up on her nose as she used her whole face to smile a full-wattage grin at the person sitting on my lap.

The toddler—or is she a baby still?—peered up at me in utter bewilderment.

“How old is she?” the woman asked, making silly smiles at the infant.

She was mine. But I drew a blank and couldn’t answer right away. My mind was still lagging on theyou have a childshock. The paralysis that came with the thought ofyou are a dadwas even worse. “Uh, over one.”

The woman blinked as the plane lifted for takeoff. “Over one?”

I nodded, glancing back at Olivia Marie Gannon.Mydaughter, courtesy of a one-night stand two years ago. She would now become Olivia Marie Gray, but I wasn’t sure if she or I knew how to make the transition of her being my kid or my being her father.

Taking a closer look at me, raking her curious gaze from my buzz-cut hair that was already growing out too fast to my shirt and jeans, then finally my boots, she twitched her lips. “Ah. You’re military, huh?”

“Was.”

“Thank you for your service,” she replied kindly. “Recently discharged? If I may ask.”

“Yes.” In hindsight, maybe it was the universe giving me a sign or something. When it was time to sign up for another tour with the alternative offer of a medical discharge for an injury from combat, I considered how my grandfather passed away with one regret—not spending enough time with my grandma when he could. I didn’t have anyone but my troop members. I was a bachelor for so long, I doubted I could be anything else.

I hesitated to sign up for more of the military, something in lighter duty with the scars I’d received. When I received word that I’d fathered a baby with Pamela Gannon, a one-night stand who’d passed away, it seemed something else was in store for me. Fatherhood, because I was the dad and no one else could take the baby.

“I won’t waste time asking if she’s yours,” the woman asked, gesturing at Olivia. “She looks so much like you.”

“Yeah.” I sighed and looked at Olivia again, wondering what in the hell was going on in her little head. What did babies think about? Or was she a toddler? I was so clueless, I couldn’t recall the difference.

“But she’s new in your life too, huh?”

“Very new,” I admitted.

“Aww…” She gazed at Olivia, then me, with hearts in her eyes. “And now she can meet her daddy. I love these welcome-home stories. My son, bless his heart, died several years ago in ‘friendly fire’. Mind you, he was only engaged at the time, so he wasn’t leaving a little one behind, but I still remember every time he flew home and how we’d make signs and all.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She dipped her chin. “Thank you. Forgive me for being so chatty. Flights make me nervous. I can just tell you’re military. You’ve got that look. That stance.”

That inability to ever shut off the instinct to be alert and assess every moment of your life for dangers and threats?Yeah, she’d recognize it in me, but I didn’t care. It was who I was. I was a fighter, a protector, a provider. It looked like I would now need to refine those traits into something that would pass as being a parent, but I’d figure it out one way or another.

Olivia shifted on my lap, not quite wiggling but moving.

Just like I had in the few hours since I picked her up in Utah, where Pamela had lived before passing away unexpectedly in a car accident, I tensed and waited for another cue. Baby—toddler?—cues weren’t a language that I’d learned yet. I doubted anyone could know how to read a toddler after a mere few hours and be aware of what the hell they wanted or needed.

When she cried in the car ride to the airport, I damn near had a breakdown trying to troubleshoot what she wanted. Googling wasn’t fast enough. The uber driver only spoke Russian, but with gestures, he got me to try a bottle of formula that Olivia’s daycare owner had told me to use. Thank God I gave her my email. Those lengthy tutorials and typed-out instructions were now the manual I’d swear by.

What is it now? What do you want? What’s wrong?If she cried on this plane… Fuck. All the passengers would riot because I had no clue how to help her.

“I think she’s tired.”

I jerked my face toward the woman next to us. “How? How do you know?”

She smiled softly. “You’rereallynew to this, aren’t you?”

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