Page 129 of Protector

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “And I’ll be wearing a fucking vest too. I want to make sure we coordinate, dammit.”

Once he left, I wandered the halls of the hospital, unable to sit still. The stained-glass windows caught the first rays of sunrise, scattering colored light across the small chapel and drawing me in.

I sank down onto an empty pew and stared up at a large wooden crucifix near the front. Jesus’s arms were stretched above his body; his chin resting against his chest as if he was simply sleeping.

The perfect sacrifice.

Hadn’t that been what the church had beaten into my head as a kid?

When I was young, I recited the words and prayed the prayers, but it hadn’t meant jack shit to me then. As a grown-ass man, I still didn’t get it.

A father didn’t sacrifice his son.

Sure, I’d heard the anecdotes—an operator forced to raise a moveable bridge, all while knowing it would crush his only son who’d been playing where he shouldn’t have been but would save the lives of everyone on the boat below.

Fuck the people on the boat.

Fuck the Donald Quinns of the world who’d put their own needs above their children’s.

I wasn’t willing to lose one more person I loved. I’d climb up on that cross and sacrifice myself before I put them in harm’s way.

“Oh, hello,” the chaplain said as he entered. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Father,” I nodded, still looking up at the cross. It was supposed to represent sacrifice and redemption, but all I saw was a man who’d been abandoned in his hour of need by someone he relied on; a man whose prayers had fallen on deaf ears.

He shuffled into the pew next to me. “Are you here to receive Holy Communion? I’m afraid you’re a little early, but—”

“I’m here for last rites, Father.” I turned to him. “Is that something you can do?”

“Absolutely. Now, normally, the nurses will page us, and we’ll come up to the room. I’m so sorry you had to leave your loved one’s side and come down here. If you wouldn’t mind sharing a little about them—”

I blinked back tears and looked away. “Ain’t for someone else, Father. It’s for me. Figure we better start with the confession… it’s been forty-two years since my last one.”

Sooner or later, your clock stopped, and that was it.

I’d managed to cheat Death once, but any luck I’d had ran out a long time ago. The best I could hope for now was that I’d go to my grave with a clear conscience and some legacy to leave behind for my family.

Growing up, Ma had always told me that death would come like a thief in the night. This time, I was going to be ready for him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Grey: December 2016

Iglanced toward the reception tables with a scowl while twirling my daughter in my arms across the dance floor. “Care to explain to your old man why Nate’s here?”

Dakota winced. “That was my toe again, Daddy. And, he’s here because he’s her Bucky.”

“No shit?” I looked back at him again, arm slung over the back of Kate’s chair, whispering in her ear. I clenched my jaw. “Him? Kota-Bear, thought we were on the same page about Dr. Douchebag.”

She gripped my hand tighter. “Did Mama never teach you how to dance? God of thunder, you’re killing my poor feet!”

Several couples turned their heads, and I adjusted the cheap plastic masquerade mask, feeling like Batman’s delinquent brother. “I’m doin’ the best I fuckin’ can right now, darlin’. Didn’t exactly host a lot of square dances at the club.”

Her nose crinkled up in amusement. “What’s a square dance?”

“Jesus Christ. So, you’re sure Nate’s her Bucky? Maybe she’s more of a Spiderman—”

Dakota snorted and stepped up onto the toes of my motorcycle boots. “Here. We’ll just do this. As for the Spiderman thing? Absolutely not. Kate was, and will always be a Black Widow. Maybe you need to reread the comics—oh! Did you know that Mama’s best friend is Little Ricky’s mom?”

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