Page 25 of All Along The Watchtower

“Never met him.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Something we’ve got in common.” The words came out before I could stop them, and I winced. “Sort of.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter, cursing my lack of filter. Here I was, trying to be the responsible adult she needed, and I’d just reminded her of exactly how I’d failed her.

My stomach churned as I stared up at the lighthouse windows, the panes glinting in the afternoon sun. By somemiracle, word hadn’t reached my moms yet about their surprise granddaughter. I knew I’d have heard from them if they had. Probably in the form of about fifty missed calls and concerned text messages. I had Bree to thank for that. She’d moved fast to keep Peyton under wraps until I could get here, proving once again she was better at handling crises than I was.

I had a lot about this situation to thank Bree for. But it would have to wait. Right now, I had bigger fires to put out.

My palms went sweaty on the steering wheel as I pulled up in front of the house, the tires crunching on the shell-strewn driveway. I had no playbook for this, no training manual on how to tell your parents they had a teenage granddaughter you never knew about. Hell, I barely knew how to process it myself. The Navy had trained me for countless scenarios, but nothing like this. All I could do was stumble forward, hoping each next decision wasn’t completely wrong.

A curtain in the front window stirred, the gauzy fabric dancing briefly before falling still. Probably Mimi. She’d have heard the car, always alert to visitors. This time of day, I knew she was liable to be home working on her pottery, or maybe in the attic workshop. I wasn’t sure about Mom’s court schedule today, and the doors to the garage were down, leaving me guessing whether I’d be facing them both at the same time.

Well, if I had to go through this more than once, so be it. We’d get through it. I’d spent enough years dealing with my moms’ particular brand of loving interference to handle whatever came next.

“What if they don’t like me?” Peyton’s voice was small, with no trace of her earlier bravado. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, a nervous habit I’d noticed over the past couple of hours.

“Not possible.” I turned to face her, trying to project more confidence than I felt. “They’re going to love you. Fair warningthough—Mimi’s probably going to try to feed you about twelve different things in the first hour. She shows love through food. Her chocolate chip cookies alone are worth the price of admission.”

“What about your other mom?”

“My friends call her Mama Flo. She tends toward more aggressive momming and has been occasionally known to slide into smothering territory. It’s all very well intentioned, but boundaries are a thing. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” I fought the urge to reach out and squeeze her shoulder, still unsure how much physical contact she was comfortable with.

She shot me a little side eye that showed she didn’t fully believe me. And why should she? She didn’t know me. But she would. I had to believe that time would prove my commitment.

“You ready?” I asked.

Peyton took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders like a soldier heading into battle. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The front door squeaked as I shoved it open, the hinges protesting exactly as they had since I was a kid. The sound of my childhood. “Mom? Mimi?”

Movement from the kitchen caught my eye as Mimi’s head poked around the corner, flour dusting her dark curls and the bridge of her pert little nose, standing out like freckles against her dark brown skin. “Ford?” Her eyes went wide, and she wiped her hands on her apron. “What are you doing here? I thought you had training.”

“I did. Do, technically.” That was a whole other mess I’d have to sort out later. My commanding officer wasn’t thrilled about my abrupt departure, and he was gonna be less so about whatever came next, but some things couldn’t wait.

Mom’s voice carried from upstairs, sharp and concerned. “Is that Ford?” Footsteps thundered down, and she appeared at the landing, case files tucked under one arm, reading glasses shovedup on top of her head where they threatened to fall. Her business suit was wrinkled, which meant she’d been working from home this afternoon. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I cleared my throat, trying to project a calm I definitely didn’t feel. “But something called me back early.”

Peyton hung back in the doorway, half-hidden behind me like she was using my bulk as a shield. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, making the air feel thick and heavy between us. Hell, my own heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” I turned back and held out my hand, beckoning Peyton forward. My palm was sweaty, and I fought the urge to wipe it on my jeans.

She shuffled into the room, shoulders hunched, looking about as small as she could make herself, despite her height. Her eyes darted between my mothers, then fixed on the floor, her fingers back to twisting the hem of the sweater.

“This is Peyton.” I swallowed hard, the words nearly sticking in my throat as the magnitude of what I was about to say crashed over me at full force. “Your granddaughter.”

The files hit the floor with a thud, papers spilling out across the hardwood. Mom’s mouth fell open, her green eyes wide with shock. Mimi’s hand flew to her chest, leaving a floury handprint on her brightly patterned shirt.

“Ford Michael Donoghue, why is this the first we’re hearing about this?” Mom’s voice cracked like a whip, carrying that sharp tone I remembered all too well from my teenage years. The one that meant I was in serious trouble.

Beside me, Peyton flinched, and I instinctively shifted closer, wanting to shield her, though I knew Mom’s displeasure was absolutely aimed at me instead of her. The protective urgesurprised me. It felt both foreign and completely natural at the same time.

Peyton inched a little closer, her shoulder barely brushing against my arm as she shot a worried glance up at me. She whispered, her voice carrying a hint of nervous amusement, “She middle named you.” The corner of her mouth twitched, like she was trying not to smile despite her obvious anxiety.

Despite everything, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. “Not remotely for the first time, I can promise you.” I reached back and squeezed Peyton’s shoulder, grateful she didn’t flinch away from my touch. “I only found out yesterday, Mom. That’s why I’m back. I came straight here as soon as I could get leave.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed, her lawyer face firmly in place. The same expression I’d seen her wear in countless courtrooms when she was about to dig into a particularly troublesome witness. “But who?” She paused, and I could see the wheels turning behind those sharp green eyes. “Not Emily.”

“No.” Thank God for small mercies. My on-again, off-again relationship with my college girlfriend had been volatile enough without throwing a secret baby into the mix. We’d broken up and gotten back together so many times it had made everyone’s heads spin. “Her name was Casey.”

“Was?” Mimi’s voice was soft, gentle, carrying that note of motherly concern that had gotten me through some rough patches growing up.

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