Page 11 of The One for Forever

Is that what Quinn thinks when she looks at me? That I’ve gotten really freaking old, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it?

“That wasnuts,” Cliff says.

I turn my attention to my son. He’s looking sharp in a rented tux. I give him a quick hug. With his light, straw-colored hair and freckles, he looks so much like Lydia. He doesn’t like hearing that though. I’ve learned to keep those observations to myself.

“I was hoping you’d be here tonight, kid. You didn’t answer my texts.”

Cliff’s mouth twists at the term of endearment. Whoops. It slipped. I know he hates when I call him “kid,” but that habit is hard to break. “I meant to. Sorry. Got caught up helping Lia. Her dress was lost at the dry cleaner. It was a whole thing.” He shrugs. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.” The bar is crowded with people, probably eager to take the edge off after the excitement, but if we’re stuck in line together we can chat and Cliff won’t be able to run off. These days, those are the strategies I’m reduced to when it comes to getting time with my son.

But I need to keep an eye on Quinn, too. I might not technically be on duty tonight, but it’s the kind of thing that doesn’t need to be said. Max would want me to be vigilant.

I glance around, realizing with a start that Quinn and Lia have disappeared.Crack bodyguard skills, Easton. “What about the girls? Where’d they go?”

“I think they went to the bathroom.”

“We should wait for them.”

“Relax, Dad.” He rolls his eyes a little. “I doubt you’ll need to save them from any more perfume bottles. You can take five on the heroics.”

Cliff starts toward the bar, and I follow.

I don’t know what I said that was so problematic. But with my kid, it’s usually something.

By the time we reach the bar, the line is three deep. And despite my prompting questions, Cliff is giving me nothing but one-word answers. Quinn and Lia haven’t reappeared either. I’ve been keeping one eye on the exit, and they haven’t left. Two of our guys from Bennett Security have taken up positions by the doors, which I’m glad to see.

“How are things on patrol?” I ask.

“Same.”

“Great.” I drum my fingers against my pant leg. “Chief Holt doing a good job? Better than the last chief, right?”

“Sure.”

I’m the kind of guy who prides myself on competence in all things. But even when Cliff was little, we had trouble connecting. Lydia mediated between us. Smoothing over ruffled feathers. It always used to be the worst when I was deployed. Lydia and Cliff had support living on base, and I called them any spare moment that I could. I believed in quality time, even if that meant reading bedtime stories over a shitty connection from whatever undisclosed location I was operating from. But every call startedthe same. Cliff didn’t want to talk to me, even though Iknewhe missed me, and Lydia would have to coax him.

After Lydia died, we lost that buffer. I was home then, retired, yet somehow the barrier widened instead of narrowing. Cliff was a junior in high school, one foot already out the door. I didn’t understand how he spent so many hours on video games and comics. He was a runner, track team, but he balked at any suggestion that he consider the military. And go with me to the shooting range at Bennett headquarters? Hell no. I was beyond shocked when he chose criminal justice as a major and applied to the police academy after getting his degree. But so damn proud, even if he remains reticent to tell me about his job.

The only other thing we’ve always agreed on? Quinn Ainsley.

After Lydia passed, Quinn was a welcome, warm presence in our too-quiet house. When they were teenagers, I assumed she and the kid were an item. I pulled him aside for a sex talk. It was just as awkward as you’d imagine. He assured me they were nothing more than friends. He wound up dating other girls. Alotof other girls. To my relief, he seemed to treat them well. At least he’d learned the right way to treat a woman, even without his mom around to set him straight.

Maybe Quinn had served that role for him. Like a surrogate sister.

But suddenly, thinking of her that way doesn’t seem right either. I’ve never looked at her as my daughter. And tonight…

I most definitely wasn’t looking at her in a fatherly way.

We reach the front of the line and order a couple of beers. “I had no idea Quinn was working on Lana’s trial. Been a while since I saw her.”

Cliff shifts his weight, then angles toward me. “To be honest, I’m nervous about this trial thing. All the stuff in the media about it? And that nut who showed up here tonight? It’s messed up. Quinn really wants to impress DA Marchetti, and she’s beenworking so hard. Quinn can get tunnel vision when she’s really focused on something.”

I lower my beer, trying to hide my amazement that he just shared all of that with me. “Bennett Security is going to provide protection for her and the trial team.”

“You know Quinn’s like a sister to me. If you’re in charge of the trial team’s security, I’m sure she’ll be in good hands. If anyone will stay vigilant, it’s you.” He shrugs, looking into his beer bottle. He spoke begrudgingly, but hell, I’ll take it. “And if you’re protecting Quinn personally, she won’t have some horny meathead panting after her twenty-four-seven. No offense, Dad, but I know the younger guys on the Bennett bodyguard team. She can do better.” With that, Cliff nods at someone else he knows. “See you later, Dad.”

He walks off, leaving me speechless.

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