Page 194 of The Casualty of Us
He gets another mug out of the cabinet and pours a cup for me as I pull out one of the stools at the island, figuring it wouldn’t be a good impression to just grab it and go. Especially considering that he had to walk past us to get to the kitchen in the first place…which means he also saw me wrapped around O like a pretzel.
Fucking hell.
“Here.” He pushes the mug across the island, openly considering me and not doing anything to try and hide it. “Cream or sugar?”
“No.” I shake my head while reaching for the mug. “I’m good, thanks.” My eyes drop to the papers he has splayed out on the counter and I try for conversation. “You working on Christmas?”
“No.” A short sound of amusement leaves him. “No, surprisingly.” I look back up to see him continuing to eye me. “Ophelia’s mother won’t be able to rest easily until her trust is set right. It’ll be this little worry in the back of her head that something’s out of place when it comes to her babies, and I don’t want it bothering her today.” He shrugs, setting the mug down and picking up a pen. “I took care of it last night so that she has a good day.”
“Right.” My shoulders tense at the topic, and I swallow before trying to make amends. “My father asked that I pass along that he would like to pay Ophelia back—
“That’s not necessary.”
He raises a hand but I push on despite the uncomfortable note that’s lingered between us the couple of times we’ve met so that he doesn’t think I’m just some piece of shit who might be taking advantage of her. “Please.” I clear my throat. “Your daughter is my everything, sir.” Using the way his face falls with surprise to my advantage, I press quickly. “I’m so in love with her that my first thought every morning is how I can make her smile that day.” My heart beats harder with the words, but I finish truthfully. “Ophelia is the reason I never knew I needed.”
The echoes of the past in my words from that day on the beach before I even met her hit me as I watch a thoughtful expression overtake his face, and not an entirely happy one either. It has my stomach twisting because I never considered what the fuck I’m supposed to do if her parents don’t like me.
“It’s already done,” he eventually sighs, the drawn-out quality to it not offering any comfort when his eyes drop to the counter again. They stay there as he sets the pen down carefully before lifting them back to mine and starting. “You know, when the twins were born, we didn’t know what they were going to be—boy or girl.”
He nods like this sudden story time should make sense to me, and I do it too, getting a strong sense of Ophelia here.
Not thinking I really have a choice but to go along for the ride.
“Blythe wanted to be surprised.” He dips his head from side to side. “I couldn’t take it but told her that I didn’t care either way.” A half-amused grin comes and goes just as quickly. “And that was true too. I cared more that they were healthy than anything else.” He pauses, holding my gaze with an even deeper sigh. “But there was always a part of me that had pictured a boy…hoped for it actually.”
The guilt that flashes over his face reminds me of Ollie’s last night and has me tensing automatically, unable to help the way my eyes narrow on him next.
Hating every part of what he’s staying on an instinctual level.
That he might’ve not wanted her as badly as Ollie for even a split second.
“So when Oliver was born and they put him into my arms…” His voice trails off quietly, eyes dropping with a faraway look. “I would have sworn to you in that moment nothing could beat it.” He shakes his head quickly. “The love I had for him and my wife.” The words have my heart pumping faster and me about two seconds away from losing it on him regardless of whether he’s her dad or not. “Then four minutes later, Ophelia came.” His gaze lifts back to mine with a heaviness there that suddenly seems unfathomable. “The doctor put her into my arms, and sheopened her eyes and just—” A sad smile flashes across his face. “She obliterated me.”
And that…that I understand completely.
It has me clearing my throat and quickly interjecting. “I know the feeling.”
The tension eases from me with the sudden sense that he might love her more than either Ollie or myself, even if the very fact might make me a little uncomfortable.
I’m at least smart enough to understand that it’s different too.
“I hope you do,” he tosses back, tone hard in a way I honestly haven’t heard from anyone much—besides maybe O. “I’ve never felt as much guilt in my life as I did at that moment.” His face tightens up, lines deepening with an uncomfortable look. “For thinking I knew what I wanted before even knowing what I could have.” He holds up a hand as I unwind the words. “Now I treasure them both equally, I do, but I’ve carried that moment with me the rest of my life.” The understanding I have of that too has me clenching my fingers around the mug as he continues more quietly. “Ollie was wailing away to his mother already, but Ophelia was just…silent.” He gives me that same sad smile. “Staring at me like she could already see right through me.”
It hits me hard then, the understanding of what it must be like to be him, because I can’t imagine having babies with O one day only for one of them to keep popping up with some guy like me. Not really knowing anything about me and under the less than desirable circumstances we keep meeting in. Fuck. I wouldn’t like me either.
Actually, I wouldn’t just not like me. I’d probably fuckinghateme.
“Then she blinked, and her lower lip jutted out, and the rest of my life became about protecting her.” He pauses, face falling alittle again, and the next words leave him shortly. “I’ve failed at times, obviously.”
I know instantly he’s talking about the kidnapping.
“From what I’ve heard, you have too in the past.” He holds my gaze for another long moment with dread filling me every second of it. “Although I don’t know the particulars and at this point have no desire to.” The sudden loss of tension makes me slump a little as he lifts a brow. “She’s been through enough to last a lifetime already, wouldn’t you agree?”
I nod quickly, understanding enough to know that this is some type of olive branch. “Yes, sir.”
“You will respect my daughter,” he presses, dropping his hands to rest on the counter with a warning look. “You will give her your loyalty, or you will walk out of this house and never speak to her again.” The pause that comes then is full of a threat that I can not only understand but also respect. “Understood?”
“Understood.”
