Page 42 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

My toes curled. “What are your flaws, Deacon?”

“If I remember correctly, it’s your turn to tell a secret.”

“I live a very boring life. There’s nothing to tell.”

“Then let me ask you a question.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs. “You and Humphries.”

“There is no me and Humphries. We’re teachers at the same primary school. It’s purely professional.” I eyed him, wondering if the jealousy in his tone was real or imagined.

Had Humphries said something stupid?

And why did it matter to Deacon?

Before I could voice my inquiries, he blinked. “You’re a teacher?”

“You didn’t know?” I tilted my head. “I guess I haven’t mentioned yet. The reason we came to San Pedro was for an end-of-school-year teacher’s retreat.”

“Let me guess. Preschool?”

“Close. Infant Two. That’s a class for kids around six to seven years old.”

“It’s like first grade.”

“In the American system, that’s what they’d call it.” I bobbed my head. “Younger kids are, I mean, they’re a handful, but they’re a joy to be around. They see the world with so much hope, passion and creativity. Most people dread going to work, but I go just to be recharged.”

“Sounds like you love what you do.”

“It’s silly, but when I was little, I used to line up my teddy bears, put my mother’s glasses on my nose and teach my ‘classroom’. I’ve always wanted to teach.” Realizing I was talking too much about myself, I turned the tables on him. “What about you? Was it your dream to open a cigar shop?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really. My dad used to smoke cigars to celebrate. Graduations, recitals, talent shows, weddings, it didn’t matter. The idea came because of him.”

“He must have been a good man.”

Deacon’s jaw turned hard and his eyes flashed. “He was a bum. Spent all Mom’s hard-earned money on cigars and women.” Deacon rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “But he was my dad. Mom would rather thrash us to kingdom come than let us disrespect him.”

“My mom’s like that too. Except my dad was the opposite of yours. I used to sit by the door everyday, waiting for him to come home from work. As soon as I heard his car in the driveway, I’d run outside and give him a big hug.” My voice cracked as the warm memories washed over me. “We used to play that old Nintendo game and he’d let me beat him just to make me smile. We went on Sunday drives after church. He taught me how to fly a kite, change a tire. He taught me how a man should treat me. That’s the kind of man he was.”

Deacon frowned. “Is he… alive?”

“He’s in the hospital. Cancer.”

“Angel, I’m so sorry.” Deacon’s voice wavered. Three little knots formed between his brow. “I know what that’s like and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“We’re working on paying for his chemo treatment, but it’s really expensive.” I sniffed. “That’s actually one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep tonight.” Swiping at a tear, I laughed self-consciously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about that.”

“Don’t apologize for being honest, Angel. I’m not afraid of your tears.”

His words unleashed the waterworks I’d been holding back. My tears burst forth like a gushing waterfall. “I love my dad so much,” I sobbed. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”

In a second, Deacon was out of his chair and at my feet. He knelt in front of me. A hand darted out, unsure.

He wanted to touch me but didn’t want to infringe.

“It’s okay.” He soothed, choosing to keep his distance.

At that moment, the hammock decided to act up again. It bounced me forward, threatening to upend me into Deacon’s lap. I planted my feet on the ground and flailed around, desperately trying to hook my finger in the net.

Deacon moved too, rising up and grabbing the top of the hammock so it went still. We paused, each catching our breath.

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