Brodie nodded. “Always.”
She walked across the room and stopped by the bed. Her hair was brushed off her face in a hastily tied ponytail, her eyes were tired and still red-rimmed, there were a few scratches and bruises on her neck.
He didn’t need to glance at the monitor next to his bed to know his pulse was going through the roof.
“Thank you very much for saving me,” she said solemnly, hands clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting. “It was silly of me to put us in that position. I won’t do it again.”
Brodie resisted a smile. Zoey’s words were straight out of her mom’s mouth.
“If you did, I wouldn’t hesitate to save you again,” he said, with equal solemnity.
She looked at him, her big brown, heartbreaking eyes just like her mom’s.
Brodie sat up a bit more, tried to ignore the pain of the bruises on his chest. “I’m sorry, Zoey. I’m sorry I didn’t accept your offer to be part of your family.” He was about to smile, but it was like his features took over and his mouth went very serious and he felt the odd sensation of—was it tears?!—press against the back of his eyes. “It was by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He breathed in through his nose, tried to clamp down the emotion. “I’d like to be your dad, Zoey. More than anything.” He stopped, rephrased. “It would be an honor to be your dad. To see you grow up. To be there for you. To listen. To make you laugh—hopefully. To beat up any boys who dare to try and kiss you.”
Zoey made a face. “Ew.”
“Well, you wait.” Brodie raised a brow, knowingly. “I’ll be there.” He held up his hands in a boxing pose and did a mock-punch. His injured shoulder screeched in his head.
Zoey giggled. Then she went serious. “What about my mom?”
Brodie didn’t really know what she was implying, but he thought it best whatever it was that he circumvent the issue. “What you have won’t change, Zoey.” He didn’t know how he was going to go about what he was offering, but he knew, as she stood there chewing nervously on her bottom lip, hands twisting, trying to look super grown-up, that he was offering it all the same. “This is about you and me. This is extra to what you have. And I’m telling you now, that I want to—no—Iwillbe there for you.” He felt himself get stronger as he said it, felt the unfamiliar tingle of pride—stature—solidify his muscles, tauten his features, make his breath controlled and purposeful. Like he suddenly knew how Clark Kent felt the first time he became Superman. Knew suddenly what all those comics were about. This. Responsibility. Manning up, saving—or, not saving, but putting others first. Selflessness. It was a new skin and it felt good. Unfamiliar but good. Comfortable, like a great new suit.
“I will be there, Zoey. Whether you decide you want me to be or not. And if you don’t, that’s fine, too—but I’ll always be waiting in the wings, ready for whenever you are.”
Don’t cry, Brodie. Don’t cry. Superman never wept.
Zoey nodded, eyes earnest. “I think I should think about it.”
He nodded back. “You do that. Take your time,” he added, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Zoey turned and walked to the door, where Maeve, who’d been waiting all along he realized, stepped into the frame to greet her. Of course she had been there, Brodie thought—a bit embarrassed now by all his Superman stuff—who let their eight-year-old go visiting in hospitals alone.
Maeve had her arm wrapped around Zoey’s shoulders. She glanced up at Brodie in the room and when he caught her eye he chanced a smile, unexpectedly nervous in its delivery.
Maeve just nodded, exactly like her daughter, giving nothing away. What had he expected? That she would have melted, doe-eyed at his speech? Yes, quite frankly. But then again, arm’s length was a good distance. He wasn’t Superman after all. He was just a fallible, good-time guy who happened to have a kid.
With a very pretty mom.
Without another glance, Maeve put her hand on Zoey’s back and steered her away down the corridor.
Brodie sunk back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “Wow,” he breathed, uncertain quite how he was feeling.
“Tough gig, eh?” Logan swaggered back in the room, hands in his pockets, smirk on his face.
Brodie shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe.” He checked his pulse on the monitor, somehow it was ticking along normally.
Noah came in, too, holding a coffee. He flopped down in the chair, legs apart, elbows on his knees. “If all else fails maybe you could serenade them.”
Brodie raised a brow. “That’s what got me into this mess.”
ChapterTwenty-Six
The laughter stopped abruptly when Martha and Emmett walked into the hospital room.
