Page 106 of Dissonance

We hang up, and I slide my phone into my pocket, grab the beers, and head outside. The fire’s already going when I step out, Dad crouched beside it, shoving a couple more logs in to keep it alight. He glances over his shoulder when he hears me on the new porch steps, then settles back into one of the Adirondack chairs, boots stretched out, hands resting loosely over the arms.

I twist the cap off one beer and hand it over without a word, pulling the other chair closer to the fire.

“Cheers, Son.” He holds out his bottle, the glass clinking together, and we drink in silence, nothing but the crackling of the logs, sparks lifting and drifting into the dark, the scent of varnish and fresh paint still clinging to everything.

Two days of solid, backbreaking work.

“One hell of a place you’ve got here.”

I look out toward the trees, at the sawdust and wood chippings scattered across the ground, at how much has changed in less than forty-eight hours. Dad driving from upstate New York to help, Declan appearing before sunrise with two guys I’d never met, tools in hand, no explanation needed. His and Cooper’s moms organizing soft furnishings with military precision. A joiner dropping off a table this morning, the slab of solid oak, edges left rough and natural, now sitting in the middle of my dining room with fresh flowers in the center.

And a crib.

Christ, a fucking crib.

Because Cooper wasn’t already doing enough, he had to go and order some elaborate, expensive thing that arrived this morning, assembled now in the upstairs room ready for our baby girl.

All of it done like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t doing this on my own.

I guess that’s what happens when you’re part of a small town. They just show up.

The fire shifts, a log splitting clean through the middle, and Dad chuckles under his breath.

“Can’t believe my boy’s going to be a dad,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his stubbled chin. “Told your mom?”

I lean back, rolling the bottle between my palms. “Aye.”

“And?”

“She cried,” I say, a tired smile pulling at my lips when I think about that call. The screaming, the crying, the pure joy coming through the phone.

“Sounds about right.” Dad laughs again, a little louder this time. “She’ll be coming over in no time. To meet Thea. Meet the baby.”

“Aye. She’s already said that.”

“Of course she did.” He stares at me deadpan when I frown. “We might not be together anymore, Son, but we still speak.”

We fall into quiet again, watching the flames curl around the edges of the wood.

“And you?” I ask after a beat. “You alright becoming a grandfather?”

“Have a little girl to spoil and dote on after only ever having sons?” He snorts, shaking his head. “I’ll survive.”

The words land heavy, and my chest pulls tight, the grief catching in that one specific place—the place where Calum will always be. He won’t get to be an uncle, won’t get to meet his niece, won’t be here for any of it. My grip shifts on the bottle, steadying it a second too late. Dad notices; the former SEAL training never fully leaves a man.

“I appreciate the call, and you know any time you need a hand, I’m here.” He pauses, turning to face me fully. “But I’ve got a feeling that wasn’t the only reason you asked me up.”

I could say it was just about the work, or that I wanted him in my life, in my daughter’s life. Both things are true. But he’s right. I didn’t call him just for sealant and sanding.

“Thea had a scare,” I say, the words coming out fast. “False labor, but I thought—” I swallow, years of guilt pressing in hard. “I thought I was about to lose her, lose my kid before I even got to meet her. And all I could think was, this is how it goes.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t rush me or reach for words of comfort, just waits.

“I stood there, watching that monitor, and it felt the same. The same as…” The bottle starts to shake in my hands, and I set it down, curling my fingers into fists, fighting the memory that wants to pull me under.

Barracks. The call. The crying, so much fucking crying, the yelling, the pain, the stabbing sensation in my gut as they lowered that empty coffin into the ground.

“I spent a long time wondering if I should have done something different,” Dad says after a while. I glance at him, caught off guard. “Whether, if I’d handled things another way, he wouldn’t have followed the same path we did.”