Page 98

Mac stood in the foyer of his house, their house now, watching as Noah darted from room to room, whooping with each new discovery. The boy’s energy contrasted sharply with the leaden grief that had settled in his own chest since Truman’s death.

Ten days, and the fog hadn’t shown any signs of lifting. If anything, it seemed to thicken with each passing day, memories of his grandfather ambushing him at unexpected moments. The scent of pipe tobacco that lingered in Truman’s cottage, which Mac couldn’t bring himself to empty. The half-finished book on the coffee table, the pages marked, that Truman would never read.

“Mackie! Mackie!” Noah’s excited voice penetrated the gray haze of his thoughts. “My room has a window seat! With cushions and everything!”

Mac forced his lips into what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Your mom picked those out. Special order.”

“It’s perfect for reading!” Noah exclaimed, bouncing on his toes. “And I can see the whole bay from up there!”

“That’s the idea.” Mac ruffled the boy’s hair.

Noah beamed up at him before racing off again, and his footsteps thundered up the stairs. The sound brought life to spaces that had been silent for too long. Mac had never noticed how quiet the place was until Noah filled it with his boundless enthusiasm.

He turned as Kelsey entered through the front door, carrying another box labeled KITCHEN in her neat handwriting. She set it down with a small grunt of effort then pushed a strand of hair from her face.

“That’s the last of the kitchen stuff,” she said, straightening up. “Amy’s got Noah’s books and toys in her car. She’s stopping to get pizza before coming over.”

Mac nodded and moved to help her with the box. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes studied his face with the careful attention he’d grown accustomed to since Truman’s death. “You okay? You seem…”

“Fine,” he said automatically, knowing even as he said it that she wouldn’t believe him. Kelsey had an uncanny ability to see through his defenses. “Just thinking.”

She squeezed his arm lightly, a gesture of understanding that required no response, before moving toward the living room to continue unpacking. Mac was struck by how naturally she fit into this space that had felt like nothing more than an investment property until now.

She’d chosen new curtains, rearranged furniture, added touches of color that transformed sterile rooms into something warm and inviting. His empty rooms were becoming a home, not just a house.

In the kitchen, Mac set the box on the counter and began unpacking its contents, dishes, glasses, the mismatched collection of mugs that Kelsey inexplicably refused to part with. He mechanically organized items in cabinets while his mind drifted elsewhere.

Truman had always wanted him to stop running. But now that Truman was gone, the urge to run had only intensified. The Nereid would take him far from the complications of human connection, and away from the grief that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

And yet.

Noah’s laughter echoed from upstairs, followed by Kelsey’s answering call. The sound wormed its way into Mac’s chest, creating a strange, tight feeling that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He hadn’t planned on the way Noah would look at him with absolute trust, or how Kelsey’s hand would find his in quiet moments.

He hadn’t planned on becoming a family.

“Earth to Mac.” Kelsey’s voice startled him from his thoughts. She stood in the kitchen doorway, an expression of mild concern on her face. “You’ve been staring at that coffee mug for three minutes.”

Mac set the mug down, embarrassed to be caught woolgathering. “Sorry. Just distracted.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She moved into the kitchen, taking a glass from the box and placing it in the cabinet. Her expression was carefully neutral, revealing nothing of what she might be thinking.

“I wanted to show you something,” he said, changing the subject. “Before I forget.”

He led her to the study, the one room in the house that remained largely unchanged. The heavy oak desk still dominated the space, rows of legal binders lining the bookshelves behind it. Mac opened the desk drawer and withdrew a leather portfolio.

“These are the account details.” He laid out various documents on the desktop. “Joint checking, savings, investment accounts. I’ve added your name to everything.”

Kelsey’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked at the papers. “Mac, I…”

“There’s also this,” he continued, pulling out a small box containing credit cards and an ATM card, all bearing her name. “Johnson handles the bills. He’ll make sure everything gets paid on time. I’ve instructed the bank to send duplicate statements to you.”

Harrison had almost had a heart attack when Mac had refused to put together any kind of post-martial agreement. His exact words were that he was a “damn fool.” But he idea that his resources, his house, his money, his name, would continue to protect Kelsey and Noah after he’d sailed away was strangely comforting. Maybe that was what Truman had meant about finding happiness before he died. Not the romantic notion of falling in love again, but knowing his legacy would continue.

“Slow down,” Kelsey said, placing her hand over his as he reached for another folder. “What is all this?”