Chapter 3

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Contrary to popular belief, it’s really not that hard to get things on the Big Island.

I’m reminded of that as I sit on our tile floor rolling out an immense pink wall decal of a fairy castle that I picked up at Target down in Kona.

Of course, if some huge calamity happens and the ships don’t come in from the mainland, we are positively screwed.

Fen is sitting lazy-ass-style on our leather sectional staring daggers at me, drinking a beer. He normally isn’t an afternoon drinker, so I know that beer is more of a message than a refreshment. That beer all but screams, “I’m a single guy and I don’t want a kid here.”

Even though he hasn’t said a word to me since he entered the room—he’s only communicated in grunts of disbelief since I told him about our incoming four-year-old housemate—I feel compelled to say, “It probably won’t be for long. I looked online and the recovery period for hip replacement is four to six weeks.”

“That’s short-term recovery, idiot,” my other brother says after slamming the front door behind him and dropping his keys to the kitchen counter with a loud clang. Dodger pulls off his white coat, the one that shows off his Hawaiian tan and makes him look like some kind of medical authority figure rather than the snorkeling addict he really is. “Long-term recovery for hip surgery like hers is at least six months, depending on what kind of shape she was in to begin with. Could be a lot longer.”

“And he’s a doctor. He knows.” Fen tosses a chin in Dodger’s direction.

Yes, he’s a doctor. I don’t need reminding. In truth, it always stings being the bartender brother in this house, something I hadn’t quite considered when I first suggested we all live together. To my right, I have a brother who’s an M.D. and to my left, a helicopter pilot, both occupations garnering a lot more praise and awe than being a part-time bartender who somehow managed to throw together a website that makes him a good chunk of change on the side.

It was different when I wore the Ranger scroll on my uniform.

Now, only able to hear the roar of Hawai‘i’s surf with one ear instead of the two that God gave me, I’ve been relegated to the life of a bartender who doubles as a bouncer when tourists have too many mai tais and get handsy with our waitresses.

I glance at my watch. In a few short hours, I’ll also be the half-deaf bartender with a kid under my wing.

Yep, my sex life is about to come to a screeching halt.

“I’ve already got her signed up with a preschool in Waimea,” I remind them. “And I might have found a babysitter for the nights when I have to work.”

I checked out that babysitter I’d met in the parking lot the other day with a friend of mine who bartends at the Queen Ka‘ahumanu Resort and Spa. Annie’s the real thing, he told me after poking his head into their keiki care yesterday to see if she was legit. The Queen K is pretty particular about who they hire to take care of their guests’ kids, so I’m feeling like I hit the jackpot that day I nearly tripped over her in my parking lot.

I’ve got a preschool, a babysitter, and a cabinet full of boxes of mac-and-cheese. I’m ready for this.

“I’m not changing any damn diapers,” Fen growls.

“She’s out of diapers, dickhead,” I say. Then, that looming trace of doubt enters my consciousness, as it has a lot this past week. Shit, is she? How would I even know? I slide a sideward glance at Dodger. He’s a doctor. He’d know. But he’s unreadable, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to actually utter the question and give him the satisfaction of seeing just how little I know about kids.

Even though that’s probably abundantly apparent by now.

I scheduled a few days off work at the bar so that I can be on hand 24/7 for her to help her settle in. It’s not like I can’t afford a little time off; advertising’s been up thirty-five percent this past year on the website I built a few years ago. And if I didn’t enjoy the hell out of bartending, I could give it up.

It might be fun to show Stella the island I now call home. I would have loved exploring this place when I was her age, maybe hiking out to the petroglyphs or swimming in one of the protected bays where it’s not uncommon to come face-to-face with a dolphin or sea turtle. I even bought her a pint-sized Portable Flotation Device to keep her safe—the Coast Guard-approved kind that all the good parents get their kids. Lancaster said she’s a pretty good swimmer, but I’m not taking any chances. It’s a big fucking ocean.

My plan is in place, complete with contingency plans, just like when I was back in the Rangers putting together a mission. And by the time I’m ready to get back to work next week, her mind will be filled with this island, not fretting about where her daddy is or what he’s doing.

Truth is, I’d like to feel sorry for myself.

But it’s kind of hard to when I think about Stella. She’s a little kid and she’s getting shipped off to someone she likely doesn’t even remember. Last time I saw her, she was barely talking, calling me “Unca Cam” even though by now she’s probably been told that I’m not a blood brother to her dad. Just an honorary one because we both once wore the Ranger scroll.

And I know that my real brothers will come around when they meet her.

“Where are you planning on hanging that thing?” Fen eyes the sparkly wall decal that I’m attempting to flatten out on our floor.

“In my room.” I plan to give Stella my bedroom, and I’ll be sleeping on the couch. Dodger has a small office with a daybed just off the living room and I could have asked to take that over for a while. But I have my pride. “She’ll have plenty of room in there to play so that you’re not the slightest bit inconvenienced while her dad is off fighting for your freedom.”

Dodger angles a glare my way. “We all did our time in the Army, Cam. Don’t play the guilt card.”

Fen shrugs. “He can play it all he wants. I don’t feel guilty. I’m not the one who signed on for the Family Care Plan. Besides, you should feel guilty for doing it without checking with us first.”

“It was years ago. We didn’t live together back when I signed it. Hell, I never thought I’d need to actually take her. Neither did Lancaster.”

Crossing his arms, Dodger frowns. “Put it in my office,” he mutters.

“What?” I ask.

“That—” He waves his hand in the direction of the floor. “—godawful castle decal. Put it in my office. She can have my office as her bedroom. The daybed is the perfect size for a kid and my office has a nice view of the ocean. Besides, your room has a private lanai. Not good for a four-year-old.”

I stare at my brother in disbelief. This is not the same guy who hung me by a wedgie from the doorknob back in middle school. “Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me. I just don’t want to start every day seeing your ass sprawled out on the couch,” he grumbles, turning on his heel and disappearing into his office.

Still mildly stunned by the charitable outburst, I glance at Fen.

“Don’t look at me,” he snaps. “I’m not giving you any concessions. This place is still one-third mine. I will belch, curse, and whore to my heart’s content so long as I reside here. And I’ll do it—” He scoots over slightly. “—from my third of this leather couch.”

I don’t bother arguing with him because, despite occasional belching and cursing, I’ve never seen him whore around in his life. In fact, his taste in women is far more refined than mine has ever been.

After flattening out the decal for a while, I retreat to Dodger’s office to affix it to the wall above the daybed. It’s a hefty bed, crafted from locally-harvested koa wood by a carpenter in Kukuihaele. We got it for any visitors who might want to come from the mainland, and I don’t think any of us pictured we’d ever have a preschooler sleeping in it.

My brothers slip away without a word later that afternoon. Dodger started an urgent care facility up the road with another M.D. He does a hell of a business there, and now that they’ve hired a couple nurse practitioners to help, he can pretty much set his own schedule.

Fen is likely doing the evening shift at the helicopter company where he works. He loves his job and I can’t blame him. He’s got a hell of an island he gets to show off.

I knew they’d be gone when Stella’s plane touched down, but I can’t help wishing they’d join me tonight when I go to the airport to pick her up. It would be good for Lancaster to see that I’ve got their support.

Except that I don’t.

When the alarm on my iPhone chimes, I take one last long look at our bachelor pad as I stand in the doorway. Between the three of us, we keep it in pretty good shape for a trio of brothers who were reluctant to load the dishwasher when we were younger. Shutting the door behind me, my stomach stays in knots as I head to the airport.

Parking is pretty easy at Kona International Airport—a far cry from the big airports on the mainland. It’s open-air, so as I stand opposite the security gates waiting for their plane to touch down, I can still feel the ocean breeze against my face. The sound of jet engines and the screech of wheels touching down is followed by a scurry of activity as the personnel prepare for the arrival of another flock of tourists.

I can’t see Lancaster and Stella disembark the plane from where I stand. But I know that as they exit, they’ll hear about a dozen alohas from airport workers. It’s the custom here—that immediate welcome—and one I’ve valued since the first time I arrived here for training at Pohakuloa.

For residents like me, that immediate aloha is also a reminder to tourists—one that says, “Hey, you’re on the island now. We don’t honk our horns. We don’t look at our watches. Relax already, or go the hell home.”

From the other side of security, I spot her—eyes wide, two ponytails sticking out from the sides of her head, and a stature about a foot shorter than I’d pictured, clueless as I am about kids.

She clings to the hand of her father, and only then do I dare look at him—Lancaster, looking like only a shadow of a man right now. Lancaster, the guy who saved my ass in the Rangers too many times to count. The guy who can tear down an M4 in twenty-three seconds, and take down a hostile with his hands tied behind his back.

The guy who right now looks like his heart’s just been yanked out of his chest.

Looking at him, any self-pity evaporates from me, and all I can feel is sympathy.