Boone
At first, I thought she was going to argue with me, the way she folded her arms across her chest and set her lips into a pencil thin line.
But then she didn’t, and now I’m carrying this limp little bundle in my arms. My eyes rake over her body, her face, her hair.
I can’t believe it.
My insides feel as if someone’s squeezing them, intent on ridding me of my life’s juices. Margot doesn’t need to say anything. It doesn’t take Albert Einstein to work out who’s the father of this little girl.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why I know. I just fucking do. Maybe it’s the facial features, or her hair, or a combination of things.
But I fucking know I’m her father.
It’s a lot to take in. Saving the life of the woman I love—together with that of her little girl—and then find out she’s my daughter.
Fuck.
If I could, I’d run my hand through my thick dark hair. My hands are a little busy right now, though.
Margot walks in silence next to me. Now that we’ve crossed the face of the mountain and are back on the path, it’s become a little easier. Our feet are on firm ground, and there’s no risk of slipping or tripping.
Before, on the steep slope, she hovered so close to me to make sure I was carrying her daughter the right way that she nearly tripped me up a couple of times. I don’t know how she fucking managed to stay on her own two feet.
Anyway, since we’re back on firm ground, she’s not hovering like a helicopter anymore. Instead, she’s walking on my left and ever so slightly behind me.
“What’s her name?” I growl.
It’s hard to keep cool, calm, and collected. Part of me wants to shout for joy, demand fucking answers, and hug this little girl and tell her I’m her dad. And then the other part wants to yell in frustration.
I mean, fuck. What a way to meet the woman you love again—and your daughter: in a fucking life and death situation.
“Amelia.”
Margot’s voice is barely audible. It’s so soft. I think she must still be in fucking shock.
It’s a lot to take in for her as well. First, she and her daughter are nearly killed; and then her rescuer turns out to be the man she abandoned all those years ago—five, to be exact.
Man. Even the fucking math adds up.
Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Questions buzz around my head like out-of-control helicopters. With so much background noise, it’s difficult to put one proper thought together.
She could have told me—no. She fucking should have told me.
I should have known.
Then what? I ask myself. How would things be different if I had known?
“She’ll be okay.”
I don’t know why I say this. Maybe it’s to reassure myself.
“Thanks,” mumbles Margot.
If I was hoping for an explanation, she’s not going to give it to me.
Without saying anything else, we keep walking, side by side. Occasionally, her arm brushes against mine, and when it does, millions of fireworks explode in my head.
For some reason, it seems to take ages to get to my cabin.
Finally, when we reach it, I feel Amelia stir in my arms.
All I want to do is hold her, stroke her face, and tell her it’ll be alright. I want to kiss her forehead and make sure she smiles. But I can’t do any of those things.
I wonder what Margot has told her about her father. Had she said I was dead? Or had she said I abandoned them?
Knowing Margot the way I do, I’d say she didn’t use either of those excuses.
But she must have told the little girl something. From what I know and what I can tell, Amelia is four.
Not that I’m on expert on kids, but I do know they’re very inquisitive and ask a million and one questions a day. At some point in time, she would have been bound to ask where her dad is.
“Mom,” she squeaks and looks around.
Her dark eyes rove over my face.
“Who are you?”
The innocence in the face tugs at my heart strings.
“Where’s Mommy?” Tears start to roll down her face. “My leg—it hurts,” she sobs.
“I’m right here, sweetie,” Margot reassures her and takes her hand. “You’ll be fine. You’re a brave little fairy warrior remember?”
“Nearly home,” I grumble and glance at Margot.
Margot is holding onto Amelia’s hand. The little girl’s gone quiet again. Looks like mom’s magic touch did the trick.
More and more questions tumble into my head.
Finally, my cabin comes into sight.
“That’s where I live,” I say. My words are directed at Amelia.
Neither Margot nor Amelia say anything.
Whimpering can be heard from Amelia, and I put that down to pain.
As soon as we get inside, I gently lower the little girl onto my lounge.
“Ouch!” she cries. Her arms reach for her mother. “Mom, mom!” she wails and sobs into her mother’s chest. “It really hurts. My leg really, really hurts.”
I look at Margot. She’s stroking the hair of her daughter, whispering soothing, sweet nothings into her ear.
The tense figure relaxes a bit. Her face is buried in the chest of her mother.
“I’m going to take a look at this injured leg.” I’m speaking loud enough for Amelia to hear me. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
“Shouldn’t we get help?” Margot sounds tense, and her eyes look at me in a strange kind of way. I can’t quite make out what she’s trying to convey.
“Better I do it here and now. Too far to go,” I grumble.
With a deep inhale, I let my fingers gently glide over the injured leg. There’s a gash, some scrapes, and a break. I know I’ll be able to look after it.
“I—” Margot starts and stops.
“I’ll be back,” I say firmly, not taking the bait of further discussion on the matter. “Make sure you keep her very quiet,” I add before I leave the room.
The words seem superfluous. Where’s she going to go? But we say silly things in stressful situations.
“Where are you going?”
I may be imagining this, but Margot’s voice seems to carry panic in it.
“Just to get some things to put on the leg.”
Her eyes follow every move I make. It’s tempting to remind her she left me and not the other way round. Of course, this is not the time and place.
Amelia needs both of us right now to focus on her. She’s not seriously injured, but the leg is bad enough that I need to make sure I give it my full and undivided attention.
Gently and carefully, I apply a splint and bandage to the injury. I keep my eyes on the little girl clinging to her mother.
It seems unfair that she’s only got eyes for her mum. She shouldn’t be ignoring me like this.
It takes all my self-control to quash the little boy in me who wants to throw a tantrum and complain to his own mother. It’s silly, I know. The poor little girl has no idea she’s with her mother and father right now.
“You’re a very brave little girl,” I tell Amelia and pat her on the shoulder.
Her eyes peer at me from under mom’s arms. She’s wrapped into her mother so tight, I can barely work out where she starts and Margot ends.
If only I could wrap my arms around both of them and tell them it’s going to be okay. Chances are Amelia would get even more frightened, and Margot might react badly, too.
“Can I get you something?” I’m looking at Amelia, but the question is really directed at her mother.
Margot shakes her head.
“No,” she whispers. “I’m fine. Are you sure she’s okay? Shouldn’t I try and take her into town to get her proper medical treatment?”
I suppress a laugh. It always amazes me how much faith people have in the medical profession, more so than any other type of profession.
“She’s fine,” I reassure Margot. “I’ve done everything a doctor would do. The leg is splinted, and we won’t let her weight bear on it. I’ll disinfect some of the cuts and get ice for those bigger bruises.”
When I return, they’re in exactly the same position as when I left them.
“Here, you hold this here,” I hand Margot a packet of frozen peas.
Amelia flinches slightly as her mother holds the cold packet onto her leg, where multiple bruises and swelling can be seen.
“Now, what about you?” I ask quietly.
Margot doesn’t look at me. She’s only got eyes for one person.
“I’m fine,” she mumbles.
I examine her best as I can from where I am. It appears as though she’s telling the truth. I can see some cuts, abrasions, and bruising, but nothing serious enough to warrant my attention right now.
Silence descends on the room.
Amelia is sobbing into her mother’s arms, and her mother is simply stroking her hair making a shhh kind of sound into her ear.
Suddenly, I feel like an intruder, the third wheel on the wagon. I shouldn’t be here. What the fuck am I doing in the same room as these two?
Without another word, I practically flee.
I’m breathing hard and fast. I make it into the kitchen where I bend over the sink, half-feeling as if I might throw up.
What was she doing here? Why had she picked this spot to come to? What if I hadn’t come along when I had?
Those and about a hundred other questions are bouncing around my head. I don’t have fucking answers to any of them. Each question leads to another question and another.
I hit my forehead against the hard, wooden bench, as if knocking sense into myself.
Margot.
Who would have thought I’d see her again, after all these years?
Beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy Margot.
I close my eyes and see her before me. Thinking of her has a fire burn brightly inside of me.
I want her. I need her.
Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and make my way to the shower. I’ll need to take a long, cold shower to get myself back under control.
And when I come out again, I’ll…
I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
One thing is for sure: I’ll need to get my shit together before I face Margot and Amelia again.