My mission proved to be more crucial than most, as this time it involved getting a kidnapped General out of hostile territory right before his head was to be cut off for propaganda. The terrorists were more trained than most, with weapons that were state of the art and leaning more towards being explosive than accurate. Still, they knew how to handle them, and our team had a hard time getting into their base and eliminating all threats so we could get to the General in time.

He’d been tortured by the time we got there, his face only recognizable through certain features and his body riddled with injuries. We’d been a team of six, and two of us had to carry the unconscious man out while the rest provided cover. All the men in that compound base were low-ranking, and we knew it was useless to grab one of them, too—besides, it wasn’t part of the mission. But that pretty much confirmed that there was another base somewhere we didn’t know the location of yet. Another team was going to be deployed soon, I believed, to handle that part of the job—finding out who was the actual culprit or mastermind behind the kidnapping. The General had been unconscious during the whole plane ride, and the doctors had to operate on him mid-flight to make sure he got replenished with the blood he lost. Once we got back in the US, he was taken to our private health facility for recuperation, and I knew with his grave condition, he wouldn’t be speaking anytime soon yet.

Jake Malone was again a part of this mission with me, and this was the first time I actually saw him quite nervous and not talking much. He was the youngest out of the six and the most inexperienced, but based on what I saw, he handled everything accordingly without losing his head or his presence of mind. As the highest ranking in that team, it was my job to write up a report about it, and I quickly went to our military base’s computer room, where I logged in to my account and typed up my report as fast as I could. I printed it out, sent an email to my boss, and got the printed one in his office, where I gave him a briefing before I was dismissed. When that was done, I took my things out of my locker and stepped out of our temporary sleeping quarters, where I found the five men I was on that mission with waiting. I knew them personally, having already been on missions with each one of them at different times and finding them okay. We had gone to a bar once or twice to get a drink, and Jake hailed me now.

“Sir, just in time,” he said, grinning.

“Peter.” Another man, Michael Indigo, who was closer to my age and more friendly than most, tilted his head. “We’re heading out to the nearest bar. You know, unwind and bitch about the mission.”

I laughed. Jake eagerly nodded, adding that he was eager to talk to a woman after being deprived for so long. Apparently, a week was already so long for him, considering he’d just been telling us on the plane ride a week ago about this chick he’d been banging inside a club bar—and she’d apparently liked it too, considering how she’d been screaming his name.

As far as I knew, only two of us were family men in this particular unit, but the other one was already having problems with his wife and was eager to get home and fix it with makeup sex. They then turned to me, but I turned them down with a grin and a wave, saying that my daughter was waiting for me. Then I left. I could tell by Jake’s puzzled look that he couldn’t understand why I wasn’t taking advantage of the situation—me, a single father with no wife, who could have all the women I wanted. I wouldn’t be a liar and say I’d never slept with anyone after Evelyn, because I had. Most of them were women I met on the job—a journalist, a fellow soldier, and a bartender among others. But they were all fleeting and casual, and none of them were ever important enough for me to incorporate them into my family life. It was more about slaking the lust.

But lately, I hadn’t really gone out of my way to find any woman to sleep with or share a night with. I just found women a headache in general, especially when some of my flings took a turnabout with the women wanting more and me being not ready to give them the “more” they needed. It ended in tears and lots of bitterness on their end, which I just couldn’t be bothered with. Sometimes I wondered if my experience with Evelyn had left me bitter and jaded. Other times, I just thought I shouldn’t bother and concentrate my efforts on raising Isla right.

Besides, I could always slake my own lust with my hand, which was often what a soldier did, anyway. It was the goddamn truth, especially when we were all stuck with each other for weeks and months on end.

Lately, though, I couldn’t deny that I used my imagination a lot, too—particularly flashes of a certain image that involved curly brown hair and pretty green eyes. Rachel’s hair had been long, and she let it down right before I left the house for my mission. It had been a sight, really—and being the damn horny man that I was, I couldn’t help fantasizing about how that hair would look when it was spread out all over the bed, her eyes closed and her mouth parted open as she moaned out my name.

Jesus.

And just like that, my hard-on was out of control.

I thought about her more than was necessary in my week away—and more than appropriate, really, considering I was goddamn fifteen years older than her and only knew her for a day. But she’d been so shy and charming during dinner, and I could tell she and Isla hit it off—there were practically sparks flying between them as they chatted animatedly.

A rush of excitement filled me at the thought of seeing Isla again. I missed her. I took out my phone from my duffel bag before sliding the bag in my vehicle, my fingers already pressing the on-button. To my surprise, messages filled it when it opened up, blasting me on the screen with notifications.

Seven voicemails in total.

I listened to the first one, then progressed from there. My excitement died down as I heard Rachel’s panicked voice when she told me about the accident, then her calmer one when she promised she’d give me an update—then, her subdued one when she told me Evelyn took Isla home and she apologized profusely. Then I listened to my ex-wife’s messages, which were filled with derision and threats that my ears pretty much bled from it. Basically, she was threatening to get custody of Isla and telling me that I deserved to be miserable for how I abandoned her in the past, then now abandoned our daughter. Right. Who abandoned who? She was the one who cheated and left. Anger filled me, and I wanted to call her and fight back right then and there.

But I knew anger would get me nowhere, and what I needed was a calm mind. If I yelled at her now, she would just record it and use it against me, vicious creature that she was. I realized that despite all the years we grew apart and away from each other’s lives, she still held a grudge for everything that happened between us, laying all the blame on me for our failed marriage. I knew she considered her cheating a result of me being away too much. I called that bullshit, of course, which only seemed to anger her all the more and made her lash out in every way she could.

And now, she was trying to hurt me in the best way she could think of—by using my daughter to get back at me. She knew how much Isla mattered to me, and she knew it would hurt me if Isla no longer lived with me.

Goddamn it. I wanted to punch something.

Since it was confirmed Isla was with Evelyn and I knew Evelyn wouldn’t do anything to Isla in the meantime, I decided to call the other person who left me a voicemail. Rachel picked up after the third ring, her voice so small and so hesitant that I felt for her right away. It was like she was afraid of me—probably afraid I would lash out at her and fire her instantly. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, and I knew whatever drama happened before Evelyn took Isla was all Evelyn’s doing, considering how much of a drama queen she was.

To ease Rachel’s mind, I started with the first gentle words that popped in mind. “How are you?”

Surprise filled me when she remained quiet on the other line. Then I realized she was crying. Oh, shit. She wasn’t a hysterical crier like most women I knew—in fact, she did it so quietly that I could have mistaken it for simple silence.

“Hey, everything’s going to be alright. I’m about to get in the car and I’ll be home in a few minutes. We’ll sort this out.”

She finally spoke, her voice unsteady but clear. She kept apologizing, rushing over her words and her explanation and telling me she really didn’t mean any of it to happen. Well, of course she didn’t. Poor thing. What the hell had my ex-wife said? Knowing her, it had to be something vicious to have Rachel act this way. Realizing that a phone call wasn’t going to help calm her down, I decided to cut it short and slipped on the driver’s seat.

“There’s some red wine in the pantry. Top quality, hidden behind the scotch collection. Please help yourself to some. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I don’t drink,” she whispered, sniffing as she did so.

“Okay, I’ll find you something.”

“You don’t have to, Mr. Bartlett,” she insisted.

“Peter,” I insisted back. “I’m driving now. See you.”

I hung up the call. Then I turned on the ignition and drove out of there.

* * *

Having stopped by to get some fast food and milk tea for her—because I remembered her mentioning to Isla how much she loved milk tea—getting home took longer than expected. When I got there, I found her in the kitchen, staring at a glass of red wine that she poured for herself. It looked untouched, which meant she probably took my advice to get it but couldn’t really get herself to drink. I was quiet on my way in, but she looked up when I got to the kitchen.

Her face crumpled instantly, and she stood up to apologize again. I cut her off by holding out my hand and placing the food and the milk tea on the kitchen island, sort of as an offering. Her eyes widened as she stared at them. Then her gaze turned back to me, and worry and terror reflected in them.

Wanting to keep things calm first, I opened the bags and ushered her to sit down. Then I slid the milk tea towards her and sat, too, until we were face to face.

“My wife left me a voicemail, so I know the situation,” I said before she could speak. Her eyes widened all the more. “First of all, don’t believe whatever she said. It’s not your fault. Isla fell during her practice and that’s an accident. There’s nothing we could have done about it, and she’s okay now. Understand?”

Silence filled the room. Finally, she nodded her head tentatively.

“Good.”

“Second of all, my ex-wife would do anything to hurt me, so her threats were more towards me than you. Don’t be afraid of getting fired, because I’m not firing you for what happened.”

I thought my words would ease her, but she just looked more worried. Those bright green eyes stared solemnly at me.

“I’m not afraid of getting fired,” she said. “Mr. Bartle…Peter…I’m afraid Isla will be taken away from you now. Because of what happened to Isla under my watch.”

Immediately, realization hit me at what her worry was all along—it hadn’t been getting kicked out of her job. She was afraid for me and what would happen to Isla and how she’d get taken away from me.

It struck me that she didn’t have to be so worried, but here she was worrying about it so much. That made her more genuine to me than anything, and suddenly I didn’t want her feeling this bad. Anger flowed in me again for my ex-wife’s insensitivity, but I banked it down and tried to find soothing words.

“I’m worried about that, too,” I admitted, keeping my voice low but sincere. “My ex-wife taking my daughter away is a constant worry for me.” Slowly, I began to tell Rachel about how Evelyn had only come back into our lives recently, and I had been so wary of letting her in again, especially in Isla’s life. But I also knew the importance of Isla knowing her mother and had let it happen. Despite Evelyn never making that threat until now, it had still worried me endlessly. “My ex-wife is married to someone wealthy, while I’m a single father who has to leave for work most of the time. To the court’s eyes, that’s more substantial than how much I love my daughter, especially when Evelyn shows them that she loves Isla, too—and I’m sure she does, in her own odd way. But she can certainly convince the court that she has a more stable environment…and she can certainly win custody if she proceeds with it.”

Silence filled the room as Rachel absorbed my words, and it was me who finally reached out for the wine and gulped it down. Dimly, I remembered that I hadn’t changed nor taken a shower yet, but the thought fleeted away quickly. The scent of the Chinese food wafted in the air, and my stomach grumbled in response.

As if it was the wake-up call needed, Rachel sighed. I pointedly looked at her milk tea again, then waited as she reluctantly opened it and took a sip. Then she turned to me again. “Peter…is there anything I can do to save this situation? Please tell me.”

I watched her thoughtfully, her question getting to me. Generally, there was nothing she could have done, because she wasn’t even related to us. A thought crossed my mind, one so absurd that I couldn’t help smiling. She eyed my smile in puzzlement, and I debated telling her what I was thinking or not. I was pretty sure it would freak her out—possibly make her quit on the spot and run away from this house.

But maybe she could use a not-so-worrying moment. I turned my smile towards her.

“I mean, short of marrying you, I don’t think you can help. But yeah…if we get married, we can prove to the judge that we can take care of Isla, and Evelyn’s claim can be contested.”

It was meant in good humor, and I even let some of my amusement tinge my voice. I stood up and took out the plastic utensils from the takeout, making conversation again and telling Rachel to eat. Hell, she’d probably been too worried about the situation to eat. She said something, but it took a while to register as I was too busy unpacking.

When it finally registered, I froze.

“Why not?”