Jack

I’m trying to put together this surprise before Katie gets home. Two days ago, not a single trace of the female gender existed inside the four walls of my bedroom. Forty-eight hours after Katie agreed to stay in New York? I’ve hung what are referred to as fairy lights around the perimeter of my ceiling. Pink ones. And if anyone thinks that makes me a pussy, they can come at me. Yesterday, I gave Katie a piggyback ride to Bed Bath & Beyond for decent sheets, a new mirror and oversized Scrabble pieces that spell L-O-V-E.

Again I say, come at me.

Making Katie feel at home in the apartment was the plan. Now? I’m just showing off.

Since we have to wait a couple of weeks for Katie’s parents to ship her belongings from Ireland, she’s out with Danika right now, shopping for clothes, which gives me another hour or so to finish the job. Both of those girls are important to me—for very different reasons—and them getting along so well is only adding to my almost freakish happiness. I’m awake, alert and fucking anxious for every moment. I never could have said that before, or even believed it was possible. Never before Katie.

With the toe of my boot, I nudge open the lid of lacquer, dipping in a paintbrush to give my project a second coat. Losing myself in the smooth back-and-forth strokes, I marvel how much has changed. Just like I knew she would, Katie knocked her interview with ESU out of the park and begins regular firearms training with the department in two weeks, as soon as the work visa is processed. As for myself, Kirkpatrick didn’t pull any punches when we had our appointment. We met at the academy so he could watch me practice in the firing range, before using Burns’s office to speak.

“Not bad,” was all he said, before assuring me there would be no leeway for screwing up. We put weekly meetings in place starting after I graduate, during which the CO is going to check on my recovery. And, I quote, will put a boot up my ass if I don’t show up on time, every time, with good news. He also warned me against hurting Katie—surprise, surprise, she charmed another one—on account of him taking a shine to her. As if I could. I’ve got this treasure and knowing what life was like before her? I’m incapable of taking Katie for granted. I won’t.

Part of my recovery includes forgiving people, finding a healthy way to release the past, while remembering the lessons learned. The only person I had to forgive was myself, however. Letting go of what I deemed a mistake is taking time, but it gets easier every day. While it’s tempting to let Katie’s touch pave over the shame I lived with for so long, I know that fix needs to be mental and that it’s on me. But I’m not punishing myself for it anymore. We all have to walk around with our faults, getting from one step to the next.

If you’re lucky like me, you find an incredible girl to walk with you. But not for you.

When I hear the locks on the apartment’s front door begin to squeal open, I set down my brush, leaning sideways to check the time on my cell phone.

“Honey, you’re home,” I call, in my best impression of a fifties sitcom husband. “Early.”

Katie skids around the corner, pressing her back against the wall just inside our bedroom door. “You might want to lie down, Jack.”

Ahh shit. I see what’s going on here. Peeling off my ancient T-shirt, I saunter towards my girl, deciding this will be the time we leave on her infamous boots. “Did you cut your shopping trip short because you needed some Jack?” I mold our bodies together and groan against her ear. “Can’t wait to find out where those pointy heels dig in.”

“Wait, I . . .” My teeth close around her ear and she sucks in a breath. “There’s something important I have to tell you. Trust me, it cannot wait.”

“In a rush, huh? Against the wall it is.” I find her fantastic ass with both hands, lifting her off the ground, letting her feel my stiffening cock. “Slow or rough?”

My bedroom door creaks open.

And suddenly I’m looking at two unfamiliar faces. A man and women in their fifties stare back at me, eyebrows in the vicinity of their hairlines.

“My parents are here, Jack,” Katie whispers. “Surprise.”

I’ve never lost an erection so fast in my life.

“I’m as shocked as you are,” Katie says, patting me on the shoulder. To let me know I still have her levered against the wall for a quickie, while her parents are literally five feet away. Over their shoulders, I see Danika busting her ass laughing on the way to her bedroom, which should have lightened my panic. But no. My current heart rate is equivalent to a man running from a bull in Pamplona. I’m not prepared for this. I’m still trying to assure myself I landed Katie. Parents were something for the future. Something I was looking forward to, sure. I want the McCoys to know I’m going to worship at their daughter’s feet as long as I live, but there’s no plan in place yet to accomplish that. I’m shirtless, unshaven. And I’ve got their little girl’s ass cheeks in my hands. “You might want to set me down, Jack . . . ?”

“Oh God. Right.” I ease Katie down to her feet and search frantically for my shirt. “I’m sorry—”

“Now. Don’t go getting dressed on my account,” Mrs. McCoy says from the doorway, chin up, watching me from the corner of her eye. “Sure, you should be comfortable in your own home.”

I start laughing. Which seemed impossible a second ago, but this is familiar territory.

Katie’s face turns red. “Honestly, Mam.”

“What has he got that I don’t?” Mr. McCoy holds up an arm and flexes. “Same physique as the day you married me. Better, even.”

“Jack Garrett.” Katie waves her hands around, as if trying to dispel the conversation. “Meet my parents, David and Sinead. They’re like this all the time. Except for the spontaneous trips to America part. That’s new.”

I lunge—yes, lunge—forwards to shake their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I’d pictured Katie’s mom to be an older version of her—an adorably happy redhead—and she is. But her father surprises me. He’s not the cold, anguished man I was expecting when Katie told me about the difficult training he put her through. I’ve been around him only a couple of awkward minutes and I can already understand why Katie would feel guilty letting him down. He’s such a dad. Something I wouldn’t understand, because I never had one. But I understand the way he looks at Katie. He loves her. Wants the best things life has to offer for her. We have that in common.

“We decided to bring your clothes and knick-knacks in person,” Sinead says, walking into the room, purse clutched beneath her arm. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Ringing first would have been nice.” Katie stops battling her smile and it spreads across her face like wildfire. Knowing how much she’s missed her parents, that smile makes my heart pound. She made the call to her father the morning after she decided to stay in New York, informing him she wouldn’t be resuming training for the Olympics. There were enough tears to down a battleship, but I was so fucking proud of Katie for finally coming clean to her father about how the pressure was too much. They talked a lot about Sean, for the first time at length since his death and I could see, after they spoke, the load on Katie’s shoulders was lighter. There’s still some lingering guilt, though, but if I’ve learned one thing recently, it’s that real, actual progress takes time. And we have that.

“I am happy to see you, though,” Katie continues. “Very much. Even if it’s going to take me a year to recover from finding you loitering outside the building.”

David pats his daughter on the shoulder. “Ah sure, we’ll be back for another visit before a year passes.”

Katie’s smile wavers. “Brilliant?”

Parents and daughter share a laugh, then silence falls in the room, three pairs of eyes turning to me expectantly. Katie’s mother can’t look at me without blushing, but her husband is the exact opposite. Brows furrowed, rocking back on his heels. In Katie’s words, he wants to see what I’m at.

“I’m glad you brought Katie’s clothes.” Do better. Do so much better. Crossing to my dresser, I pull out the top three drawers, which I cleared out for Katie. “You probably brought a lot of sweaters, right? Because Ireland. And it’s about to get cold here, so she’ll need them.” I go through a mental rundown of my Make Katie Happy checklist. “I’ve been looking everywhere for mint tea bags, but they don’t have the same brand here. You didn’t happen to bring any of those, did you?”

I watch in horror as Katie’s mom gets teary eyed. “He’s looking for her tea bags, David.”

Mr. McCoy makes an exasperated sound. “What’s the story with these pink lights?”

“It was the fastest way to make the bedroom as much hers as mine.” Katie’s mom starts to fan her face and Katie hugs herself, so I take that as a good sign. But I’m clearly still about ten miles from winning over David. I’m probably not going to win that battle today, but I’m lucky just getting the chance to fight it, aren’t I? “I know this isn’t ideal. Katie moving into a place with so many roommates and a small bedroom. Or with a guy who technically doesn’t have a job yet.” A snort from Mr. McCoy, earning himself an elbow nudge from his rapt wife. “I promise you both, though, it won’t be forever.”

“No, it won’t. Especially since her visa is only ninety days.”

“All due respect, sir, I’ll be surprised if I make it that long without asking her to be my wife.”

Mrs. McCoy bursts into tears.

Katie stares at me. Half in awe, half like she wishes we were alone. She’s going to say yes if I ask her. I’m so sure of it in that moment—and humbled—I’m tempted to get down on one knee, right there in front of her parents. But I won’t do it without a ring. Which is the first item on my Make Katie Happy list and I plan to cross it off. Sooner rather than later, now that I see the way she’s looking at me. My wife. God, I can’t wait to call her that. Marrying my girl means she never has to leave New York. After which I might stop waking up shouting her name in an outright panic that she’s gone.

“What is that?” Katie asks, her gaze drifting past me. “Jack . . .”

Shit. I’d forgotten about my project. Sue me, though. I’ve been a little distracted. “You came home early, so I didn’t have a chance to finish.” I turn, trying to see my handiwork through her parents’ eyes and hope they find it worthy. “Went down to that flea market on Houston and picked it out this morning, paid a couple guys to drop it off. I finished sanding it down, but I’m still putting on the lacquer. It’s a workspace. For your purses.” No one says anything so I keep rambling. Apparently Katie is rubbing off on me, but I’m definitely nowhere near as cute. “You can store materials in these drawers—”

Katie takes a running leap, throwing herself into my arms, which wrap around her automatically, tightening as much as I know she can stand. “I love you.”

In a split second, there’s no one in the room except Katie. “I love you, too.”

“There goes our chances of luring her home,” David says across the room, his mouth ticking up at one end.

Katie’s eyes shine as she shakes her head. “My home is with Jack. I’m sorry, Da.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Be happy.”

“It appears she already is,” Sinead sobs. In a familiar gesture, Katie’s mother straightens her back and marches across the room, dropping her purse and picking up a paintbrush. “Now. Let’s get this workspace finished. Do put on the kettle, David.”

There we sat, the four of us. For hours. Drinking mint tea, finishing the table and putting Katie’s clothes away in drawers while I listened to stories about the love of my life’s childhood. And with her hand in mine, I couldn’t wait to write our own.