BROKEN HOPE (Broken Redemption Book 2)

Chapter 17

Lucas

"I can't believe we have a dog now." Alyssa squeals. Her arms are wrapped around Nero's neck, and the way he melts into her like he can't get enough brings a smile to my face.

I'm still amazed at how well he's adjusted to life with the girls. Looking at him now, you'd never believe that just a year and a half ago he was in Afghanistan, fast roping out of Blackhawks and incapacitating armed insurgents. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous when I first brought him around the girls. For four long deployments involving countless missions, Nero was entrenched in active war zones. He's been shot at, stabbed, and beaten, and his body still carries the shrapnel that almost ended his life on that last mission.

Though not his handler at the time, I had the pleasure of observing him in action, which is how I knew he could distinguish between friend and foe. I'd seen him walk excitedly amongst children playing in the crowded streets of the Mandawi Market in Kabul. But when it was time to work, he had no trouble tuning them out, often running right past them on his way to attack the next designated target. As such, I knew I could trust him around the girls, at least for short periods. Anything beyond that I wasn't sure, but it didn't take long for me to realize not only could I trust him, but that babysitter and glorified cuddle buddy were also part of his calling.

"Lyssie baby, leave the poor guy alone. And he's not OUR dog. He's Uncle Luc's dog." Embree tries to explain over Alyssa's loud giggles, as Nero returns her affection with eager puppy kisses.

"Uncle Luc. You said we could share him," she complains to me with two little fists on her hips and an adorable scowl on her brow. Watching her reminds me so much of her mother and my sister that once again, my mouth pulls into a grin.

"I did say that, didn't I?" I nod, but stop when I catch the way Emilia's glaring at me.

Damn it!

I guess that wasn't the right answer.

I'm learning that being around the girls and their mother is like walking through a minefield. Not because of the kids themselves, but because I have to be reading Embree's expressions constantly. Who knew that there's this whole other language of non-verbal cues adults use to communicate when in the presence of children? It's something I've yet to master, and based on how she's looking at me now, I'd say I have a long way to go.

Time for a preemptive strike.

It's another lesson I've picked up during my time with them. Do or say something around the kids she doesn't like, fix it by redirecting them to do something helpful.

"Okay girls, time to help mommy out. Both of you upstairs, double-time, so you can get ready for your baths."

Helping Mallory off the chair, I ruffle both their little heads and then guide them out of the kitchen toward the stairs. When I encourage them to go up but don't follow, they turn to me with a look of disappointment.

"No. We want you to do it." Alyssa takes my hand and starts jumping up and down in front of me, desperate to get me to agree. "Pleeeeease, pretty, pretty, pleeeeease." When her face twists into an exaggerated look of agony, I bite back a chuckle.

But then, to my surprise, little Mallory reaches up for me, asking to be picked up in a move I've only seen her do with her mother. Wasting no time, I swallow down the lump in my throat and lift her into my arms. In the distance, I hear Embree's breath hitch, but as much as I want to check on her, I can't tear myself away from Mallory's doe eyes, whiskey-colored, just like her mama's.

"Pwease, Wuc. Pwease." She whispers so low I can just make it out.

When I smile at her in awe, she raises her little shoulder and ducks her head with an embarrassed grin. There's a sparkle of wonderment in her eyes, almost like she's amazed at finding herself in my arms. The way she's looking at me ignites something deep inside of me. A sense of possession, commitment, and devotion all wrapped into one. It's a feeling so strong and pure that I make a silent vow to do whatever it takes to make sure she always looks at me this way.