A SEAL's Secret Baby. Laura Marie Altom

AFTER Ellie had last spoken to Deacon, she opened the front door to him, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the twilight’s warmth. Knees rubbery, she had to keep a strong hold on the door frame so as not to crumple.

      “Hey.” He was dressed in cargo shorts and a navy T-shirt. Even with his eyes hidden by gold-rimmed Ray-Bans, Deacon looked exhausted, but still steal-your-breath handsome. Tall, with broad shoulders and a square jaw sporting stubble. His dark hair had grown out of its usual buzz and now was a rummaged-through mess. When he smiled—oh, when he smiled—that was when she’d always had to work to keep her pulse from racing. White teeth and a lopsided dimple drew in the ladies more effectively than a 75% off sale at Jimmy Choo.

      “I’d ask where you’ve been,” she quipped, striving for a lighthearted tone, beyond relieved that he was okay, “but Tom taught me better.”

      “Yeah, uh…” With a bottle of Patrón in hand, he brushed past her. When their shoulders touched, her throat knotted from the unexpected pleasure of sharing his warmth. Impossible to explain, but she felt an irrational connection to him. “Sorry for the abrupt exit. You know how it is,” he murmured.

      She did. And in many ways, being a SEAL’s wife had sucked.

      Nodding to ward off tears ready to spill, she said, “I’m having iced tea. Want a glass?”

      “Thanks, but—” he waved his unopened bottle “—I brought my own refreshment.”

      While Ellie bustled into the kitchen to refill her glass, Deacon stood on the threshold, hands crammed in his pockets. Did he, too, feel awkward about the way their last conversation had ended?

      From over the baby monitor, Pia let loose a few fitful whines. She’d crashed earlier than usual tonight. Striving for some semblance of normalcy, Ellie had taken her to their weekly play group comprised of base moms and toddlers. Ellie had hoped it’d be fun, but with her naval husband gone, more and more she felt she no longer belonged. Everyone was still kind, but Ellie found they had less and less in common.

      “Be right back.” She nodded toward the nursery.

      Deacon blocked her path. “Let me.”

      “No. You’re holding booze.”

      “Holding. Not drinking.”

      She wanted to deny him, but the hard set of his jaw told her he wasn’t backing down.

      For a good five minutes, she watched him from the edge of the sofa that allowed her a view into her daughter’s room. Pia had long since quieted and now Deacon just sat there, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists, staring. As if in a trance, he was stone still. The bottle of Patrón never left the floor.

      Was his behavior a result of the mission he’d just completed, or more? Had he only just now absorbed the gravity of becoming a father? If so, what did that mean for her? For Pia?

      Unable to bear the current scene, Ellie brewed coffee. Not for her, but for Deacon. He took it black.

      Strange how she knew dozens of mundane facts about him, ranging from his coffee preferences to his aversion to broccoli. She’d known him intimately, yet for all practical purposes, they were strangers. Strangers who shared a child.

      An hour passed.

      Ellie folded laundry, dusted the contents of her curio cabinet, unloaded the dishwasher, stared at the paperwork necessary for volunteering at a local alcoholic outreach program. Ada thought helping others might get Ellie’s mind off her own worries, but Ellie wasn’t so sure.

      Finally, without a sound other than leather flip-flops hitting his heels, Deacon went out onto the deck, tequila in hand. He didn’t bother to shut the door. Temperaturewise, it was pleasant outside, but the breeze came from just the right direction to ease under the seascape hanging behind the sofa, making it clap against the wall.

      After pouring Deacon a mug of his favorite Kona blend, she joined him outside. Baby monitor in hand, she shut the door behind her.

      Deacon stood at the rail, staring into the night.

      “Thanks,” he said when she handed him the mug.

      “You’re welcome. Want to sit down?”

      Though he shrugged, as if on autopilot, he crossed the short distance to the table with its comfy, red-cushioned chairs. He hadn’t removed his sunglasses. Meaning she still had no clue as to what he was thinking.

      “Nice night, huh?” Ellie’s stab at conversation seemed to fall on deaf ears.

      Deacon had zeroed in on his bottle. He drank his coffee down to half-full, then eyed the tequila. “She’s really something,” he said, more to himself than to Ellie. “Pia, I mean. Before…well, I never really noticed.”

      “You were over here all the time, Deacon. It wasn’t like Tom and I put her in the cupboard when you barged in for a free meal.”

      He half laughed. “It was different then. Pia belonged to Tom.”

      And now she’s yours.

      The elephant in the room between them. Only they weren’t in a room, and she wasn’t in any position to give parental advice.

      Deacon cleared his throat. “I saw some crazy shit the past few days.”

      “Language,” she scolded.

      “Right.” He downed more coffee. “Sorry.”

      “It’s okay. Even though Pia isn’t out here now, it’s good to get in the habit of not cursing. I was constantly reminding Tom we had a little sponge just waiting to one day arrive in kindergarten not knowing her ABCs, but fluent in every SEAL curse.”

      “Kindergarten. Wow.” Deacon shook his head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.”

      Fat, endless minutes of silence passed, with nothing between them but the rush of wind in the trees.

      Finally, Deacon said, “We both know why I’m here, so let’s stop pussyfooting around.”

      Ellie wasn’t sure what he meant. Did she even want to know? she wondered, her mouth dry.

      “Without letting you in on any state secrets, I just witnessed some shi—stuff—that blew my mind. In my years of service, I’ve seen a lot, but this…” He shook his head. “Before he died, Tom, uh—” Deacon glanced away. “He, um, asked me to look after you and Pia.” Turning back to Ellie, he slipped off his sunglasses and set them on the table. Even in the shadowy light leaking from the house, his eyes looked horrible. Bloodshot. His right cheek sported a bruise. It took everything in her not to gasp.

      What happened to you? “Wh-what else did Tom say?” And why was this the first time Deacon had brought it up?

      “That’s pretty much it, aside from asking me to tell you and his folks how much he loved them. I—I guess with this anniversary, I’ve been so caught up in how I’m feeling, I forgot I’m not the only one missing him. Tom was a good guy. The best.”

      “I know.” Ellie didn’t even try holding back her silent tears.

      “He deserved to be Pia’s dad.”

      Ellie nodded, relief streaming through her.

      Obviously, whatever Deacon had gone through had showed him how important it was for Pia to have continuity in her life. Yes, Ellie was all for Deacon playing an important role in her daughter’s upbringing—like that of a favorite uncle. No one would have to know he was actually the girl’s biological father.

      “That said—” Deacon clasped his hands on the table, locking their gazes “—with Tom out of the picture, Garrett helped me see that she’s going to need her real father more than ever.”

      Straightening in her chair, Ellie shook her head. “You told Garrett what was supposed to have been our secret?”

      “Tristan, too. But he’s cool. They’re both like