Dylan's Daddy Dilemma (The Colorado Fosters Book 04) (17 page)

“You told me that Henry’s father wasn’t in the picture and that Joel’s phone call was a wrong number,” he said in a growl, stopping at a railroad crossing. Great. Why wouldn’t a train be crossing these tracks at the exact moment he was in an all-fired hurry? “Were both lies?”

“You’re mad,” Chelsea said, her voice quivering with emotion. He almost felt bad, but he reached down deep and kept hold of his temper. “And I get it, but sorry, right now my focus is on Henry and what might be happening. Not on you or your bruised feelings.”

“You were right the first time.” He was worried about Henry, too. Almost sick with it. Via the quick phone conversation, he knew that Haley had smartly gotten the boy upstairs to his room, while Gavin had sequestered Joel on the back porch. Hopefully, that setup wouldn’t have changed any by the time he and Chelsea got there. “I’m mad. Not bruised.”

“All right, fine. Let’s talk about this,” she said tightly. “Yes, I lied about the phone call. I didn’t know how to explain it then, and that seemed the easiest route. However, when you asked about Henry’s father, Joel was not in the picture. Or he mostly wasn’t in the picture. And I certainly couldn’t have predicted this, based on his prior behavior.”

“And that’s what I’m talking about, Chelsea.” The damn train was moving at a snail’s pace. “I don’t know what Joel’s prior behavior was. I don’t know
anything
about him.”

She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and he knew, just knew, she was trying real hard to hold it together. Which, yup, made him feel like a total jackass. If he had this ice-cold terror running through his veins over what this Joel person wanted, how must she feel?

Wait. No.
She
knew Joel. She knew what he was capable of, whether good or bad or somewhere in the middle. He knew
nothing
. So Dylan’s brain kept circling toward the bad.

Well, hell. Maybe that was the true culprit for the strength of his anger. His boy—
his
boy—could be in danger, and there wasn’t a lick of anything he could do about it sitting here at these damn railroad tracks waiting for a sluggish train to
move
.

“Is he dangerous, Chelsea?” Dylan asked, his voice ragged. As soon as the question left his mouth, his temper swirled out the cracked-open window, leaving him with nothing but fear at the horrific possibility. “Is Joel dangerous? Could he potentially hurt Henry?”

“I don’t think so,” she said softly, tremulously. “I haven’t seen him since three weeks after I told him I was pregnant, when he left me for...well, I don’t know where he went. He moved away from Pueblo. When we were together, he was selfish and immature and...and careless, but no, he never showed signs of violence.”

Dylan didn’t like the “selfish, immature and careless” description at all, especially when connected to Chelsea, but the no-violence part was good. It helped, a little, in calming his dread.

“Wait a minute,” he said, her words taking hold and digging in deep. “He disappeared when you were pregnant, and until that phone call, you hadn’t heard anything from him? Just bam, he left you and his unborn baby alone?”

And just like that, his anger was back, in force.

“He sent me a postcard six—no, seven—months ago. On which he stated he was thinking of me and wanted to say hello. Nothing else before and no, nothing after until he...until he called.” A soft, agonized moan slid from her throat. “I told him I’d call back in a few days, but, Dylan, I didn’t. I just wanted him to disappear again. So I don’t even know why he phoned.”

Longest. Slowest. Train. In. The. World.

“Well, I don’t blame you for that. This man abandoned you and your child for years. Years, Chelsea. Why would you give him the time of day?”

“For Henry. He deserves a father, a good father. And if Joel... If for some reason, he moved back to Pueblo to try to make amends, to be a real father, then
I’ve
been selfish.”

Selfish? For protecting her son from the idiot who’d walked out on him from before he was even born? No. Dylan didn’t agree with Chelsea on that front. Such a man didn’t deserve Henry, and Henry deserved a helluva lot better. Still, her explanation had put more of the pieces together, and that helped give him a greater understanding.

“So,” he said, “I’m guessing that Joel’s return to Pueblo had something to do with why you moved here, to Steamboat Springs?”

She turned toward him and in a guilt-ridden voice said, “Yes. I...was afraid I’d bump into him somewhere, with Henry, and that Joel would stupidly blurt the truth.” She closed her eyes. Sighed. “That would have been a problem, because all I’ve ever told Henry is that his daddy couldn’t stay with us, but that he’d be there if he could. I...planned on telling him more, as he got older. When he could better understand that the failing was Joel’s. Not his.”

That, too, made sense. The kid was only four.

“Honey,” he said, purposely using the term of endearment, “if you’d shared this with me before, I could’ve helped you figure out what was going on. I could’ve talked to Joel myself or sat with you while you spoke to him. You do not have to tackle everything alone.”

Not anymore, she didn’t.

Finally, the train passed and the crossing was clear. Putting the car into gear, he drove over the tracks, slowly upping the car’s speed. The faster he got to Henry, the better.

“See, I understand why you would say that, but my life...it’s been a lot different than yours, Dylan. I don’t know how
not
to go it alone.”

Was that a bit of temper he heard in her voice? Why, yes, he believed it was. Deciding to push that button a little, to give her some relief from her worries, he said, “It’s easy. You open your mouth and you ask for help. Try it, Chelsea. Say ‘I could use some help.’”

“Not that simple,” she snapped. “I learned fast that the only person I can count on is myself and, due to Joel and...other significant people in my life, that keeping my distance is the only surefire way to stay safe. So don’t go telling me I should have done this or I should have done that. You are not me, and you have no idea what...what...”

And then, dammit, she burst into tears.

“Ah, honey, don’t do that,” he said. “Please don’t do that.”

If anything, her tears grew stronger. Louder. And he did not know what to do. He couldn’t pull over and hold her right now, not when Henry needed them, and he... Hmm. Perhaps he could do something, after all.

“This is my fault,” he said, speaking in a woe-is-me sort of tone. “And I owe you an apology, Chelsea. I’ve been too nice and kind and helpful. I didn’t realize that night I found you in your car that the worst thing I could do was give you a place to sleep. And damn, then I went and offered you a loan. Not once, but twice. Not sure what I was thinking there, so I hope you can forgive me. Good thing the rest of my plan backfired, or I’d have even more to be sorry for.”

He heard her suck in a breath. And then another. “What plan?”

“Oh, the one about finding you a job and a place to live, so I could get you and Henry set in your brand-new fresh start. See,” he said, turning onto the long, windy road where Haley’s house was located, “right from the beginning, all I wanted was to see you smile. And that scared me. A lot. Because of what I told you about Elise.”

Her crying became less intense. “I don’t understand.”

“I fell for Elise fast, Chelsea, and within minutes of knowing you, I was falling harder and faster than I did for her. So yeah, that scared me. Figured the best way to stop that from happening was to get you settled so I wouldn’t worry about you and I could keep my distance. But then,” he said, “my sister went and offered you a job. And I went a little nuts, trying to decide if you were like Elise or not. If you would...hurt me as she had.”

“I...I thought you did set up the job with your sister.”

“Nope, wasn’t me.” Oh, thank God. They were here. He pulled into Haley’s driveway and, once they reached the top, parked to the side of the many cars that were already there. Most of which belonged to his family. Two of them, though, he didn’t recognize. “We’re here now, honey, so we’ll have to put the rest of this conversation on hold.”

“Oh!” She unbuckled her seat belt and leaped from the car, started up the path toward the house at a fast clip. He was behind her several paces, and while he wanted to charge in like a gladiator with a sword to protect what was his, he...couldn’t. Difficult, that, but she hadn’t declared herself to be his, for one thing.

And as much as he hated it, this was Chelsea’s battle, and hers alone. Unless she reached for him. Unless she decided to bring him into battle with her.

She stopped. Pivoted and waited for him to reach her. When he did, she licked her lips and twisted her fingers. “I’m scared, Dylan. Real scared,” she said. “I don’t know what Joel wants, and I...I could use some help. Will you stay with me? See him with me?”

“Of course I will,” he said, as if her request fell into the no-big-deal variety of requests. It didn’t, though. Not for her, and while he didn’t know all of the reasons behind her go-it-alone mentality, he didn’t—as he’d pigheadedly thought—require those answers right now. He knew about Joel, and that was a real good start. More than anything, Dylan was just glad she’d reached out to him, so he asked, “Ready to go see what this joker wants?”

Her chin dipped in a slight nod, and they headed toward the house.

Earlier, when she’d refused to share even the tiniest, most minuscule detail of her life—especially after what he’d shared, most especially after she’d trusted him with her body—it had hurt, realizing she couldn’t or, he supposed, wouldn’t trust him with her secrets. With her heart.

But now, suddenly, Dylan did not care if Chelsea ever told him her darkest secrets, her deepest pain, so long as she knew she
could
. So long as that decision wasn’t made from fear or distrust of
him
, and she understood that he would listen when and if she chose to talk, and that whatever secrets she shared—no matter how dark or how painful—he would guard as his own.

Because Chelsea wasn’t anything like Elise.

All of his worries, the comparisons he’d tried to draw between the two women, were his problems.
His
baggage. They weren’t Chelsea’s. But if his baggage had created such havoc in his thinking toward her, in trusting in and accepting what his heart had declared, then it made perfect sense that
her
baggage could do the same toward him.

His future belonged with Chelsea. With Henry. He might just have to be patient, give her some time to reach the place he had, seeing as how he’d gotten here in the traditional Foster way. Fast and furious with a bit of crazy thrown in. But yeah, he could wait.

And that was, as Henry would say, A-okay.

Chelsea slipped her hand into his and held on tight. He held on tighter. “Thank you,” she said. “Because you’re right. No one can do everything on their own, and this...I don’t think I could have done this alone as well as I will be able to do it with you.”

“I’m glad I’m here, honey, more than I can say. But right now, I have a question,” he said. “Am I allowed to punch Joel in the jaw?”

“Oh, if he gives you a reason,” she said coolly. Matter-of-factly. “Any reason at all, then yes, please do so. Good and hard.”

Chapter Thirteen

T
he second they walked into the house, Margaret appeared from the living room, her smile gentle but her eyes fierce. In a lowered tone, she said, “Henry is upstairs with Haley and Rachel, and—” the older woman reached over and squeezed Chelsea’s arm “—don’t worry, he isn’t aware that anything out of the ordinary is happening.”

Chelsea’s eyes closed as she sighed in relief. “Thank you, so much,” she said. “Please thank Haley and Rachel, too. It’s just so nice that you’re all here, and...and...”

No. She would
not
cry again. It seemed that once she’d set her tears free in front of Haley, they just wanted to keep on coming. Sensing her discomfort, Dylan rubbed the small of her back, probably to remind her that he was here. With her.

And it was comforting. Strengthening. To know that someone—that Dylan—had her back. Literally and figuratively.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Margaret said, “where else would we be? Daisy would be here, too, if she could. But she had a rough day with the babies, so Reid talked her into staying home.”

There were several places that Chelsea figured the rest of the Fosters could be—in their homes, living their own lives—but they’d chosen to be here. And to her, that seemed incredible. Selfless and sweet and...as if the entire Foster family also had her back.

“Is Joel still on the porch?” she asked. As much as she did not want to deal with him, he was here now, so her preference was to get this over with. As fast as possible. So he would leave.

“Hmm. Yes, I believe that is where the men have him penned in.” The corners of Margaret’s lips twitched. “Why, he had to use the bathroom a little while ago, and Reid and Cole stood sentry outside the door and then escorted him directly back to the porch.”

Dylan gave a short nod. “Good. I don’t want him anywhere near Henry.”

“Neither do any of us.” Margaret nodded toward the kitchen. “Go on, do what you need to, and I’ll wait here. I’m the designated lookout, in case Henry gets curious.”

“Ready, honey?” Dylan asked Chelsea. And okay, she was stunned he’d used the term of endearment in front of his mother. Pleased, though, too. “Or do you need another minute?”

“I could use a hundred more minutes, and then some,” she said. “But I’m not sure that would make me any more ready than I am right now. Let’s go.”

With her hand in his, he led her away from the front hallway and toward the kitchen, where he stopped at the wide-arched entry. Inhaled a sharp-sounding breath, and his entire body went stiff. As if, she thought, he was ready to pounce. She looked at him, at his face, in curiosity and in concern, and saw that muscle in his jaw twitching away. Noticed his eyes were narrowed, dark and intensely focused on the room they were about to walk into.

Chelsea’s heart flutter kicked beneath her breastbone, and she knew—or guessed, was more accurate, since she couldn’t actually see past Dylan with the angled, guarded way he stood—that Joel was in there and not on the back porch. She also guessed that Dylan was, at that very second, considering how very much he wanted to punch Joel in the jaw.

So before his temper could win out and he did something that he’d regret later—because if Dylan roared in and hit a man without direct provocation, he
would
feel regret—she pulled herself free from his grip, stepped around him and entered the kitchen.

And blinked. Closed her eyes fully and opened them again. Tried to get her brain to catch up to what was right in front of her. Because unless Joel had grown several inches and added on a solid layer—maybe two—of muscle, the dark-haired man sitting at the table with a perplexed, stunned-appearing Gavin at his side was not Joel Marin.

Dylan, who’d followed her in and was standing next to her, still had that ready-to-pounce, ask-questions-later look, so she rested her hand on his arm. His muscles were tense. Hard. “This isn’t Joel,” she said quickly. “I don’t know who this is, but he isn’t Joel.”

“Joel’s out back. With the men,” Gavin said with a nod toward the door. He then glanced at the man next to him. “This here is Logan Daugherty. He’s...well—” Gavin ran his hand over his beard. “Turns out he’s my half brother, and we’ve just started talking, trying to unwrap it all. Haley isn’t even aware yet, as he only just got here. Seems to be the night for unexpected visitors.”

Logan nodded at Chelsea and Dylan, smiled briefly, but didn’t say anything. The poor man was probably wondering what sort of mess he’d walked into.

“Half brother?” Dylan wagged his head back and forth, as if trying to purge an ocean of water from his ears. “I didn’t know you had any siblings.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I’m glad to know now, though,” he said, directing his statement at Logan. And through the glaze of confusion, Chelsea saw a hint of gladness in Gavin’s eyes. He gave a second nod toward the porch. “But you two need to determine what that man out there wants. He’s been patient. Friendly enough, in case that matters.”

“Patient and friendly don’t cut it after close to five years,” Dylan said, his tone abrupt. “We appreciate that you kept him away from Henry. And, Logan? Nice to meet you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he cupped Chelsea’s elbow with his hand and together, they went to the back porch. Joel was sitting on the chair farthest from the door, while Paul and Cole were sitting closest. As for Reid, he stood along the wall, his thumbs in his pockets in a laid-back pose that was anything but relaxed, about three feet from Joel’s chair.

The air simmered with an edgy, uncomfortable energy, and despite the many ways that Joel had wronged her and her son—because no, she would not, could not, call Henry
their
son—Chelsea was somewhat impressed that he’d stuck it out and waited.

The second Joel saw her, he started to stand, but Reid turned his head toward him in the slightest of ways, the smallest of motions, and Joel wisely chose to stay put.

He looked the same as she remembered. But since she hadn’t seen his face for so long, and in that same chunk of years had watched Henry’s features change, she was rather dazed to realize the physical similarities between her son and this man.

The sandy mop of hair she loved to tousle on Henry’s head was the same hair on Joel’s. Their long, narrow and somewhat pointed jawlines were similar, though Henry’s held more fullness. Could be the difference in age, she supposed. And while Henry had her eyes, in color and in shape, the straight slant of his eyebrows came from Joel.

It was odd, but not anything more than that. Just surprising, as when she looked at her son all she ever saw was Henry. She never saw the man who had contributed half of her child’s DNA, and she knew the same would continue to hold true, even after whatever happened tonight.

“Want us to leave or stay right here, Chelsea?” Reid asked, his tone calm and clear. There was a warning embedded in his tenor, though. Not for her, she knew. But for Joel. “We are happy to do either, whichever is the most comfortable for you.”

“Dylan and I can take it from here,” she said. “But I appreciate all you’ve done, and if you could stay somewhat close, in the event there’s an...issue, I would appreciate that, as well.”

“I think it’s safe to say you can count on that,” Paul said, rising from his chair. “We’ll be nearby, all of us. That being said, I’d like to believe that Joel is smart enough, compassionate enough, to understand how much better it would be for everyone if an issue did not occur.”

Cole stood and approached Chelsea, reached out as if he had the thought to hug her, but pulled back. Still, she noted the gesture and was warmed by it. Then, with a nod of support in Dylan’s direction, he retreated to the house. Reid and Paul followed.

Pulling in a breath for strength, she forced her legs to carry her toward Joel, who had yet to speak. She couldn’t blame him. The Fosters had, apparently, arrived in record time when they were made aware of Joel’s presence and, once here, had put on quite a show. Because they were kind. Because they cared. Because she and Henry were one of them now.

How about that?

All at once, Chelsea knew with absolute, rock-hard certainty that she had nothing to be concerned over. Nothing to fear from Joel. He couldn’t hurt her or Henry. Not only would she not allow him to, but Dylan and his family wouldn’t, either.

She sat in the chair to Joel’s left, while Dylan replaced Reid’s efforts at holding up the wall. He angled his arms across his chest in a nonchalant manner, and he cast his gaze toward Joel, his expression flat and unreadable but, as typical, steady.

And then she got to the heart of the matter. “Why are you here?”

“Not to cause trouble,” Joel said, the tempo of his speech rushed. “That isn’t my goal, but you didn’t return my call, and your phone seemed to be off every other time I tried to reach you.”

“So you thought you should just come on over, after vanishing from my life for over four years? After proving you have zero interest in
my
son’s best interests and welfare?” She crossed her legs and gave that steady gaze of Dylan’s a shot. “I think that plan was ill conceived.”

“Didn’t have much choice,” he said. “Time is important here. I’m leaving the country in three days, Chelsea, and I don’t know when I’ll return.” A smile lit his face. “I’m getting married, and my fiancée’s accepted a job in Brazil. So...yeah, that’s why this had to happen now, if it was going to happen at all. And—”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve had the fatherly urge to meet your son before you take off for greener pastures.” Dylan stepped forward and moved to Chelsea’s side. “Because if that’s what this is about, you can turn around and leave. Henry isn’t here to assuage your guilt or your curiosity. So,” Dylan said in dark, deep-seated annoyance, “what I need to hear from you is that you’re not here to mess up a little boy’s life with a clear-your-conscience visit.”

“That isn’t why I’m here, though I had hoped to...see him, at the very least.” A genuine growl came from Dylan’s throat, causing Joel to flinch. “Maybe just a picture of him?”

“Why are you here?” Chelsea asked again, her temper rolling into being at the mention, the suggestion, she’d give this man a picture of her son. “If not to barge into Henry’s life, then what is it you want, Joel? My courtesy is only going to extend so far. You have no idea—none—of everything I’ve gone through to keep that little boy safe and happy. And you...you could have helped. You
should
have helped.” She blinked rapidly, not because she was near tears, but due to the haze of anger coursing through her blood. “You left us alone.”

Dylan’s hand came to her shoulder. She reached for it, for him and his strength, and a modicum of peace returned, calming her anger from a flame to a simmering burn. Good thing, too, because she thought she just might have punched Joel in the jaw herself.

“That’s why I’m here. To...to apologize for leaving you alone. And this isn’t fair, how I’ve showed up like this, but—” Joel swallowed and stared down at his hands “—my fiancée has a daughter close to...um, Henry’s age, and I’ve come to understand how I failed you.”

“It isn’t about me,” Chelsea said. “It never has been about me. It’s about Henry and what he needs. You failed
him
, Joel.”

“That’s also why I’m here.” Joel held up a cautionary hand and stood, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “It’s a check, and it isn’t much, but it’s—”

“Tossing money at your son, rather than doing what’s right and just.” Dylan looked down at Chelsea and she knew, oh, she knew, that he was still fighting the urge to punch Joel.

Well, that made two of them.

“No. It’s my attempt at showing how sorry I am,” Joel said. “If I could reverse the years, I would make a different decision. I was a jerk back then. Too young and too selfish to care about anyone but myself.” Joel’s shoulders slumped by his admission. “I’m different now, and I wanted to give Henry something. To try to make it up to him. But, and you can believe this or not, I don’t want to mess up his life.”

Oh, God. He meant it. Every word of it.

And there went the rest of Chelsea’s anger. She thought of her options, of what would be best for Henry as far as Joel went. And she couldn’t allow a meeting between the two. Not now, or really, not in the near future, even if Joel wasn’t leaving the country. Close to five years of zero contact was not erased by a solitary night of behaving responsibly, no matter how heartfelt and true she believed Joel’s words to be.

“I accept your apology,” she said, speaking slowly. “And someday, when Henry’s older and can process the information correctly, I’ll explain what you just have. If he wants to talk to you or meet you, we’ll see where we’re at, if it’s a workable possibility. But, Joel, that’s all I can do with this right now. Nothing more than that.”

“That’s fair. And more than I expected.” Joel set the envelope on the seat of the chair he’d just vacated. “I’ll be on my way now, no need to show me out.”

He headed toward the outside door, and Chelsea couldn’t let him go without...something. “Joel,” she said. “Wait. I think it would be okay for you to have a picture of Henry.”

“Yeah?” Joel paused, turned around. “That would be great. Really great.”

She ducked inside, chose a photo from her wallet and when she returned to the porch, handed it to Joel. “This was taken this past Christmas,” she said. “And...well, if you text me an email address, I’ll send you more photos here and there. If you’d like that.”

Joel nodded, but his eyes were glued to the snapshot of Henry. “Look at him. Yeah, I really screwed up,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. Tucking the photo into his shirt pocket, he looked at Chelsea. His gaze held sorrow and, yes, regret. “Thank you. For keeping him safe and happy. I’ll get that email address to you.”

And with that, he was gone, and Chelsea’s heart hung heavy with her own sorrow. She knew she’d made the right decision, but that didn’t change the waste of it all.

“I’m proud of you. You handled that remarkably well,” Dylan said, pulling her into his arms. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, breathed in his clean, masculine scent and relaxed.