Page 25 of Stolen Hearts

Navy was fussing in her crib, small hands flailing, her face bunched up in the beginning of a cry.

Heart pounding as hard as if he’d just escaped capture by the enemy, he approached the crib and looked down at her.

God, she was so small. Impossibly tiny. The gear he carried into combat weighed ten times as much as she did.

Her faint brows puckered and her mouth opened wide as if about to issue a siren scream.

His hands flexed at his sides, uncertainty slithering up his spine. But her whine turned into a cry, and instinct overtook hesitation.

He leaned down and scooped her up, hands gentle but firm. When he drew her against his chest, his chest burned. Navy fit perfectly against him, her head cradled in the crook of his arm.

Her tiny fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Christ,” he murmured around the lump lodged in his throat.

He stared at her, heart hammering his ribs. The world narrowed down to the warmth of her and the weight of her in his arms.

Jesus. He thought he’d been a man until now. But he wasn’t. Not even fucking close.

This changed everything. The need to protect, shelter, to be everything she would ever need slammed into him so fiercely that he staggered like he just took a bullet.

“Hi, Navy.” His voice cracked. And he was crying because he didn’t know how not to. “I’m your daddy.”

Navy blinked up at him, her mouth forming a perfect little O. But she didn’t scream. Her big gray eyes fixed on his face.

His chest tightened, a sensation that hurt. He’d never been afraid of dying. Not in combat, not in the dead of night on a mission. But the idea of not being around for her? Of missing first steps, first words, scraped knees and pigtails?

It gutted him. He wanted—needed—to be here for every single one of them.

And he would die to protect her.

The shower cut off, and a wisp of steam trickled from beneath the crack in the bathroom door. He heard the rustle of a towel and Rhae humming softly.

Denver didn’t move or breathe, just held Navy closer. The baby stared at him as if she understood everything going through his mind.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Rhae peeked out. She was wrapped in a towel and damp strands of hair clung to her cheek. When she spotted him—and what he was holding—she froze.

“Denver?”

He swiped a hand over the tears running down his face and turned to face her fully. “She was fussing.” His voice was gravelly from emotion. “I didn’t want her to cry.”

Her eyes brightened and tears swam in the depths as she approached them. She put a hand on his arm, warm from her shower. “It’s good. Really good.”

His chest heaved as he returned his attention to Navy.

Rhae’s throat clicked as she swallowed. “How did you know? Did Willow tell you?”

He gave a rough shake of his head. “No. I looked up the birth certificate. Did the math. Why…why didn’t you name me as the father?” Hurt made his jaw flex.

Rhae wrapped her arms around herself. “How could I put you on the birth certificate? On paper, you’re dead.”

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Navy started to squirm in his arms, and he shifted her over his shoulder, her little cheek resting on him in a way that made another tear leak from the corner of his eye.

Finally, he nodded. “That is a problem.”

Rhae issued a sorrowful snort.

“You knew you were carrying my child when we were together last time.” He didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but Rhae still winced.

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