“I came to surprise my baby girl and see how she’s gettin’ on with all this shit so, um, you think you could let me in because I kinda wanna see my daughter and I seriously need a caffeine fix. You know what I’m saying?”
“Of course,” Jack murmured, stepped back and motioned to Baron and Gretl to go up the stairs which they did.
Jensen didn’t delay. He picked up his bag and barrelled up the steps after the dogs.
While he did so, he shouted, “Bellerina, get your ass out here and give your ol’ Dad a hug!”
Jack had made it to the landing in time to see Belle come running out of the bedroom wearing her nightgown. Then he watched as she threw herself in her father’s arms.
“Dad!” she shouted happily as Jensen swung her around. Jack thought there was one thing good about Jensen interrupting Jack’s determination to break through during his Sunday and that was hearing Belle sounding happy for the first time in weeks.
Jack watched as Jensen hugged his daughter while the dogs danced around them and Gretl gave an excited woof.
Jensen pushed Belle a bit away and his gaze went immediately to the significantly faded bruise and stitched cut at her temple.
Then he exploded.
“Holy shit! What the f**k!”
Then, for some strange reason, his eyes slashed to Jack and, Jack noted, they did this accusingly.
Jack was taken off-guard. He thought Jensen was there because of the accident but apparently he didn’t know. Jack also couldn’t imagine why Jensen was glaring at him with murder in his eyes as if Jack himself had shoved Belle down the stairs.
He had no time to come to terms with either of these thoughts.
Belle’s face had grown pale and Jack bit back a curse before suggesting to Jensen, “Perhaps you and I can have word in the living room.”
“Yeah, we’ll have a f**kin’ word. We might have two,” Jensen ground out and his gaze swung back to his daughter as his hand curled around the side of her head, his thumb under the cut. “I mean, what the f**k?”
“Dad –” Belle whispered, her body swaying toward her father and her hand came up to his, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I’m okay.”
“Girl, you’ve got a head wound,” Jensen returned.
“I’m okay,” she repeated softly.
But Jensen was not appeased. His hand dropped but twisted and Jack watched him catch Belle’s hand and give it a squeeze. All the while his eyes were on Jack and Jack noted he didn’t look happy.
“Get your Dad a cup of joe, girl. Your man and I are gonna have words,” Jensen said without taking his gaze from Jack.
“I think –” Belle started but Jack moved to Belle’s side and curved his arm around her waist, bringing her close and kissing her temple above the cut.
Then his mouth moved to her ear and he said gently, “Belle, love, show your father the living room and then, please, make some coffee.”
“But –”
Jack gave her waist a squeeze. “Please.”
Her eyes searching his, she took in a breath, wet her lips and finally nodded.
She turned to her father and invited, “Come on, Daddy.”
As Belle took her father to the living room, Jack went to the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and then walked into the living room where Jensen Abbot was staring out the window.
Belle’s father’s eyes came to Jack the minute he entered the room and he watched Jack close the door.
The door barely clicked in its frame when Jensen demanded, “Don’t make me wait, man.”
Jack turned and crossed his arms on his chest.
“Three and a half weeks ago, at my home, Belle fell down the stairs.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jensen bit out then his eyes narrowed. “How?”
“Pardon?” Jack asked.
“My girl ain’t clumsy. How’d she fall down the f**kin’ stairs?”
This was, Jack thought, a f**king good question.
One he had not thought to ask as he’d been preoccupied with seeing to Belle and dealing with losing his child.
“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken of it,” Jack answered.
“Well, when she gets in with the coffee, we’ll be f**kin’ speakin’ of it,” Jensen threatened and Jack walked toward him.
The way Jack did it, Jensen rightly pulled himself up to his full height.
“You won’t mention it,” Jack declared.
“What the –”
“I wasn’t there,” Jack explained away what he had the uncomfortable feeling was Jensen’s implication that Belle didn’t fall down the stairs but that Jack had some hand in her injury. “I was flying from London to Cornwall at the time. No one witnessed it. She was found unconscious at the foot of the stairs.”
Jensen relaxed a bit and asked in a less hostile tone, “Did she trip?”
“I don’t know but you won’t mention it,” Jack stated inflexibly.
The hostility was back when Jensen asked, “Why the f**k not?”
“Because she was pregnant when she fell and she’s not pregnant now.” Jack watched the blood drain from Belle’s father’s face and he softened his tone when he went on, “She’s not handling the loss of our child well, Jensen, and I need you to handle her with care.”
Jensen’s eyes grew wide. “Your child?”
“Our child, yes,” Jack replied.
He looked away and pulled a hand through his hair.
Jack thought upon meeting him that he, like Rachel, looked years younger than he must be.
At that moment, he looked old enough to be Belle’s grandfather.
“Bellerina,” he whispered to the floor and Jack thought even his voice sounded old when he looked at Jack and said bizarrely, “I really need to get me one of them cell phones. Rachel’s probably been frantic tryin’ to get a hold of me.”
Knowing, from what Belle told him, that Jensen Abbot was an American nomad, no home, travelling from city to city taking on whatever “gig” (Belle’s word) he could find, as a musician (he played piano) or a dealer (he dealt blackjack) or anything else that came up, Jack reckoned that Jensen was not wrong. It was likely Rachel had been frantically trying to reach him.
“You’re here now,” Jack replied and Jensen nodded.
Then Jensen went still and said, “Handle her with care?”
Jack felt his jaw grow hard but he tried to keep his voice soft when he replied, “I meant no disrespect. What I meant –”