Free To Honor and To Protect by Debra Webb Page B

stove. “And swallow.”
    Drew got up and propped open the door, letting some of the heat out of the small room. “Smells so good, you’re likely to draw in some company.”
    “I’ve told you no one knows we’re here.”
    “Nico does,” Andy piped up. “Drew does.”
    “No one else ,” she clarified. “Mama Leonie didn’t have neighbors out here.”
    “I don’t know. People might follow their noses to this amazing breakfast,” Drew said, taking the bowl piled high with seasoned scrambled eggs. “Is this dill?” He inhaled deeply when she nodded. “Can’t wait.” What did it mean that she’d made his favorite eggs?
    “Me, neither.” Immediately, Andy looked contrite. “May I have some, too, please?”
    “Sure, squirt. There’s enough here for everyone.”
    “I’m not a squirt.”
    “No offense meant.” Drew sat down once more, the small table barely big enough for Addi to join them. “Do you have a nickname you like?”
    The boy slid a glance at his mother, thoughtfully considering the question. Recognition slammed into Drew like a cold fist. He’d seen that particular furrow between the eyebrows on his father’s face, caught the same expression on his own face more than once. The boy might’ve wanted to be called Godzilla for all Drew knew. The shock had created a sudden, loud buzzing in his ears, momentarily blocking out everything else.
    The resemblance through the eyes was uncanny. This kid had the Bryant family eyes. Drew’s gut tied into a thousand knots. He couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to see it.
    The boy’s father was in heaven. Or was supposed to be. Everett would’ve been a stepdad. Drew’s mouth went dry, but he forced out the obvious question. “How old are you?”
    “Almost eight.”
    As the math clicked, the savory bite of eggs in Drew’s mouth turned to mushy cardboard. The fresh air and warm scents of the hearty breakfast soured in his stomach as the truth hit him like a body blow. He was looking at his son.
    Good Lord, he had a son .
    They had a son she’d never bothered to mention when she tried to give him the boot last night.
    “Addison, can I speak with you?”
    “May I,” Andy corrected with a syrup-coated smile.
    “May I,” Drew said through gritted teeth.
    “Right after breakfast.” She didn’t meet his gaze as she sat down and served herself.
    “I don’t think this should wait.”
    “I disagree. Go on and eat while it’s still hot.”
    He set down the fork, unable to tolerate another bite.
    “What’s wrong?” Andy took a big gulp of milk and then dragged another bite of pancake through the river of syrup on his plate.
    “Nothing.” Drew tried to smile. “Just full up.”
    “Mom’s a good cook.”
    “I’ve always thought so,” Drew agreed. It wasn’t the kid’s fault his mother had lied to him his whole life. Technically, it wasn’t her fault, either, though that line was blurred by the way she’d tried to get rid of him so quickly. Maybe, when this news had a chance to sink in, he’d stop blaming her for the emotions tearing through him.
    Eight years. She’d been pregnant on their wedding day. When the hell had she planned on telling him? He wanted to believe he would’ve found a way to tell the army no if he’d known that detail, but in those days he’d boasted a bigger-than-life confidence. He probably would’ve taken the assignment anyway, knowing it had been a quick-strike plan.
    Nothing quick about eight years, he thought. She’d gone through all of it alone. Pregnancy, childbirth, Andy’s first steps, first word, first day of school. Her parents gone, her fiancé—the father of her child—presumed dead. She’d done it all without any family support. No wonder she thought she could manage this situation with Everett on her own.
    His hands clenched. He wanted to put his fist through the face of the man who’d overseen his torture. He’d missed too much of their lives, but if he had his way, he