Page 60 of Breakaway Daddies

I drop back into the worn wooden kitchen chair like a balloon losing air. The stew in front of me sits nearly untouched, its surface now matte and congealed, but the warmth of my grandma’s words still hums in the air between us like the comforting crackle of a distant fire.

“You’re right,” I mutter, fingers raking through my disheveled hair. “I’ve been terrible at giving her space, barging in like I’m entitled to explanations, like she owes me something.”

Babicka’s eyes, wise and unwavering, fix on me with a steady, no-nonsense gaze.

“Every man’s downfall is emotional maturity,” she remarks. “But that’s where you get the chance to be better. It’s not about winning her over, Bruno. It’s about showing her you can be solid. Steady.”

I nod slowly, the inside of my cheek caught between my teeth as I try to steady my breath. My throat feels constricted, raw with unspoken words.

She envelops me in a hug that speaks volumes, her embrace infused with the comforting scents of fresh thyme and the soft, familiar wool of her well-worn sweater.

Her hands, small yet deceptively strong, fold around me with a strength that’s as constant as the tides. I lean my forehead against her shoulder.

I don’t know what’s next with Jinx. But I do know this: I’m going to wait.

Not because it’s an obligation, but because she’s worth every moment of patience I can muster.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Thomas

I shift on the barstool,the worn-out cushion beneath me conforming uncomfortably to my ass. The faux leather lets out a high-pitched squeak with every movement, like a chorus of discontent.

Beneath my boots, the wooden floor feels tacky, a reminder of a spilled drink that has long since dried but left its mark.

The atmosphere in Surf’s Up wraps around me: a gentle hum of low music plays in the background, pool balls clack against one another in rhythmic succession, and the faint rustle of fried food baskets being slid across the counter punctuates the air.

“Still here, Romeo?” the bartender calls out with a playful grin, sliding a fresh beer toward me. Her ponytail sways like a pendulum as she moves, and with a practiced flick, she tosses a bar towel over her shoulder. “You trying to become one with that stool, or what?”

I let out a low grunt, a sound more noncommittal than anything. “Not today.”

Resting her elbows on the bar, she leans in, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Haven’t seen your punk-rock girl in a while. Thought you two were a thing. I guess tabloids ruin good things though…”

I drop my gaze to the rim of my glass, the foam having long since fizzled out. With a swift motion, I drain the last of the warm, flat beer down my throat and tap the glass lightly on the bar, signaling for another round.

She quirks an eyebrow but obliges, filling the glass once more. “C’mon, I was only teasing…”

I remain silent, my eyes fixed on the glass. Words seem futile.

I’m mid-sip of my cold beer when the door swings open, letting in a rush of crisp night air that sends a shiver down my spine. The soft murmur of laughter and low voices follows. I glance up and freeze.

Ally and Kenzie step into the bar, their hair slightly tousled by the evening breeze. Kenzie is laughing at something Ally just said, and they have that unmistakable glow of two people who are deeply in love, their eyes sparkling with an inner light that seems to illuminate the dim room.

My stomach twists with jealousy, a sharp pang that hits me low and hard. I quickly drop my gaze back to the amber liquid in my glass just as their eyes find mine.

I feel the vibration of their footsteps on the worn wooden floor before I hear the rhythmic tapping of their boots. The bar, once filled with the chatter of patrons and the soft hum of conversation, suddenly feels oppressively quiet, as if even the old jukebox has paused to listen in.

“Hey, stranger.” Kenzie’s voice is gentle, and she slides onto the stool beside me with a warm smile. Ally settles on the other side, her presence equally comforting and intimidating.

“Hi,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the frothy rim of my drink. I try to mask my emotions, but there’s a heaviness to my voice that betrays me.

Kenzie nudges my arm playfully, trying to lift my spirits. “Been here a while?”

“Feels like forever,” I reply, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes or lift the weight from my shoulders.

Ally leans casually on the polished wooden bar, her eyes fixed intently on me. “How are you really holding up, Thomas?” she asks softly, and it’s almost hard to hear her over the low hum of chatter in the dimly lit room.

I let out a heavy sigh, raking my fingers through my disheveled hair.

---