Page 16 of Daddy's Little Patient

And first thing this morning, when she'd broken a cup just trying to make herself a cup of hot coffee, that had been it. The last straw.

Up until now.

She stared at him, unable to recall a single word of the speech she’d rehearsed for when this inevitable moment came. All she could see now was his reaction to what she'd done. She looked down at her hand cradled in both of his, and just couldn't raise her eyes back to his after that. She had been so focused on just getting these hateful things off her body she hadn't considered how she would feel now that she was caught. And damn if she hadn't known from the start that she hadn't a prayer of hiding what she'd done. She'd known this would come. She just hadn't known she'd feel this awful when it did.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Daddy was already shaking his head.

"Huh uh, no. This is so far beyond 'I'm sorry'." Without another word, he let go of her hand and marched out of the bathroom.

Kelly stood there, the morning air prickling at her ultra-sensitive skin, feeling awful, depressed, and more than anythingelse, like a bad girl. All that determination that had filled her up from the moment she'd tried to get her own coffee, it was gone. And that was stupid because she'd known from the start that she had no way of hiding this from him. It just hadn't mattered, not at the time.

Well, it mattered now.

Slowly, she followed him into the bedroom to watch as he dressed. Without a word, he snapped his fingers and pointed at the foot of bed. Head bowed, Kelly went to sit where he'd directed. He dressed her in simmering silence, and the only words he said once they were done were a terse, "Let's go."

He got his keys and wallet from the table just inside her front door, and out to the car they went. She didn't need to ask where they were going. She already knew.

The drive to the hospital was done in complete silence, the truck’s engine the only sound to keep her company. With every passing mile, she felt worse. She didn't know what to say, but then, Cole was right. No apology was big enough to cover what she'd done. She ached to give one anyway, but the insurmountable silence choked her.

They had to wait more than an hour for her doctor, an hour that felt like all day with Cole so stern beside her. And of course it was the same doctor, this time in a blue bandana with a googly-eyed skull pinned to it. The skull’s eyes rolled a lot as the doctor told her off; if she didn’t feel so bad, she might have laughed. As it was, she kept her head down and did not protest when he sent her to have her hands x-rayed to see if she’d done any permanent damage. She had not, as it turned out, but she had set back her healing by several more weeks and the possibility of a second surgery wasn’t off the table.

“I’m not going to refer you now,” the doctor concluded as her new cast was locked in place, still warm from the printer.“There’s no point if you’re going to pull another dumb stunt like this one.”

This was nothing she was going to forget, not anytime soon. She stole a peek at Cole, who was staring back at her, arms folded across his chest, his stony expression giving her no sympathy or relief. No doubt he was planning the hell she’d have to pay when they got home, but it wouldn't be a spanking. Not until she was healed.

She dropped her gaze to watch the doctor lock her other arm into another cotton-candy-colored prison. The casts themselves were so light, not much heavier than actual mesh gloves would be, but it had never been their weight that bothered her. No matter how insubstantial they seemed, wherever those slender stripes touched her swollen hands and wrists—so much more swollen now than they had been this morning—the pain bit in, and bit deep. How many bones were there in a human hand? Twenty? Thirty? It had to be something like that, because the pain lit them up so bright with every throb, she could practically close her eyes and count them. Her right hand hurt the most, with her thumb and forefinger in their own special, purple-hued hell.

This… This really had been a dumb idea.

Not just naughty. Not just wrong.Dumb. She was not a woman reclaiming her independence, she was a cranky toddler with no concept of consequences, wanting her own way even when it was self-destructive, and throwing a tantrum because Daddy said no.

She felt awful.

"I'm sorry," she finally said as Cole marched her back out to the truck, opening the door for her just as he always did before cupping her arm and helping her up inside. His gentleness now was almost as devastating as the silence.

"Me too," was all he replied as he buckled her into her seat belt and then closed the door.

Back to her house they went and the silence on the way back was even worse than it had been on the way to the hospital. And it was nothing compared to what it became the moment he turned into her driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the closed garage door.

Kelly sat in the passenger seat while he switched the truck off and the unhappy silence just got heavier. She stared through the garage, seeing nothing, and didn't move. She couldn't, not when all she could feel was the certainty that she'd finally just screwed up to the point that nothing would ever be the same again. He really was going to leave her now. Otherwise, he would have yanked her out of the car and marched her into the house and straight into the corner.

Oh, who was she kidding? What she'd done now was too big for corners. If forced to be honest with herself, it was too big for spankings too. Too big for Daddies to make right; too big for Little girls to fix with tears or apologies.

Nothing would fix this, just like nothing was going to fix her devastation when he finally said whatever had been bubbling inside him since he'd walked in on her in the bathroom hours earlier. But once he said it, there was no doubt in her mind he would then leave. It was just what people did with her. They left. Nobody—nobody—stayed with Kelly. No matter what the movies and romance novels said, some people were just unlovable. She didn't even blame them for leaving, but when it came to Cole… oh God, this was going to hurt. It already did.

"Kelly, look at me," he said, his tone calm despite the anger she knew he had to be feeling. That was devastating too. It meant in his mind, at least, he'd already said goodbye.

Covering her face with both hands, swallowing back the hurt, she woodenly said, “You can go now. I know you want to.”

Her shaking fingers fumbled with the door handle, but the auto lock was still on. By the time she realized why the doorwouldn't open, Cole was already out of the truck and walking around to her side.

Guilt mounting, she turned as far away from him as she could so she wouldn't have to see the way he looked at her when he finally opened her door for her. She couldn't see his face, but she did hear the heave of his disappointed sigh. Not angry, only disappointed, but all jokes aside, that really was much worse.

Reaching across her lap, he unbuckled her seatbelt, freeing her from the strap. She didn't know what she expected him to do next–pull her out of the truck and dump her on the lawn, grab her shoulders and shake her, yell right in her face that he’d had enough. That she was more trouble than the sex was worth. That babygirls were supposed to be fun, not neurotic messes who lashed out at his every effort to draw closer to her. She’d heard variations of this speech often enough that she could have written it for him. But Cole was in no hurry. He did bring her out of the truck, lifting her down carefully and setting her firmly on her feet, but without reprimand. Instead of grabbing her shoulders, he reached up and took her by the collar.

The touch of his thick fingers gliding between the black leather and the tingling skin of her throat made her jump. Her stomach tightened; she almost threw up. Because of course he would want to take his collar back before he left, but to actually feel it happening now was a shock to her entire body.

Except he didn’t take it. He simply used her collar as a leash, pulling her closer until she had no choice but to stand directly in front of him. His other hand settled on her shoulders, cupping her in what felt as far from angry as his eyes said he was. Gone was the stoniness. In its place, all she could see was exasperation. Only it was softer than that. Was compassionate aggravation even a thing? It must be because that was exactly the look he was giving her.

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