Page 29 of Daddy Defender
A waitress saunters over, pen poised. “What’ll it be, folks?”
“Full breakfast,” I say, not bothering with the menu. “Eggs sunny-side up, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, toast, black coffee. Double up on the bacon, hashbrowns too.”
The waitress raises an eyebrow, jotting it down.
Bodie snickers, his grin widening, and I shoot him a look.
“What’s so funny, boy?” I ask.
“You,” Bodie says, giggling outright now, his blue eyes sparkling. “That’s, like, a heart attack on a plate. You gonna eat a whole pig or what?”
Bodie’s tone is teasing, light, and it’s the first time he’s sounded this relaxed.
“Gotta fuel up,” I say, leaning back, arms crossed. “Unlike you, I don’t run on strawberry shakes and rainbow unicorn dreams.”
Bodie’s pout returns, mock-offended, and he turns to the waitress.
“Pancakes, please. Extra fluffy, with whipped cream and strawberries,” Bodie declares. “And a strawberry shake, big as you got.” He hands over the menu, then adds, “Oh, and a side of fries. I’mstarving.”
The waitress nods, unfazed, and heads off. Bodie leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in his hands, watching me like he’s sizing me up.
“You always eat like you’re prepping for a war?” Bodie asks, a glint in his eyes.
“When you’ve been in my line of work, you eat when you can,” I say, keeping it vague. Bodie’s question’s innocent, but it’s a reminder of the line I’m walking—how much to tell him, how much to hold back.
The Night Ops Guard code is clear: no loose lips, no unnecessary details. We’re ghosts, in and out, leaving no trace.
But…
Bodie’s not a mission, not really. He’s a boy in trouble, a Little who’s got my Daddy instincts in overdrive, and that’s muddying the waters.
Our food comes fast, plates piled high.
My breakfast is a mountain—eggs glistening, bacon crisp, hashbrowns golden. Bodie’s pancakes are a fluffy tower, drowning in whipped cream and sliced strawberries, his shake a frothy pink monster in a frosted glass.
I smile and watch as Bodie dives in, fork cutting through the stack, and takes a big bite, whipped cream smudging his lip. He doesn’t notice, just slurps his shake, straw gurgling, and lets out a happy little hum that hits me right in the chest.
“These areperfect,” Bodie says, mouth full, eyes half-closed in bliss. “Told you I needed this.” He points his fork at my plate, grinning. “You gonna finish all that, big guy?”
“Watch me,” I say, digging in. The bacon’s salty, the coffee bitter, and it grounds me, pulls me out of my head.
But as I chew, my eyes stay on Bodie, watching him munch his pancakes, his Little side out in full force. He’s carefree for a moment, no Vince, no bullets, just him and his shake, and it’s damn near perfect.
I want to keep him like this—safe, happy,mine.
That thought stops me cold…
Mine? He’s not mine, not even close.
But the way he giggles, the way he licks whipped cream off his thumb, it’s got me thinking things a Guard shouldn’t. Things a Daddy can’t ignore.
I need to tell him something, give him enough to trust me without breaking the code. Vince’s cartel ties, the shooters, they’re not small-time. He needs to know I’m not just some guy playing hero, that I’ve got the skills to keep him alive.
But it’s a lot to take on. Can Bodie handle the fact that his defender is actually a man who’s done the kinds of things that I’ve done? Sure, all in the name of a mission. But the lines got blurred on more than one occasion. I’ve done things that keep me up long into the night, things I’d rather forget.
I sip my coffee, the mug warm in my hands, and weigh my options.
The Guard’s burned me before—Hicks’ death, that kid in Syria, missions that left scars deeper than the one above my eye. Telling Bodie about the Guard means opening that box, letting him see the blood on my hands.
