Page 77 of Daddy Defender
“But what about your injuries?” Bodie asks.
“Ha! A couple of painkillers and some top secret Guard stretches and I’ll be ready to rock and roll,” I laugh.
“More like total wipeout!” Bodie squeals in delight, a look of pure mischief in his eyes.
I chuckle and put on a fresh pot of coffee.
If I’m going to hit the waves later and not make a total jackass of myself, I need to be caffeinated all the way to the moon and back…
The beach is a short walk, the sand warm under my boots, the ocean a glittering blue stretching to the horizon. There’s something about seeing the beach through my surfer boy’s eyes that just makes it feel so much more appealing—even if I do somewhat feel like a condemned man walking to his watery fate…
Bodie’s in his wetsuit, his board tucked under his arm, Poot and Billy nestled in a tote by my side. The waves are gentle today, perfect for him to shine and for me to… well, not drown.
The boy bounds ahead, his surfer boy vibe radiant.
I set up on the shore, spreading a blanket, my gun tucked in my bag—just in case—but my focus is almost entirely on him. I haven’t had any intel back regarding Vince yet, other than he was definitely picked up by the cops and taken to the nearby prison. It won’t be long before he’s moved out of there to somewhere more secure, and from there on who knows what his fate might be. But that’s not my problem, and thankfully not Bodie’s either.
I watch as he paddles out, his strokes smooth, his body one with the water. A wave rises, small but clean, and he pops up, his board slicing the face, his arms steady.
My surfer Little carves left, then right, his grin visible even from here, pure freedom in every move. My chest swells, pride and love mixing, his Little side and grownup side merging so fluidly. He rides the wave to shore, hopping off, whooping like a kid, and jogs to me, dripping and breathless.
“Did you see, Daddy?” Bodie chirps in delight, his eyes bright, his Little side bursting. “That was for you!”
“Damn right I saw,” I say, pulling him close, not caring about the wet. “My Little One’s a pro. Proud of you, Bodie.”
I kiss his forehead, his giggle vibrating against me, and he nudges my chest.
“Your turn, Daddy,” he says, smirking, his hands on his hips. “No chickening out. Poot and Billy are watching.”
I groan, but my Daddy side’s ready to keep my word.
Bodie picks a beginner board from his stash, handing it over with a mock-stern look.
“Baby waves, Daddy,” Bodie says. “You got this.”
The water’s cold, lapping my ankles as I wade in, the board awkward under my arm. All I can say is that I’m glad I did me stretches after breakfast. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need them. Oh, and the extra painkiller was probably a wise move too.
Bodie’s beside me, coaching, his voice a mix of Little sass and surfer wisdom.
“Paddle hard, pop up quick, keep your knees bent,” he says, splashing me.
I growl, splashing back, his laugh echoing over the waves.
My first attempt’s a total disaster...
I paddle, catch a tiny wave, but my pop-up’s wobbly, and I wipe out, the board shooting out from under me.
Bodie’s cackling, swimming over, his eyes dancing.
“Not bad for a Night Ops guy,” Bodie teases. “Try again, Daddy.”
The second’s no better, another wipeout, my arm protesting, but his encouragement keeps me going.
“You’re close!” Bodie says, his Little side cheering.
Third try, I feel it—the wave’s rhythm, the board’s balance. I paddle, pop up, knees bent, and holy hell, I’m riding.
It’s a small wave, barely a ripple, but I glide, the ocean carrying me, Bodie’s whoops ringing in my ears.
