Page 11 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Most of the time, he acts more like my spoiled little brother than an elder I can look to in times of crisis.
And the times where Ihavetried to integrate him back into my life were ones I quickly ended up regretting.
Hopefully this isn’t one of them because I’m too fucking desperate to turn anywhere else.
I hit call button before I can overthink it even more.
It rings.
Once…twice, three times.
And then his voicemail picks up:“Hi, you’ve reached Carson Callahan. Leave a message.”
My eyes roll as I immediately end the call.
Figures.
“Story of my life,” I mutter, the bitterness sharp tasting on my tongue.
I don’t bother wasting my time texting him to call me back—it’s not like he’ll bother reading it until weeks later when I’ll be out of a damn job anyway.
The only times my father ever shows any remote interest in my existence is when he suddenly remembers having a daughter might get him laid, then he’s suddenly father of the year for a short time before he grows bored and moves on to the next girl.
My body sags against my counter.
For the first time in years, I feel completely lost.
3
JACK
The bar is loud tonight with the kind of Friday night chatter that seems to envelop every nook and cranny of the space surrounding, keeping whoever’s in it contained in a protective bubble from the outside world.
Glasses clink at the counter by the bar while somebody’s laugh carries across the room, loud over the speakers spilling an old classic hit I haven’t heard in close to a decade that makes me think of both summers long gone and how old I’m getting.
I’m leaning back in my usual booth, nursing a beer and letting the noise wash over me while Reece spins some ridiculous story about his boss’s latest meltdown.
He’s gesturing wildly with a whiskey glass in one hand, liquid sloshing around dangerously, his cheeks already flushed from the second round.
Liam is grinning across from me, half-listening while nodding and scrolling through his phone on some dating site he’s been trying to “hack” since signing up for it weeks ago. So far he’s had no luck, but then again he’s always been a picky fucker.
“And then the poor guy actually stapled his damn tie to the paperwork,” Reece cackles, slapping the table hard enough to make our drinks tremble. “He’s lucky he didn’t catch his hand in there too!”
I shake my head, only half-listening but chuckle anyway despite myself because that’s just how Reece’s energy works.
He’s infectious. “Sounds about right for your office. Sometimes it sounds like it’s a sitcom over there.”
Before Reece can fire back with another story, my phone buzzes on the table.
The screen lights up with a name I haven’t seen in months:Carson.
Well, well.
Seems he’s decided to crawl out of whatever cave he’s been hiding inside lately.
Or rather, whatever woman’s bed he’s been holed up in, no doubt because she’s finally gotten sick of his shit and kicked him to the curb.
Can’t say I’d blame her if that turned out to be the case.
