Page 18 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
My dad is laughing, a deep, unguarded sound I haven’t heard in decades.
“Ready, peanut?” he teases, giving my hand a playful squeeze.
“Ready!” I shout, kicking my legs as they lift me higher.
The scene shifts again and I’m on the monkey bars now, my fingers barely gripping the cold metal while I swing from one rung to the next.
Below me, my mom and dad cheer like I’m competing in the Olympics.
“You’ve got it, Holly-bug!” Mom claps, her grin wide and proud.
“Atta girl!” Dad’s voice booms, rich with encouragement.
For a moment, it’s perfect.
So perfect it aches.
But then things are changing once again.
Their smiles falter and the warmth in their voices curdle into tension, their clapping slows then stops altogether.
My mom’s face twists, her brows pinching tight.
My dad’s jaw clenches, his eyes going cold in a way I remember all too well.
The park fades around me.
Suddenly, I’m small again, standing in the hallway outside our kitchen.
My socked feet slip on the hardwood as I press my back to the wall right outside of it, my stuffed rabbit clutched tight to my chest because it’s the only lifeline I have.
A glass shatters at my mother’s feet while my father’s drunken slurs carry down the hallway toward me.
“You’re never here, Carson!”
“And when I am, all you do is nag,” he snaps back.
Their anger fills every inch of this house, seeping under closed doors and into corners where the shadow monsters hide.
I press my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t help.
It never helps.
What had once been fond times are now soured by the stark reality of my world shattering.
Of the two people that were supposed to love and protect each other, and me, tearing themselves apart until all that’s left are the ugly parts.
Strong hands shake me awake. “Hey. You okay?”
My eyes snap open to a stranger’s face.
Rugged, silver-haired with faint stubble catching the low light.
He has piercing blue eyes that study me with quiet concern.
Holy hell.
My heart stutters hard against my ribs. “Who…who are you?”
