Page 132 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
“Thank you.” I make myself say it, even though a small, bitter part of me is already wondering if she’ll keep it.
But right now I can’t fight that battle.
Right now, I have to take the small mercy of her agreement and hold it like a shield.
I walk her toward the door, my hand light at her elbow.
Her steps are slow and reluctant.
She stops once she’s in the frame, her eyes darting over my face like she’s searching for the right words, the rightanything, to say to bridge the canyon that’s now between us.
I wait for a long moment but nothing comes.
“I’ll call you later,” I end up saying. It’s a truce in words, if not a small olive branch for us later on down the road.
She nods once, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, and steps out. The door swings shut with a muted click.
I stay there for a long second, palm flat against the cool wood, forehead dropping against it like maybe I can press some of the heat out of my skin.
Finally, I push back, turning, and find them all still standing there.
Waiting.
30
HOLLY
The silence is suffocating.
It’s soaked into the walls and carpet, crawling over my skin until I can barely think past the hum of it.
No one’s moving, no one’s even breathing loud enough to break it.
When Jack finally does, I’m momentarily relieved. “Do you know who the father is?”
The question lands in my gut like a punch, my stomach seizing so hard it’s almost painful.
I meet his eyes anyway despite being afraid to, even though it feels like stepping into the open and waiting for the shot to hit my chest.
“No… I have no idea when I conceived, and even if I did there’s no way to be sure. I’ve…hooked up with all of you multiple times without protection.”
My voice wavers, heat creeping up my neck from the humiliation of admitting how stupid I’ve been, but I force myself to finish. “There’s no way to narrow it down.”
“Are you planning on keeping it?”
The question is quieter, but it still feels like it hits me with the same force as before.
“I—” I swallow hard, bile threatening to climb my throat again. “I don’t know.”
His fingers flex once, twice, his shoulders tightening like he’s holding himself in place, forcing himself to remain still instead of pace around.
The quiet comes back, swallowing the space between all of us once more.
So softly I almost miss it, Reece speaks. “I don’t…know if I can be a dad again.”
It’s not said with any sort of malice.
It’s resigned, heavy in a way that makes me feel sorry for him. I turn toward him instinctively, searching his face for something more other than the quiet devastation that he’s already wearing.
