Page 150 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Since my father’s arrest, he’s done the one thing I thought he couldn’t possibly do—make me feel even smaller than I did already.
He hasn’t spoken to me once since my mother bailed him out of jail.
Not a call, not a text, not even a passive-aggressive voicemail, which is the bare minimum I was expecting.
And while I’ve never exactly had him in my life to begin with, being disowned still hits like a kick in the gut all the same.
I wish I didn’t care.
By mid-afternoon today, I give up on pretending to be productive. With no orders and no customers, there’s no point in standing behind the counter like I’m waiting for something that I know isn’t coming.
I flip the front window sign to“Closed”before locking the door and dragging myself back to my apartment to wallow in peace.
If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d pour a glass of wine the size of my head, dig into a pint of ice cream, and put on the worst Christmas rom-com I could find.
Instead, I settle for a peppermint tea and a pile of cookies I baked from leftover dough, sugar and butter being my sad-girl substitutes for booze.
While the latest Hallmark Christmas flick of the year plays, I keep circling the same thought I’ve been circling all week: maybe Ishouldget rid of the baby.
Not because I don’t want it.
God, that’s the worst part, Idowant it. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, just like I told Mallory.
But I keep hearing her voice in my head, reminding me of the practical stuff.
That being a single mother would wreck my life before it ever really started.
And now, with my name already trashed, it feels like I’d be setting this kid up for failure before they’re even born either way.
What kind of child would want to be born to a mom who’s the talk of the town for spreading her legs to not one, not two, butthreedifferent guys?
But every time I get close to making that decision, Jack’s voice cuts through the noise:We’ll talk to you soon, once we’ve got our shit figured out.
It’s the only thing keeping me tethered right now.
The only hope I have that maybe, just maybe, I won’t actually have to do this alone.
Finding myself restless once again, I put on my favorite Holiday playlist for background noise while I work in the kitchen, rolling out dough and trying to lose myself in the rhythm of baking. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills the air, warm and soft, almost enough to make me forget how bad things are.
Almost.
I’ve just pulled a tray of cookies from the oven when there’s a knock at my door.
It’s soft but solid.
My pulse kicks up immediately at the sound.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head to the door, telling myself it’s probably Mallory, or maybe my neighbor, sweet Mrs. Morales from downstairs with a piece of mail delivered to the wrong box.
When I open it, my breath catches in my throat.
For a second, my brain refuses to process the sight.
Jack, Liam, and Reece…all three of them filling the doorway in that way they always do, a wall of broad shoulders, heavy winter coats, and an unshakable presence.
The faint bite of cold clings to them, their cheeks and noses rosy from the chill, and in their arms are paper bags stuffed with colorful tissue paper, edges peeking out like shy little flags.
For a moment, none of us moves.
