Page 86 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
I stop the thought before it can finish, shoving it down to try to paste over it with something lighter.
Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe he figured I didn’t need to know since it’s been handled and in his weird, roundabout way, he thinks he’s protecting me.
So I try,really try, to just let it go and enjoy the rest of the morning.
The hours slide by in an easy, almost surreal haze.
Liam and Reece are ridiculous in the best way, doting on me like I’m royalty.
They make it their personal mission to keep me planted on the couch, fussing over me until I have no choice but to surrender to it.
Liam brings me coffee just the way I like it, leaning one shoulder against the back of the couch while I sip to make sure it’s perfect.
Reece hovers with a throw blanket in hand, making sure I’m as comfortable as can be, tucking it around me every time I shift even a little and it slips off me.
They cook lunch and set it in front of me, taking turns telling stories that make me laugh so hard my cheeks ache.
All the while Jack is nowhere to be seen.
At first, I tell myself he’s just taking a nap.
But the longer it goes on, the harder it is to ignore because it’s beenhoursand he’s still not out of his room.
His absence is ever present, like a storm cloud hovering just out of sight.
What if he does regret what happened?
What if the look I saw in his eyes this morning wasn’t about wanting me and being jealous, but about wishing it hadn’t happened at all?
And if that’s the case what’s to stop him from deciding the cleanest way to clear his conscience is to tell my father everything?
Liam and Reece head into the kitchen as the late afternoon hits, clattering pots and pans as they start prepping dinner.
They’re laughing about something, Reece’s voice warm and amused, Liam’s a little dry but still playful.
It gives me my opening. If I’m going to get answers, this is my shot.
I push the blanket off and stand, smoothing my hands down over my thighs as I glance toward the kitchen one last time before heading down the hall.
My steps light, almost hesitant. When I stop outside Jack’s room, I hesitate for only a second before knocking.
No answer.
I knock again, louder this time, my knuckles hitting a little harder against the wood.
Still nothing.
Fine. If he’s planning on ignoring me, then I’m not giving him that choice.
My hand goes to the doorknob.
If he won’t open the door, I’ll take matters into my own hands.
I ease the door open, the faint creak of it making me wince, and slip inside before I can talk myself out of it.
The curtains are mostly drawn, slivers of late afternoon light cutting through and spilling thin, golden stripes across the floor.
