Page 65 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
I climb back into the camper van. I pull Julia close, breathing in her little kid smell.
“I love you Daddy,” she whispers.
“Love you too. Morning, baby,” I respond.
She blinks, looking up at me, and her eyes widen with shock for just a second.
She’s done that every morning since I’ve gotten custody of her, like she can’t believe that I’m real. Every time, it kills me.
I can’t blame her for that disbelief. While I had been busy rescuing people, guarding diplomats, clearing out insurgents, and generally trying to make the world a safer place for civilians, my estranged wife had died.
You see, my wife’s quack doctor had loaded her up with so many pills, a couple of them interacted and had put her into cardiac arrest.
After almost a year of wrangling with authorities to prove that I was stable enough to take care of my kid, I finally have full and final custody.
She is the one shining moment in my life. I love her more than Ark, and that’s saying a lot because that dog is my best buddy.
Fortunately, he’s my designated ESA, and he’s adopted Julia as his pup. We’re a tight unit, the three of us.
It’s a better unit than I ever could have asked for back in the military.
“Dad?”
Her voice shakes me from my thoughts. “Hey, Judy-rudy,” I say, holding her close and giving her a kiss on the head. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Ice cream,” she says promptly. Her eyes glitter, mischief clear in her intentions.
“Ice cream!” I open my eyes wide, sitting up in the van’s little bed, opting to take a tactical approach to this battle. “Would you consent to maybe some waffles under that ice cream?”
“Maybe,” she grins at me, with a gap-toothed smile. Julia is six and had recently shed her top two teeth. It gives her a whimsical smile, but she knows how to work it.
“With, perhaps, a side of orange juice, bacon, and a couple of eggs?” I tease.
She pouts. “But then I won’t have room for ice cream, and I really want some. Please, Daddy?”
“One egg, and orange juice,” I bargain, knowing that she doesn’t care all that much for bacon — a mystery I have a hard time fathoming. “One waffle with a scoop of ice cream on top. And you have to shower and get dressed first.”
“Okay,” she says.
I start the shower for her. The van has a tiny one, with an oversized tank, since two people showering requires a lot of water. That gives me time to fire up the gas grill, start some bacon and eggs — I like bacon, even if my kid doesn’t — and start the waffle iron heating up.
By the time Julia emerges, dressed in jean shorts and a crop-top t-shirt with the logo “Daddy’s favorite girl” across the front of it, I have a plate with one egg, one waffle, and a scoop of her favorite Very Berry ice cream on top of the waffle.
She eats the ice cream first, of course. But she also eats the waffle, the egg, and drinks the juice. It is a small victory because my little princess has been well on her way to some real eating disorders.
I finish my breakfast while she is eating and start on cleanup. While I am doing that, Betty and Bobby, twins who live two vans over come by. “We’re going to Mother Hubbard’s,” Betty says. “Can Julia walk with us?”
The twins are ten, and very responsible. I feel safe letting them walk with Julia. “I’ll watch from here,” I say.
The three youngsters spin, bob, and tumble their way to Mother Hubbard’s Homeschool. As far as I know, it doesn’t have any official standing, but since it is summer, I don’t have to worry about accreditation.
Come fall, that will be another problem entirely.
Today, however, it’s not important. What matters is that going there, playing with the other kids, participating in the summer reading program, tumbling, and racing along the sand makes Julia happy.
I’d give anything to see her smile, especially after all she’s been through.
It also has the added bonus of giving me three or four hours to exercise and get my work done.
