Page 165 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
This is the moment when I have to be more than a guy whose feelings just went on the rollercoaster ride of all rollercoaster rides.
This is when I need to put everything else aside and be her daddy.
“Baby, I’m listening to you. I hear you.” I reach out and when she doesn’t flinch, draw her into my arms. “Tell me everything, my bumble. I’m listening.”
She does. It pours out of her. For over an hour, I barely say a word. I just listen. To her rage and bitterness andfear. My baby, my bumble, has been so afraid. Of being trapped into marriage with a man she doesn’t like or respect. Who mocks her littleness. Who has made it clear he doesn’t have any feelings for her beyond a vague, lecherous greed.
And if she refuses the marriage no one consulted her on? She’s afraid of being cast out, spurned by her family, and all thatcomes with it. She doesn’t have any money of her own. She’s never been paid for her work. It all goes into the family coffers. Without her family, she’s completely broke. Literally without a penny to her name. Even her phone is run through the business. She’s worked for her family her entire life. She’ll be jobless, without a reference. Bound by a complex set of non-disclosure and confidentiality agreements not to talk about the projects she’s done, the clients she’s served. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get another job. She’ll be homeless. She’s lived in their family home her whole life except for a short stint in student housing in college. She’ll be cast out of the only home she’s ever known.
But worst of all, is the censure, the loss of her family, who have kept her within their fold, home-schooling her until she broke out and went to college in Chicago. As soon as she finished her master’s degree, they cut off her money until she was forced to come home. They’ve controlled her, but also, in her mind, taken care of her. They’ve fed her, clothed her, educated her, sheltered her, nurtured her, protected her.
And all that they’ve asked in return is that she marry her brother’s business associate and give up the direction her heart’s taken her in.
“I’m ungrateful,” she sobs into my shoulder as I rock her. “That’s what Baachan calls me. Ungrateful. Unworthy of my family. I’m a bad person. I’m bad. I’m bad.”
I hold her close and rock her. There’s so much here to fix. The need, the drive, to fix her burns in my chest.
But I’ve learned something in the weeks of trying to be her daddy—not very successfully, I now realize, since she kept these huge secrets from me—I can onlyhelpher fix it. I can’t do it for her. I can create the safe space for her to heal, and grow, and be herself. Her best, little self. Just as Logan’s done for Emily. That’s what he’s been saying to me all along. That’s why thespat with Miranda, which seems like such a small thing from the outside, is such a big thing to them. That confrontation burned down the safe space Logan built for Emmy. They’ve had to start over and rebuild it.
Understanding all that gives me the strength to say, “I love you, my bumble.”
And that’s all. I don’t tell her she can move in with me. I don’t promise to support her until she finds a way around the NDAs or maybe does something completely different with her skills. I don’t point out that she’s built herself a different, better family. I will say all those things, but for right now, all she needs to know is that I love her.
She lifts her head. “You can’t. I’m bad. I told you, when you knew my secrets, you wouldn’t like me anymore.”
“I love you,” I repeat, looking into her eyes and letting her see all the raw ugliness in my soul, all the terrible things I’ve seen and done, and all the love that’s sprouted since she brought her joy into my life.
Her breath hitches as she stares at me. “You do.”
“I do.”
“Oppa.” Fresh tears streak down her golden cheeks and she burrows fiercely into me.
thirty-three
I askher for her family’s phone numbers.
Asking is much harder than acting on my first impulse, which is to clone her phone. I don’t. I ask, and when she gives them to me, I call her father, and then her brother, to let them know she’s with me and safe.
Her father’s calm. He thanks me for letting him know she’s safe. “Is she coming home tomorrow?” he asks.
“I don’t think so.”
“I took you for a man of your word when you said you wouldn’t try to transplant her.”
“I told you she needs space and sunlight. That’s what I’m giving her.”
He hums. “I love my daughter very much.”
“So do I,” I tell him, glad I was able to say it to Cynnie first.
“I’ll call tomorrow to see how she is.”
“I’ll be here,” I tell him.
Neither of us say goodbye. He hangs up first.
Her brother is not nearly as calm.
