Page 8 of Hot Damn
“No. And now I’ll get to eat with my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter.”
“You’d still be my favorite girl.”
Laughing, I say, “I bet. I promise not to tell Mom.” And byMom, I mean my step-mother, Dana. The woman who raised me as her own from the minute my father brought me home.
“Mom knows you’re my favorite,” he murmurs with a smile in his voice. “You’re her favorite girl too.”
I’m her only as well but I don’t say it because I know how much they tried to have children before and after I came along at eight. It used to upset me that I wasn’t hers but not because I felt less loved. No, I’d gone to sleep every night wishing with everything I was hers, that Dana was my real mother.
It wasn’t until my sixteenth birthday that I realized shewasmy real mother, the only one who mattered. From that day forward she was Mom, and I never went to bed without saying thank you for that.
I may have had a seriously warped biological mother but the one who raised me, the one who loves me unconditionally with everything she has, shaped me into the woman I am.
“Will Mom have dinner with us?” Maybe it was Beckett and Whitney Higgison’s situation but suddenly I need to spend some time with both of them.
“I’ll give her a call as soon as we hang up.”
“Okay, then don’t bother coming into the station, I’ll meet you at home.” The home I no longer live in but still think of that way. Despite living in my own place for three years, my two-bedroom condo isn’t home. “I’ll stay the night,” I add.
“Excellent. We’ll have breakfast together too.”
“Blueberry pancakes?”
“You bet.”
My eyes sting and, blinking rapidly, I pull in a slow breath and fight off the tears. “Dad…”
“I’m proud of you, Cam.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ll see you later at the house.”
“Okay.” The door opens behind me, and I turn to see Oakley, Nat, Walker, and the Higgisons enter the suite. “I gotta go. See you later.”
“You were born for me to love, baby girl.”
A smile curls my lips. “And I was born to love you.”
As I hang up my gaze collides with Beckett’s and the flash of angry heat in his eyes takes me by surprise, gives me a jolt.
He’s pissed. I get it. He doesn’t want to do this, and I can’t fault him for that, which is why I’m going to make this as pain-free as possible.
Waving at the chairs I’ve pulled into a semi-circle I say, “Why don’t we all have a seat and talk before I film anything.”
“I’d rather get this over with,” Beckett grumbles but he ushers Whitney into a chair then takes the one beside her.
“I understand that. But I thought if I ran through what I want to ask and what your answers are, if you’ll answer, we’ll be a little more comfortable on camera.” I smile at Whitney. “Do you want a cola before we start?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” I indicate the bar behind me. “You can have whatever you want.”
“She said she was good,” Beckett barks.
“O-kay.” I give him a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s get started then.”
