Page 101 of Wishing Hearts

“You chose to be a father,” Sam says softly. “That was your decision.”

“Yes,” I admit because that much is true. I could have refused Danielle when she showed up with Winnie. My parents would have raised her, or Danielle could have given her up for adoption. But… “I did make that choice. You’re right.”

“Stud,” Sam says softly, nudging me until I look his way. There’s a soft smile on his face. “That wasn’t a criticism. I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong for bein’ upset about the way your life changed. I’m just…I’m a li’l in awe over here.”

“What?” I ask in surprise.

“You chose to be a dad in what amounts to a moment,” he says. “Most folks think about that for a long time. They plan for it, or at least have time to plan around it. And you…you didn’t have that. But you chose Winnie. You put her first that day, and you became a dad. D’you realize how remarkable that is?” He shakes his head a little. “I spent my childhood with dozens of foster carers, and what they did for me was remarkable in its own right. But not one of them took up that mantle for me. You stepped up when Winnie needed you most, and God. I just…I respect the hell out of you for that, Harrison.”

Christ.

“She doesn’t know,” I say because I can’t come up with a single reply to Sam’s heartfelt words. The way he sees me…it’s too much sometimes. I’m far from perfect. “Winnie doesn’t know Danielle is her mother. She’s only met her twice when my sister was passing through, but for all intents and purposes, Danielle is Winnie’s aunt. It’s what my sister wanted, and we—me and my parents—agreed it was for the best. But sometimes… Sometimes I hate the fact that I have to keep something so big from my daughter. When do I tell her the truth? All she knows is that her mom couldn’t stay because she wasn’t prepared to be a parent. That it wouldn’t have been healthy or safe for either of them. But Winnie is going to want to know more. At some point, that’s not going to be enough. And then what? Will she hate me for lying to her? Will it change things when Winnie finds out I’m technically her uncle?”

“Never,” Sam says, sounding sure. “You’re her dad, end of story. You’ll always be her dad. Biology doesn’t change that. When—and if—it’s the right time to tell her, you’ll know. She won’t hate you, Harrison. She could never.”

“I feel like I’m not enough,” I whisper. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for her. Maybe that’s why she’s struggling at night. Maybe that’s why—”

“You. Are. Enough,” Sam says, cutting me off, his tone brokering no argument. “You are more than enough, stud. You’re everythin’ to that little girl. Her trouble sleepin’ alone is not due to some perceived fault of yours as a parent. Some kids just have trouble fallin’ asleep, while others don’t. Some kids don’t like bein’ alone. Others have no problem with it. Heck, some kids run through the streets, fearless, and others are always gonna want a hand to hold. We’re all different. Our fears, our worries, what we’re good at, what we’re not—I don’t think those things are shaped entirely by the outside world. Part of it is just us. So stop takin’ all those burdens on your shoulders like you’re singlehandedly responsible for whether or not Winnie likes broccoli or can sleep with the light off. Your daughter is uniquely herself, and you’re doin’ your best to raise her to know that whoever that person is? She’s okay just as she is.”

“Goddamn it, Sam,” I all but croak, swiping at my eyes. “How do you always know the exact right thing to say?”

“Do I?” he asks, running his thumb along my cheek before reaching over to grab my long-forgotten cake. He breaks off a piece with the fork, bringing it to my mouth. Dutifully, I eat the bite. He looks a little unsure as he says, “Even when I’m bein’ a jealous ass? ’Cause I can’t promise that’s not gonna happen again.”

“Oh, Sam,” I huff, marveling at how open this man is with me. I’ve never felt so comfortable baring my soul with another human being before, and I think a big part of that is Sam himself. The way I can so clearly see to the heart of him. But that means I’m not the only one vulnerable in this relationship. Sam needs the reassurance just as much as I do. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“You really don’t mind?” he asks, feeding me the last piece of cake.

I lick the frosting from my lips when I’m done and shake my head. “No, I don’t mind. I told you that last night. But Sammy?”

He leans back as I swing my leg over his lap, settling myself there. His eyes, so big and brown, watch me carefully.

“Just to be clear,” I say slowly. “I won’t be looking anywhere but at you.”

His lips twitch into a smile, and some of that usual Sam fire enters his eyes. “It’s the chaps, isn’t it?”

I bark a laugh. “They sure don’t hurt.”

Sam rumbles a hum, dragging me down against his crotch. I start to plump as my cock rubs against his through our clothes, but then Sam stops.

“Harrison, I really appreciate you tellin’ me those things,” he says. “I don’t wanna make light of that.”

“I didn’t think you were,” I assure him.

He nods, fingers stroking over my sweatpants. “I remember that first night we met. You told me you felt like you were livin’ someone else’s life.” I cringe a little at that, but Sam goes on. “I understand that more now. But I also know you don’t regret any of it.”

“I don’t,” I say firmly. I think, sometimes, it’s simply hard not to wonder what if. I was feeling so very alone that day back in Plum Valley when Sam and I met. Alone, tired, overworked, and overwhelmed. And I didn’t even realize, until recently, how often I was stuck feeling that way. Feeling like my life was falling off the tracks.

“I just…” Sam goes on. “I just hope I’m helpin’. Not addin’ to everythin’ on your plate.”

My breath whooshes from my lungs. “Sam,” I say, framing his face in my hands. His bristle is sharp, and I stroke my thumbs along those hairs that fire like electricity. “You are my angel.”

He huffs a laugh, looking down, but I give him a little shake.

“My angel of cock and cake, remember?”

He chuckles again, and I run my hand down his chest, just to convince myself he’s real.

“My angel of veggies and filthy sweet words,” I continue. “My angel of chaps and beer and backyard camping.” My chest warms as I recall what I overheard of his conversation with Winnie that night we camped in the backyard. How sweet he was with her inside the treehouse. How absolutely stunning in his own childlike wonder. “You’ve made everything in my life better from the moment you showed up. The only thing you add to my plate”—I hold up the empty cake box—“is this.”

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