Page 74 of Big Daddy

I tried giving her time. But now… I need to know. Is she tired of me? Did she realize she doesn’t love me? Am I too old? Fuck, I don’t know. It’s not like me to be in my head this way, either. My chest aches with worry at the thought that maybe this distance is staying, and that maybe Winnie might… leave me.

I push open the door after awkwardly lingering in my own hallway and find Winnie still asleep, curled into the side of the bed she’s been sleeping on. Usually, she sleeps on top of me, against me, next to me, fuck—I’ve even let her fall asleep while I’m still inside of her.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I take note of the fact she’s also sleeping later than she usually does. When I get up for work, she gets up too, usually, and showers, talks to me while I shave, and sometimes requires that I fuck her brains out before we go.

Last week she slept in and showed little interest in anything related to Quincey Parker.

I round the bed and take a seat next to her, her small frame sliding into me as the bed dips. I place her drink and bag on the nightstand, and sift my fingers through her beautiful, wild curls. “Win, baby,” I whisper softly.

Her eyes slowly open, and when I find they aren’t filled with sleep, my stomach clenches. Was she pretending to sleep to avoid me? Jesus Christ, it’s worse than I thought.

“Morning,” she greets with what starts as a full smile but quickly fades into traces of happiness. There’s a plummet in my chest, a free falling so great that I’m rendered breathless for a moment. She was happy when her eyes opened and when reality settled in around her, when I came into view, she became unhappy.

I get to my feet and shove my hands in my pockets, rocking on my feet in my own goddamn bedroom as insecurity swarms me. I’ve not been insecure in many, many years. I forgot how much discomfort is involved.

“Finishing up Corinne’s banner today?” I ask her as she scrambles in bed to sit up, smoothing her hair from her face. Yesterday when I came home she told me she’d been busy all day, working on Corinne’s sales banner for an upcoming soft opening. So tired that she wanted to go straight to bed.

Her crooked smile only fuels my insecurity. “Yeah, I am.” Just then, her phone rings, and I make sure not to look at the screen before she answers. I trust her. I do. I have no reason not to, and I want her to know that even in her current state—whatever that is—the trust is still there.

She presses her phone to her chest. “I have to take this.” With one quick glance at the coffee and bag she says, “Thanks for breakfast.” A moment later, the bathroom door is closing and I’m left standing alone in our bedroom, confused and hurt.

Curving around the bed, I come to the door and knock. I’ve given her a week. Now I want to know what’s going on. No—I need to fucking know.

“Winnie, what’s going on?”

She cracks the door and I push my palm into it, pushing inside. “Quincey—” she argues but I don’t stop. I step inside andlook around, finding… nothing. Her phone is in her hand, an active call running.

“Quincey?” I know it’s my name but there are few times Winnie actually uses it.

She sighs, splaying a hand on my chest. My cock stirs, because her touch has that effect, even after the week we’ve had. “I’m on the phone, okay?”

“Why have you been ignoring me all week?” I press into her, kissing her cheek, then her neck as I gather her curls in the hand not on her hip. “Talk to me. I hate this shit. What’s going on with you?”

The hand against my chest gives me a shove, and our eyes idle as the shower runs, steam billowing around us. “Nothing. We’re good. I gotta take the call.” She forces a smile. “I’ll call you later.”

“You said that yesterday and you never called.” I hate that I’m the man saying that sentence. That I’m the man being slighted. That’s a Pen thing, not a Parker thing.

“I’m sorry,” she says, nudging me out as she brings the phone to her ear. “It’s Brielle. Okay?”

They’ve been working on their relationship, so I believe her if she says it’s my daughter. But that explains nothing about the last week.

Answers will have to wait because Winnie closesand locksthe bathroom door before I can argue. Because the shower and exhaust fan are running, I can’t even fucking eavesdrop.

Fuck that, anyway.

Quincey Parker does not eavesdrop. She wanted a mature relationship, openness and honesty. She yelled at me about it the day I told her I passed her information to Corinne without her consent. Yet the door is closed in my goddamn face and she’s talking to my daughter.

I didn’t sign up to be in a relationship with a fucking sixteen-year-old girl.

I knock on the door again. “Winnie! This is bullshit. Just fucking talk to me!”

“Don’t curse at me, Quincey!” she shouts through the door.

“I—” I press my hand to the door, watching the light beneath flicker as she moves about. “I won’t shout through a door. And I won’t be ignored.” With a deep, painful breath, I turn and leave, heading to the office.

I love Winnie, and I fell hard and fast—a story I hear from clients often. And I know what you’re thinking—you’re a divorce lawyer. Hearing stories start with “we fell hard and fast” that ultimately end in divorce means I should understand our relationship could break apart. I should feel reasonable when faced with the fact that we may not last.

But I don’t. I believe in us. I believe in the way I love Winnie, and I believe the universe doesn’t put soulmates in a one-person proximity of each other for years so that theydon’tmeet. No way.

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