Page 65 of Big Daddy

“Quincey!” I shout.

“That’s even an old dude’s name,” Luke mutters to Dante, causing Quincey to spin and face them, eyes narrowed.

“Get out.”

Dante starts to get to his feet but Luke halts him. “This is our room. We don’t have to get out.” He smirks. “You get out, grandpa. And stop upsetting our girl.”

In the split second before Quincey reacts, alarm bells sound in my brain. Quincey is not a grandpa and he is very territorial, and those are two offenses I know he won’t let slide. A moment later, Big Daddy has sailed across the room and yanked Luke to his feet, holding him by his collar, pressing him into the wall. A framed photo of Buzz’s girlfriend fromHome Alonefalls to the floor, along with some concert tickets and a beaded necklace.

“She is not your girl. She’s mine, and she’s coming home with me,kiddo.”

A smirk sweeps my lips. I like Luke, but damn that was a burn I wasn’t expecting. Big Daddy drops him to the floor and returns to my closet, a thin sheen of angry sweat glistening on his forehead. “Wear this,” he says finally, yanking a plain black dress from the closet.

I take the dress and step into the bathroom, Big Daddy right on my heels as I close the door. I don’t bother telling him that Luke is my friend and means no harm. I know in his current mood, he’s not going to hear anything. Instead, I smirk at him as I lift off my t-shirt and shove down my sweats, sliding into the dress, feeding my arms through, tugging it over me. He groans, his anger morphing into desire before my eyes.

“You said you’ve come to understand that you were wrong about Brielle and her relationship,” I groan as I shimmy my way into the dress still.

“I did. Which is what I learned tonight on the drive here, after I was shouted at for quite some time during the ceremony.”He watches me and my heart thumps madly, realizing… he is changing. He’s evolving, for Brielle and for me.

“You look goddamn perfect in that dress,” he says, collecting his stuff from the floor, shoving his money into his pocket. After a glance at his watch he says, “We have to go.”

I lean toward the sink, grabbing my compact from the shelf above. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the car. I have to put my makeup on.”

Big Daddy closes the lid on the toilet and sits down, watching me. “I’m not leaving you. Ever again. So,” he says, glancing at the glittering gold watch adorning his wrist. “You have nine minutes and then I’m carrying you out of here, no matter how much makeup is on or not.”

Even though I’m nervous to face Brielle, when we get into the car nine minutes later, I can’t deny the flutter of happiness in my gut. No matter what happens, we’ll get through it.

We have to.

chapter twenty-two

quincey

The driveto the restaurant is surprisingly silent, but Winnie never releases her grip on my hand and she doesn’t lift her head from my shoulder. It’s the best twenty-two-minute drive I’ve had in years. Once inside, I loop my arm around her waist at the hostess station as I inquire about our reservation. Winnie’s soft voice calls up to me and I look down into her green eyes, wide and red rimmed. “They’re here,” she whispers, nerves dancing in her eyes like vibrant flames. I lean down, pressing my lips to her cheek, quietly reassuring her. “It’s gonna be okay, beautiful.”

She smiles up at me, and I can’t help it—I’m not a grinning type of man but goddamn it, here on the cusp of making our relationship official, with her coming home with me tonight, the feel of her sweet pussy lingering on my fingertips, I smile at her.

“Quincey,” a loud, familiar voice booms from behind.

Before we can discuss it, and before I can overthink it, I lean down and kiss her cheek, whispering, “I love you, Winnie.” I turn to see Augustus standing behind us, wearing the same sharp suit he wore to the ceremony. At his side is Lance, and amoment later, we’re exchanging greetings as we shake hands. In the periphery, Brielle follows, eyeing Winnie.

I look over at the woman I love, whose gaze is volleying between me and my daughter. Winnie’s plentiful curls shine beneath the restaurant lights, and her glossy green eyes glitter with unshed, worrisome, guilt-filled tears. Reaching back, I squeeze her hand, noticing my daughter’s eyes following like a magnet. I don’t do it to make her uncomfortable, I do it to make Winnie comfortable.

“Give me a moment? I would like to be here for this,” I tell Aug after we exchange formalities.

“Should we let them talk alone?” he questions calmly, holding eye contact. I judged this man because of his career and his relationship with my daughter, but the truth is, he’s sharp and decent.

I nod. “We should but,” I say, stalling as I adjust my already perfect tie. “If it goes south, I should be there. This whole ordeal, it’s my doing.”

All of it is my fault. Every bit.

Augustus and Lance nod, stepping aside to chat quietly. They’re not bad men, and if my daughter cares for them, I should too. Why I fought her on it, I don’t know. It was wrong, and it took me being a hypocrite to understand it. I hate that about myself but it’s true. Soft voices gather my focus, and I turn to catch the beginning of Winnie’s speech to my daughter.

“…I’m so, so sorry for telling your dad about you and Augustus and Lance. It was completely, utterly and totally wrong and disgusting of me and I swear on my life, B, that I only did it because he was… freaking out.” Her beautiful eyes are heavy with worry, dripping with tears as she nervously smooths her hands down her thighs. I was freaking out. Not a single word of what she’s saying is a lie, and yet, she may lose her best friend in the entire world all because of me.

I won’t let that happen. I can’t. Brielle doesn’t deserve it, and neither does Winnie.

“I’ve never seen him worried like that. He was scared, B and I couldn’t let him suffer that way.” Brielle has never ever seen me worried that way. I’ve shown her anger, I’ve displayed impatience, and I’ve smothered her with overbearing control. But concern for her well-being in the form of raw, broken emotion? Never. The shock that pulls her eyes wide tells me everything I need to know: I need to show my daughter how much I care for her in softer ways. I’ve been harsh to my own detriment, damaging what could be a rich, fulfilling relationship. When my daughter speaks, her voice is hoarse.

---