Page 4 of Dad Bod's Daring December

The bikers turn, revving their engines in a crude mockery of laughter. They think they’ve got the upper hand, but I can see the hesitation in their eyes. They didn’t expect resistance, not from me.

“Edward? That you?” one of them calls out, trying to sound casual despite the tension.

“Who else would be crazy enough to face down The Demons at three in the morning?” I snarl, gripping the bat tighter.

“You should have stayed in your bed, asshole,” another shouts.

It’s him, the asshole who calls himself Razor. The man my wife left me for. His voice carries cruel laughter, making my jaw clench. I drop the bat and reach for the shotgun I left loaded on my front porch since I moved in right after the divorce was finalized.

Two bikes peel away from the others and come toward my house. I aim for the sky and pull the trigger.

I reload as the first guy falls off his bike. By the time he’s back on his feet, scrabbling to lift his bike, the blast of my second shot sends them all racing off toward the main road.

I race across the ruined grass to the neighbor. Is she all right? Did any of them break into her house? Has she been assaulted?

Taking the steps to her front porch, I find her hidden in the shadows, wrapped in a robe, her eyes wide with shock. The vulnerability in those deep brown eyes hits me hard, stirring something protective within me. Her beauty isn’t the kind that blinds; it’s the kind that sees into you, laying bare your scars and secrets.

“Are you okay?” I ask, closing the distance between us, aware of the tremor in my voice.

She nods, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she leans into me as I crouch beside her, her body trembling. Instinctively, my arms wrap around her, offeringsolace in their strength. She exhales against my throat in a release of pent-up fear as she deflates into my embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I tighten my hold, making a silent vow.

I’ll protect her, no matter what it costs me. Because at this moment, as I look down at her, I realize that sometimes the world deals you a bad hand not to break you, but to show you what you’re capable of. And right now, I can be her shield, her unlikely guardian in this messed-up situation.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you,” I promise, my voice coated with steel forged in the fires of loss and hardened by the will never to let anyone suffer as I have. “Not while I’m here.”

Chapter 3

Ember

My heart hammers in my chest as my neighbor rushes onto the porch and scoops me into a bear hug. His embrace is strong and steady. The sensation of his rough coat against my cheek makes me close my eyes for a second, allowing myself a rare moment of vulnerability.

He whispers soothing words to me that promise protection, but it isn’t protection I want. I want those men to come back and repair the decorations I’ve worked so hard on. I want my peace of mind back.

The moment is intimate, too intimate, but it feels good to be in his arms. The fear subsides, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that radiates from his embrace. This feels good. This feels like…home.

I lean into him, letting the solidity of his presence calm my racing thoughts. It’s strange how he seems to anchor me, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

“I’m Edward, your neighbor,” he says, pulling back a little.

I look up at him with a faint smile, trying to steady my breathing, but the anger rushes through me all over again when I look away and see my ruined decorations, trampled and broken.

“Who do they think they are?” My voice trembles with a cocktail of fury and fright. I’m not just scared. I’m irate. This isn’t what I signed up for when I left the city behind for peace and quiet. “I’m going to call the police and have them arrested. They have to pay for this. Pay for the repairs.”

I’m trembling, and I realize I’ve ignored his introduction. “I’m Ember, by the way,” I say, trying to calm myself.

Edward nods, calm and collected. He exudes a quiet confidence that draws me to him. “Ember, calling the cops isn’t an option.” His voice is low and steady, a stark contrast to the jumble of my racing thoughts. “The police... they’re not all clean. The Demons have eyes and ears everywhere.”

The Demons. The name sends a shiver down my spine, not only because of their reputation but the way Edward says it, with a contempt that tells stories of long-standing feuds and unwelcome familiarity. I can almost see the capital ‘D’ he gives them, branding them into the conversation and into my once tranquil life. My dreams of peace and simplicity are disintegrating, my sanctuary tainted by the stench of gasoline and hostility.

Somehow, in the midst of this newfound nightmare, Edward’s presence is a grounding force. His arms are secure around me, his body a protective barrier against the threats lurking beyond the shadowed tree line.

He looks down at me. Those eyes, so full of resolve and something else, something heated, lock onto mine. For a fleetingsecond, I forget about the shattered wood in my yard and the danger encroaching on us. In his gaze, I’m the focal point of his world. It’s disarming. Intoxicating.

His face inches closer, his breath mingling with mine, and I’m caught in the gravitational pull of his impending kiss. A part of my brain screams that this is madness, that I should push him away and focus on the crisis at hand. But another, more primal part of me yearns to close the gap, to taste the promise of refuge.

---