Page 43 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I close the door and rest my forehead against it.

Brenna’s hand lands light and quick on my shoulder. “Good job, Daddy Lo.”

I roll my head until my neck pops, releasing some of my tension. “I hoped she’d stay away.”

“Maybe she will now. Maybe she won’t. What matters is that you’re a brick wall. You don’t react. You don’t lash out at her. You just block her from any aspect of your life, or Emmy’s life, or Olivia’s life. You stand. No matter what she throws at you.” Brenna sighs. “I know that sounds melodramatic. You’ll be surprised at what crazy people come up with and Miranda is certifiably crazy. But all you have to do is stand tall and let her break herself throwing herself at the brick wall.”

“You’ve seen this before?” I ask, turning to look at her, because she’s speaking with the ring of experience.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Guess I never told you how I got the scars on my back? I went into foster care when I was a kid. Bounced around a couple of homes. I’ll admit, I wasn’t an easy kid. I had some serious fucking anger issues. One of the group homes was run by a lady called Mother Kay. Other than Emmy, she’s the best person I’ve ever met. She got me under control really fast. But after I’d been with her for a couple of months, my social worker took me out of the group home and placed me with a couple who said they were looking to adopt. The lady of the house was a ticking time-bomb. Crazier than Miranda.” She shivers and wraps her arms around herself. “She caught me sneaking out. She had this clothesline she’d knotted up. She beat me with it until I passed out. She tried to hide what she’d done, telling my social worker I was sick. The social worker yanked me out of there and put me back with Mother Kay. Mother Kay never let me be moved again. My social worker tried a dozentimes to put me in single foster placements. Mother Kay was my brick wall.”

I push myself away from the door and hold my arms out. “I know you don’t need a hug but I do.”

She smiles wryly before letting me pull her close. “Having Mother Kay be my brick wall made it okay. Having you be their brick wall will make this okay for Emmy and Livvy. Just stand firm, Daddy Lo.”

I pat her back before letting her go. “I’ll do my best. If you see any chinks in my wall, tell me so I can break out the mortar and trowel.”

“I will. I meant what I said about kicking her ass. Just so you know. Emmy’s gotten over what happened the last time Miranda was here, I think but the Mir-bitch doesn’t get another shot at her. Not while I’m here.”

“I’m not arguing with you. If you catch her sniffing around Emily, kick her ass.”

Brenna chuckles. “You got it.”

Emmy’s not waiting right on the other side of the door, as I’d anticipated. She’s all the way across the great room, standing by the back doors, looking out into the night. Livvy’s bassinette is at her feet. Emmy’s got her cat in her arms and has her face pressed to the top of Sable’s head, kissing him between his ears. Sable’s pretty cuddly but he’s not crazy about being picked up and held off the ground, so I’d expect him to be squirming. He’s not. He’s curled against Emily and purring like a motorboat.

I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. I rest my chin on the top of her head. “She doesn’t come in the house. You don’t have to talk to her. You don’t have to look at her. You don’t even have to think about her.”

“It’s hard not to think about her a little, Daddy,” Emmy says, her words muffled in kitty fur.

I kiss the top of her head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She sighs. “I’ve promised to always tell you the truth. But this isn’t a truth you’re going to want to hear.” She heaves a deeper sigh. “I think we’re being cruel, not letting her nurse her baby.”

I let her words sink into me. Roll around in my heart. I always take my baby doll’s feelings into account.

But I don’t always let them rule my decisions. Sometimes, I have to make the hard call. That’s what being a Daddy is.

“I understand why you would feel that way, my little wonder. I value your feelings and I appreciate you telling me. I always want you to tell me the truth.”

“You’re not going to let her nurse Livvy, are you?” Emily shifts in my arms so she can look up into my face.

“No, sweetheart. I’m not.”

She nods and sinks back against me. Although the thought of being cruel to Miranda is probably bothering her a little, she’s also much more relaxed than she was when I first hugged her. Keeping Miranda away is the right call, even if it seems cruel.

Mac returns in record time. He probably ran back. Emily puts Sable down and moves to help Mac label and store the packets of milk. They have a system I don’t pretend to understand. I just know to use the packets at the front of my beer fridge first.

When she’s finished, she comes back to me with her arms wrapped around herself. I know my baby doll. That’splease hold me, Daddy.

So I do. I wrap her in my arms and carry her over to the couch. I keep her on my lap, cuddled up against me, while I watch the end of the match. Then I take her upstairs and give her a bath. Livvy wakes while Emmy’s playing with the bath crayons, so I bring Livvy into our bath. She probably doesn’t get very clean but we don’t either. Bath time is about play. It’s about relaxing and being together, slippery skin to slippery skin. It’s about Daddy showing his girls how much he loves them.

Livvy’s fussing, yawning, and rubbing her eyes by the time we get her ready for her last feed and the “big sleep.” Emily rocks her in the rocking chair for barely five minutes before she’s out, her rosebud mouth open, lower lip puffing in and out with each breath.

I watch Emily as she rises from the rocking chair and carries the baby over to the crib. Emily’s face is shining with tenderness, her eyes misty as she goes up on her tiptoes to lay Livvy down. If I ever needed proof that motherhood isn’t only biological, it’s right in front of me. Emily’s already fallen for my daughter.

I hold out my hand and when Emily comes to me, I check her over carefully in the nursery’s dim light. There are faint purple shadows under her eyes and she’s working her engagement ring on her finger, which is one of Emmy’s tells. She’s tired. It’s been a long day. This is not a night for a milk and cookies date.

“Bedtime,” I tell her.

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