Page 27 of Smooth As Whiskey

“I’ll get this before the judge and let him know a DNA test has been performed. In the meantime, you need to get her everything she needs.”

I nodded at him and then looked at Irish, “I need your credit card.”

He opened his wallet and handed it to me.

Then I looked at Maisie, “Okay, sweet girl. What’s your favorite color?”

She smiled and said, “Pink.”

I winked at her and whispered, “Mine too.”

I left her with Irish and the guys, and then me and the girls went to Target and got her everything she would need but bedding and furniture.

And since she seemed to cling to me, she was in my room at the clubhouse most of the time.

Then, four days later, the results revealed what was blatantly obvious.

Four days after that, myself, along with Gabby, Adeline, Lizette, Stella, and Chloe, bought everything that Irish would need for his house.

And we got things that would make any little girl happy.

Irish and I still haven’t talked about things.

Between reworking my hours so I could be with Maisie and his club responsibilities on top of those at the garage, I ended up on the couch at his new house.

And it was stunning.

He was able to get one of the newly built houses with all the amenities they had to offer. It was a dark blue in color with light-washed accents. I loved it. I truly did.

If I had seen this house before he bought it, I would have championed it.

It had a nice front yard. And a backyard that was fenced in.

And yes, I know what you're thinking. Why would I agree to help Irish after everything... simple.

Because that little girl was neglected and thrown away as if she were nothing but trash.

And I wouldn’t, no, I refused to treat her that same way.

Chapter 8

Irish

My phone had pinged earlier in the day, and it was Sutton asking if she could cook dinner for everyone.

I had agreed because, one, that sounded great.

And second, it would be good for Maisie.

Walking into my house, the first thing I saw was Sutton in one of my long old sleeve button-down shirts with a pair of my socks pulled all the way up to her knees.

The second thing I saw was my daughter at her side, wiggling her little booty to the song that they had blasting through my speakers. What was adorable was that my little girl was in one of mine, too, but the sleeves were rolled up, and the shirt was dancing with the floor.

They were both laughing and dancing, each holding one of her hair brushes as they belted out Sutton’s favorite song.

The feel of my brothers at my back hit me as I stepped into the house and then just watched as the show played out.

Seeing as neither one of them heard me open the door, they were still dancing around.

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