Page 4 of The Darkest Knight

“That’s the one. And Santa came with his reindeer. Remember?” Trust Tobias Stone to host a children's party with real reindeer.

Her eyes widen and she nods vigorously. “Can we go?”

"Yes of course we can. They invited us."

Tobias Stone and his wife, Savannah, have become good friends in recent years. I got to know him when his twins were born. Their daughter, Eden, is in Brooke’s class. Apparently Tobias started these events many years ago, way before I got to know him. These annual Christmas parties take place in one of the biggest toy shops on Fifth Avenue. They open it up to all the adoption agencies for children—it’s a grand Christmas party for kids, complete with real reindeer, presents, and enough sugar to fuel Manhattan. Later in the evening, it morphs into an elegant soirée for adults.

I heard he did it because of his own traumatic past. He didn't like Christmas then, and it was a way for him to do something nice for other children to help him get through.

“Eden’s house is so fun,” Brooke says as she carefully presses out a snowman cookie.

“Oh? When did you go?”

"When I had a play date."

"We need to set one up. I must remind Anna."

I take the snowman from her and place it on the baking tray.

She looks at me, dark blue eyes intense and shining. God, this little girl is so gorgeous. She's going to break so many hearts when she's older.

"Eden's mommy was there and her daddy and she has three brothers, Jacob, Sam and Lewis.”

She pauses, and I'm not sure what she wants me to say.

“That’s nice, sprout,” I reply, even though her words tug at something inside me.

“She’s never alone, Daddy. Eden always has someone to play with. Her Mommy helped us bake cupcakes."

"Uh-huh." I carefully place the next cookie that Brooke has cut out, and spend more time than is necessary arranging it on the baking tray. I can feel the weight of my daughter’s stare.

"She's so nice, Daddy."

"Ah ... I expect she is, angel."

She’s starting to notice.

She’s starting to ask questions. It's not just that she goes to other people's houses and parties and sees things. Where other children might notice the birthday cakes and pinatas and decorations, Brooke looks and sees what we don't have—a mom, siblings, a bigger family.

“I wish I had a mommy to bake cupcakes with.”

I freeze, my hands hovering over the tray. Her voice is too soft, too full of longing. I look at my daughter, her dark blue eyes staring up at me, so full of innocence and questions she doesn’t know how to ask yet. She deserves more. She deserves someone who bakes cupcakes and makes birthday decorations. Someone who isn’t me fumbling through cookie dough. Deep down, the reason I’m so reluctant to introduce Brooke to the women I date is because I can’t have my little girl getting hurt if it doesn’t work out. Brooke’s tender heart is searching for a mommy. She’s too fragile and so young. I can’t raise her hopes, especially when most of the women I meet don’t have a maternal bone in them. Besides, I’m not searching for a mommy for Brooke. For me it’s about hot sex and companionship. That’s all.

“But aren’t we having fun?” I say, wishing I could come up with something better.

She nods but doesn’t say anything, and I know there is an emptiness in her heart. I wanted to protect her from this, but Brooke seems wiser than her years and she’s growing up so fast. I’m not ready for it.

“We can bake cupcakes next week,” I suggest. I don’t know what to say to her, and it kills me that she looks so somber. I wish I could fix this for her. I wish I could deal with heartache and heartbreak as easily as I deal with contracts and financial projections.

The smile she gives me tugs at my heart. “Promise me, Daddy?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I promise.” And I’ll have to put it in my diary so I remember. Between my work and my father's demands to constantly make more money, as if the billions we have aren’t enough, I don't give my little girl the time she deserves.

Now she's becoming astute. Looking at the family set up in her friend's homes, and comparing it with ours, I feel like I'm lacking already.

“Ready for the oven, sprout?”

She nods eagerly, and I carefully place the tray in the stainless steel six-burner oven. The truth I’ve been avoiding presses down on me like a block of iron. I’m trying, but it’s not enough. And if I’m not careful, I’ll turn into my father. A man who never had a paternal bone in his body, and never gave us the time we deserved. A man who shattered everything we loved.

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