Page 8 of Winning Brynn

Leo:Please stop calling me Daddy.

Alex:I thought you were into that.

Alex changed the group chat name to "Daddy Sully and the bros”

Leo left the group chat

Roman added Leo to the group chat

Leo:For fuck's sake.

Alex:You can't get rid of us, Daddy Sully. You're in this brotherhood for life.

Chapter Three

Leo

Since we live inthe same building, the trip from my apartment to Alex's takes far less time than I'd like it to. It takes all of three minutes to leave my place, take the elevator two floors down, and knock on his door.

Perched on my hip in a ladybug-printed onesie, Salem sucks contentedly on one of her fists. Then she splats a saliva-coated hand across my face, just as Alex opens the door.

"Is it raining?" he asks, smirking at the moisture on my cheek.

Shoving past him, I carry Salem down the long hallway and into the living area, where I set her up with some toys on the rug before wiping down my face.

"Good to see you too, buddy." He slaps a hand on my shoulder and presses a cold beer into my hand. "Roman's been in the bathroom for, like, twenty minutes, so he should be done anytime now."

Grimacing, I collapse onto the cushions of the black leather couch. "I didn't need to know that."

"And I've invited a couple other guys from the team," he adds. "Hope that's cool with you."

I cringe inwardly, looking worriedly at Salem, who's currently banging two stacking cups together. I love my teammates, but I don't want my daughter around them if they're drinking.

Reading my thoughts, Alex plops down on the rug beside her and tells me, "Relax, man. I've set a two-drink limit, and the boys all know Say will be here. They'll be fighting over who gets to play with her, so consider this a night off." He pauses to stroke his hand over the back of Salem's head. "Besides, it might mean you're able to relax enough to finally pull that stick out your ass."

"Fuck you, Wolfe."

"You curse way too much in front of your kid," he laughs. "Doesn't he, Say Say?"

Traitor that she is, she giggles and claps her hands.

"She's one." I scowl. "She doesn't understand."

And though it's true, my gut still pangs with guilt. No matter how hard I try, it never feels like I'm getting this fatherhood thing right. Every day is a constant mind-fuck of trying to do the right thing amidst a thunderstorm of paradoxical parenting advice.

Feed the baby when she's hungry, but don't deviate from the routine.

Teach her to self-soothe, but settle her when she cries.

Hold her as much as she needs, but not too much, or else you'll spoil her.

Everyone and their aunt has an opinion on how I should be raising Salem, when all I'm trying to do is survive each day.

I'm doing this shit alone.

I don't have a wife, or a partner, or even an estranged spouse I can navigate this bullshit with. Salem's mom took away that opportunity when she left our daughter on my doorstep, signed over exclusive parenting rights to me, and moved to a hot country somewhere to start a new life.

I hadn't even known she was pregnant.

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