Page 41 of Off-Limits Daddy
The cushion sighed under me as I pushed up, legs stiff from sitting too long. I crossed the patio in four steps, the concrete warm under bare feet, the edge marked by a row of cracked tiles we’d never gotten around to replacing. Turned. Walked back. Again. Just enough room to move without going anywhere.
“What if this is it?” The words cracked before I could steady them. “What if I already peaked and this—” I motioned to the swing, the scuffed siding of the house, the overgrown yard swallowed by night. “—is all there is?”
“You’re twenty-two.”
“Yeah?” I spun, pacing back. “And that means what, exactly? That I’ve got time to waste? You ever felt like you were born already behind?”
His eyes tracked me as I paced. No judgment there. Just calm and quiet listening.
“Mrs. Evans asked me to do a mural,” I added, almost before I could stop myself. “At the VFW. A tribute to the veterans. She said I’d have full creative control.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I told her no.”
His eyes never left mine.
I shrugged, tried to play it off, but the ache in my voice gave me away. “It’s like… the second something starts to matter, I get scared I’ll ruin it. So I back off before it can fall apart.”
I laughed under my breath, dry and humorless. “I think I’ve been doing that for a while now.”
Daddy didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, like he was bracing to walk into a storm.
“Hey.” His voice was low, measured. “That mural? That wasn’t a failure. It was fear doing what fear does best—talking you out of your own talent.”
His steps were slow but sure as he moved toward me, like he knew the ground was fragile now.
“You’re not behind, Ari. His voice was smooth. “You’re scared. There’s a difference. One keeps you frozen. The other means you care enough to get it right.”
I started to turn away, but he caught my wrist—gently—and gave it a squeeze.
“You didn’t say no to Mrs. Evans because you didn’t care. You said no because it mattered too much.”
Then softer, like he wanted it to land: “That’s not failure, Ari. That’s the edge of something good—if you let yourself lean into it.”
Oh, god! My name on his lips was the sweetest sound.
Daddy tugged me just close enough to feel the heat between us. “You’re scared? Good.” His smile curved, slow and wicked. “Means there’s something real under all that noise in your head.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping, breath brushing my lips. “You want guarantees? A clear path? Tough shit, baby. That’s not how this works.”
My breath caught in my throat.
His fingers skimmed my jaw, tilting my face to his. “You don’t wait for brave. You get messy. You screw up. You keep going.”
Then, almost a dare?—
“Do it scared.”
And softer, like he wanted to make sure I heard it?—
“Do it scared, baby.”
That word again. Baby. I wasn’t used to being called anything like that, but the way it rolled off his tongue made it feel earned.
A laugh tried to burst free from my lips, but it didn’t make it. Heat climbed my throat instead, sharp and fast.
Pressure burned behind my eyes before I could stop it. Embarrassing. Weak. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, but one single traitorous tear slid down anyway, cutting a line across the bridge of my nose like it wanted the world to know I’d finally cracked. I swiped at my cheek a second too late.
He saw it.
