Page 80 of Off-Limits Daddy
“Anytime,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You make everything better, you know that?”
I nodded, but couldn’t speak. My throat burned with the weight of everything I hadn’t said.
TWENTY-FOUR
ARI
A faint hum from the truck bay filled the upstairs like background music—boots thudding, lockers clanging, someone laughing too loud. Maybe it still hadn’t hit me that I was done. The room I’d worked on, the one with scuffed floors, busted lockers, and walls the color of old bones was finished. Every brushstroke, every stenciled letter, every panel mounted and corner polished. Done.
A whole damn chapter of my life closed with a final coat of varnish.
I finally understood what Reid was doing when he gave me this room.
It wasn’t just about paint or fixing up a space. It was him saying,I see you. I believe in you. You can finish what you start.
He never said it out loud—but he didn’t have to.
He gave me something to finish.
And I did.
Same with the swing on Mom’s back patio.
I’d walked past that swing for weeks, telling myself I’d get to it. Then one day, I did. Scraped the rust, repainted the armrest,swapped the cushion, replaced the chain. Now it doesn’t moan in the breeze anymore. And it’s actually... comfortable.
Just like this room. Just like me.
I was starting to feel solid. Capable.
And I loved my Daddy for that. For seeing the parts of me I’d stopped trusting. For grounding me when I spiraled. For the way we fit—grit and softness, structure and surrender.
Daddy and boy.
Balanced.
"Looks incredible, man." Marco said, pulling me back to the present. He leaned in the doorway, arms folded, nodding toward the mural stretching across the back wall. A full-on tribute to the station’s past and present—old helmets, ladder silhouettes, a skyline in dusk tones. A soft glint of gold leaf caught the light where I’d painted the first engine number. Subtle. But proud.
"Thanks." I wiped my fingers on a rag, stepped back, and took it in one more time. Pride curled under my ribs.
Mayor Price had called that morning while I was still bleary-eyed, sitting cross-legged on my bed with a half-eaten granola bar and no shirt. She sounded chipper, like someone who’d already had a full day before eight a.m.
“Your work for the Fourth was beautiful, Ari,” she’d said. “Those banners? The whole setup had a vibrancy we haven’t seen in years. You’ve got a gift—and we’d like to offer you a position teaching art at our summer camp. Weekdays. Paid, of course.”
I’d nearly choked on a raisin.
She’d laughed, told me to think about it. But I already knew. I’d said yes before we hung up, voice too eager, heart racing like I’d just been handed a lifeline.
Somehow, that wasn’t even the biggest thing happening today.
Daddy was going to tell Sage.
No more secrets. No more sneaking kisses in stairwells or ducking out behind the truck bay like teenagers. My brother—Daddy’s best friend—was finally going to know.
And it didn’t scare me the way I thought it would.
Not after last night.
Not after Mom knocked on my door and asked if I was busy.
