Page 8 of Off-Limits Daddy
Hell.
Marco cut his eyes at me again, sly this time. “You’re divorced. Single. Lonely as hell?—”
“I’m not lonely.”
“Right, right,” Marco nodded. “All those hookups keeping you company?”
I didn’t answer.
Because that was the thing about hookups. They scratched an itch, sure. Took the edge off. But none of them looked at me like Ari did. And none of them ever said my name like it meant something more than heat and sweat. None of them call me Daddy.
Griff dropped his boots from the chair, finally sitting up straight. “He’s grown up, Morgan. You see it. Hell, weallsaw it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I ground out.
“Why?”
“Because I’m thirty-six,” I snapped. “And he’s twenty-two. He’s got his whole damn life ahead of him. He doesn’t need someone like me dragging him down before he even gets started.”
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then Griff said, soft but certain, “Or maybe he just needs someone who shows up and means it.”
I didn’t answer. Just clenched my jaw and looked away, trying to ignore the way something in my chest gave a little under the weight of those words.
Across the room, Marco held up his hands like he was backing off. “Alright, alright. We’ll shut up.” Then, with a shit-eating grin, “But when the wedding rolls around, I make a mean potato salad. Without raisins... just saying.”
I flipped him off, but Griff’s words stuck with me longer than they should’ve.
He didn’t know. None of them did. Not about the things I’d done for Ari when no one was looking—quiet things. Small things. Things that didn’t come with thank-yous or recognition, because that wasn’t the point. I never wanted credit.
But hearing it out loud—someone who shows up and means it—made something twist in my chest anyway. Because I had. I’d been showing up for years... just never in a way that gave me the right tohavehim.
So I swallowed it down, like always. Packed it up tight and shoved it somewhere I didn’t have to look at it.
None of it made a difference—not the logic, not the years, not the careful distance I’d kept from him. I could still see the way he looked at me under that shed today, dirt on his cheek, daring me without saying a word. I could hear his voice wrapping around that word—Daddy—like he knew exactly where to land the hit.
“Don’t worry,” Griff said, standing to grab his gear, clapping a hand to my shoulder on the way past. “We’ll let you keep your dignity for another day.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Just know, the whole firehouse’s placing bets.”
Marco raised a hand like a Scout salute. “My money’s on Trouble.”
My jaw ticked. “It’s not happening.”
Marco just grinned. “We’ll see.”
They filed out, leaving the smell of scorched bacon behind them.
I sat there, staring down at a sandwich I wasn’t gonna eat, thinking about wild curly hair and brown eyes that knew exactly how much trouble they could get me into.
Damn fool thing was, part of me wanted to get into trouble anyway. Literally and metaphorically.
The radio crackled with a new call coming in. Another rescue. Another distraction. Another chance to outrun the thing I was trying not to get caught in.
FOUR
