Page 82 of Off-Limits Daddy
Daddy was mine. My mom knew. My brother would know soon.
And maybe—for the first time in years—I wasn’t holding my breath anymore.
I moved toward the open door. Just outside, fire hoses looped across the asphalt in careful arcs, ladder trucks gleaming in the morning sun. Boone stood by the engine, gesturing toward the hose line, while Ledger double-checked some clamps near the base.
Daddy stood off to the side in his uniform, clipboard tucked under one arm, squinting like he was cataloguing every movement. Even in uniform, he looked unfairly sexy—broad shoulders, sleeves snug around biceps that had no business looking that good.
He turned slightly and caught my eye. His face softened. Just for me.
That look still got me. Every time.
Ledger adjusted his grip, reaching for the latch. Something slipped. Boone’s voice cut through the yard—urgent. “Watch it!”
The ladder jerked hard to the left.
Daddy moved fast. One foot stepped up, arm outstretched to steady it—then his boot caught on the edge of the platform.
He fell sideways.
Not a warning. Not a shout. Just the jarring thud of his body hitting the asphalt.
Flat on his back. Hard.
Everything around me froze.
Marco’s voice punched through the silence, clipped, panicked. “Morgan!”
My breath caught so hard I thought my ribs might snap. I bolted—heart crashing against bone—only to be snagged by Boone halfway across the bay.
“Hang on,” he said tightly, fingers strong around my arm. “Let them check him.”
I strained against his grip, heart pounding so loud it swallowed every voice, every sound. Just that one awful rhythm was all I could hear.
The ladder crew closed in, forming a half-circle.
Daddy pushed himself up slowly. One hand braced behind him, the other at the base of his skull. His eyes were half-lidded. Mouth tight.
“I’m fine,” he said. But the words came loose, like he couldn’t quite grip them.
Marco knelt beside him. “You slurred that, man. You might be concussed.”
“I’m not—” Daddy blinked. Wavered. His hand dropped, fingers dragging lightly over the pavement. “I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t.
Griff already had a phone to his ear. Trent crouched low, saying something I couldn’t hear. Ledger stood back, frozen, his mouth open, face gray.
Then Daddy swayed.
Just slightly. A lean to one side. Eyes losing focus. Like he was still upright only because his pride hadn’t registered the danger.
Fear spiked through me. Clean and hot.
“Hey,” I said, breath catching. “Da–Reid. Hey. Look at me.”
I didn’t mean to let it slip—not even half the honorific. But fear doesn’t ask permission.
His eyes tried. Struggled. Found me.
