Page 5 of Chaining Daisy
I’d dug another stuffie out of her box, this one a bit smaller and stiffer than the last. “And?”
She’d snorted derisively at me, hurrying over to snatch the new bear away. Her eyes had shone bright blue that afternoon, even as her nostrils flared in annoyance. “It’s because life isn’t supposed to beeasy.”
It had been a profound moment for me, one that had set me back on my heels where I knelt in front of her. She was so young … but my Daisy was deeper than the Mariana Trench. Pride was an emotion I’d been familiar with on my own—some assholes at work said I was too familiar with it, typical surgeon-slandering B.S. But that day, I’d realized just how intense pride in someone else can be. My chest had warmed and expanded and the smile that crossed my face was soft and awed.
She’d plucked at the tan fur of the little bear in her hands. “I got this bear when my soccer team lost when I was six years old. My mom refused to let me have the participation trophy.” She had chuckled at the memory.
“Sounds like Darla,” I’d agreed, smiling up at her, drinking in the way laughter made her cheeks grow pink. “This one?” I’d pulled out a new bear.
She grimaced and came forward to take it into her arms next to the other. “When Christian Rockford—my sixth-grade crush—made fun of me.”
“That little shit,” I’d stood, playfully kicking her box of bears dramatically to the side. “Tell me where he lives now, and I’ll go beat him up for you.” I gorilla-thumped my chest.
“Oh god.” She’d rolled her eyes and laughed, but by her expression, I could tell she liked my caveman act. “Calm down, Gunnar.”
I’d frozen, startled by the effect hearing my name had on me. It was strange. She’d said my name countless times over the months … but somehow, having her say it here in my house … laughing, smiling that smile I loved—it made everything I’d done to that point feel right.
“Come on, Daise! It’s time!” I march through Daisy’s room, ignoring the piles of clothes strewn across the wood floor as I stride over to her window and pull apart the curtains. I let the sunshine stream in and disinfect the sadness permeating the very air. “Rise and shine!”
“Go away.”
“Nope. You have class today. And if you’re going to be a surgeon like me then you need to get up and get going. College waits for no one.”
“I quit.” She glares petulantly up at me.
“I’m not letting you quit.” I cross my arms, showing her I’m serious.
“You can’t make me,” her retort is muffled by the covers she pulls back over her head, the quilt patterned with different flowers warping as it molds around her skull.
That will not do. I head to the foot of her bed and grab the edge of the quilt, the blanket underneath, and the sheet. In one fell swoop, I yank them all down. “Wanna bet?”
“Fucker!” Daisy screeches, curling up into a ball against the onslaught of cool, air-conditioned air.
I have to take a moment to remember to breathe when I realize she’s only wearing a green t-shirt and some black panties. My entire body overheats, and my pulse thuds automatically, eyes glued to the hem of those conservative little bikini briefs.
Not yet.
She’s not ready.
Not yet.
I groan internally, because I’ve already been waiting so fucking long. But I glance over at Daisy’s teddy bears and remind myself that life isn’t supposed to be easy. My sweet little Daisy isn’t easy. And it’s going to be better because she’s not.
I hope I can convince her that I’m not just some guy who married her mom. Not just her stepdad.
I want to be her daddy.
Ever since the first moment we met at that vending machine, it’s all I can think about.
God, I’m so fucked up. Who does what I’ve done? Who meets a barely-legal girl and then sets out to infiltrate her life? I’ve justified it eighty different ways—not wanting her to be alone, needing to take care of her and be her emotional support system … but underlying all of that is this sick twisted drive to keep her for myself.
A wave of self-loathing rolls through me, but in comparison to my longing for Daisy, it’s just a shadow. Just a blot of darkness in my vision, an inconvenience I’ve learned to live with and work around.
Because no matter how fucked up I am, there’s no turning back.
All those thoughts make my voice come out gruffer than it should. “Get up, lazy Daisy. You’re twenty. I shouldn’t even have to be in here.”
“I don’t wanna go!” Her bratty side comes out—it used to come out quite often when we first met. But as Darla got worse, it disappeared for a while. Now … it looks like it’s back.
