Page 140 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Jack had laughed then, a short and bitter sound—one of those ugly, disbelieving noises that tells you someone’s past the point of shock.
“Because Maggie told him. She fucking told him everything. About Holly, about us, and…the pregnancy. I should’ve known she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.”
Carson knew.
And if Carson knew, then Holly—sweet, unprepared, blindsided Holly—was about to be standing dead center in the kind of detonation site she didn’t deserve or was ready for.
“Shit,” I grind out now, the word tight between my teeth as I take the next corner too fast, tires squealing just enough to make someone on the sidewalk jerk back.
A pedestrian steps into the crosswalk without looking, and I swerve, swearing again under my breath.
They yell after me, the words lost in the rush of wind and engine noise. I don’t even look back.
There’s no time.
Carson’s not going to stop with just showing up at Jack’s place and throwing a few punches.
No, he’s going to want answers, and he’s going to want them fromallof us.
Maybe in the kind of way that leaves more than just bruises behind.
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache.
And Holly…
Carson’s never hit her.
Not once.
But impulsiveness doesn’t even begin to cover that man.
He’s quick to anger and quicker to act before thinking.
And right now?
That impulsiveness is tangled up with betrayal and rage, two things that make people dangerous, especially people like Carson, who never see the difference between protecting what’s theirs and controlling it.
I shove the phone against my ear again, trying Reece one more time while my free hand fists tight around the wheel.
The thought of her in there alone in that bakery while her dad pounds on the door, demanding the truth, saying things she’ll never be able to forget, makes my stomach churn.
I press harder on the gas pedal.
I have to get there first.
The next red light might as well be a brick wall between me and her.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, watching the seconds bleed out on the crosswalk timer like it’s mocking me.
My knee bounces hard enough to rattle the keys hanging from the ignition.
Reece still isn’t picking up, Jack’s not calling back, which means it’s just me.
When the light flips, I slam the accelerator again, the truck roaring loudly.
Streetlights and Christmas displays streak past, but all I can see is Holly’s face when she hears her dad knows.
Her eyes going wide, her voice cracking, the way she always presses her lips together when she’s trying not to panic.
