Page 21 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
The water was hot. Almost scalding. I cranked the handle all the way over and braced my hands against the tiles, letting the spray hit my neck, my shoulders, the spot between my shoulder blades that always ached at the end of a long day. I needed to getmy head on straight. I needed to forget how soft her mouth had been, how sweet she’d looked curled up in my arms, her knees tucked to her chest, blanket falling off her shoulder like she was waiting for me to fix her.
But I couldn’t.
I saw her every time I closed my eyes. That tiny, brave lean-in. The wobble in her chin. The way she’d tried to pull away so fast when I jerked back, like she’d just set the house on fire and didn’t know how to put it out.
I wrapped my hand around my cock. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. One second I was promising myself I’d keep things clean, keep things safe, be the man she needed. The next, I was hard as a goddamn rock, pressing my forehead to the tile, thinking about the way her lips had trembled against mine.
She’d let me hold her, trusted me, asked for me, and I’d left her hanging. Because I was afraid. Because I wanted her too much.
I stroked myself, slow at first, then harder. My hand was rough, callused, not what she deserved, but it was all I had. I imagined the way she’d fit in my arms every night, not just this once. The way she’d look at me if I told her she was a good girl, if I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and tucked her in every single night. The way she’d smile when I called her baby-girl again, this time on purpose.
God, I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to keep her safe and warm and never let her go.
I was so close already. It was fucking embarrassing. But I didn’t care. I braced one hand against the wall and fucked into my fist, gritting my teeth.
I thought about her in the kitchen, sleeves past her hands, flour on her cheek. I thought about her in bed, knees up, thumb in her mouth, bunny squished to her chest like a promise I’d made and she wanted to believe. I thought about the way she’d said please when she wanted the blanket up.
It was the please that did it. The way she’d trusted me, even when she was scared.
I bit back a groan as I came, hard, against the side of the shower. Didn’t matter. Water washed it away. I stared down at my hand, at the spray, waiting for my breath to come back.
I didn’t deserve her. I was too old, too fucked up, too rough. But for the first time in years, I wanted something more than I wanted my ordered life.
I wanted her.
Cas didn’t call unless she’d found something. I’d barely slept and like a coward run out before Holly was awake that morning.
“Tell me you’re sitting down,” she said, skipping the hello. “Got your background check,” she said. Her tone was wrong. The kind of voice she used when she didn’t want to hand me the knife I was about to stick between my ribs.
I wiped my hands on a rag. “Talk.”
“It’s the girl,” Cas said. “Your stray. Holly Turner.”
My shoulders stiffened. “What about her?”
“Her parents,” she said. “They’re alive.”
For a second I thought I'd heard wrong. “Alive?”
“Very much so,” Cas continued. “And not just alive—thriving. They run Clearwater Insurance.”
Everything inside me went still. The sound of the heater faded. The world tilted just slightly, enough that I had to reach for the edge of the workbench to steady myself.
“Their company is notorious for denying legitimate claims on technicalities. There’s a file on your father’s death—”
I didn’t need her to finish. I already knew.
Weston Construction.
My dad’s company.
My mom’s stroke.
All of it.
That was the same fucking name on the letterhead of the denial notice I’d kept in a drawer for years.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
