Page 11 of Fireman Daddy's Impetuous Little

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rayna

I wasn’t sure if I was more hurt or angry. “Wait!” he said. I stormed to the bathroom, where I’d left my clothes. I closed the door and locked it and got dressed.

I decided I was more angry than hurt because I wasn’t crying. I heard him knocking at the door and I shouted, “Go away!”

“Please,” he said, “please let’s just talk about this.”

“So you can tell me how I’m not good enough? Fuck off. Leave me alone!”

I could almost feel his indecision as he stood outside the door. Finally, I heard him step away. I counted to twenty inside my head before I finally opened the door. He wasn’t in the room, and I was glad about that because I was able to grab my purse. I walked as quickly as I could from the room to the front door. He sat on the easy chair and stood as I walked past him. “Wait, little girl,” he said.

“I’m going to my shift at work, Daddy,” I said. Daddy sounded pretty much like a bastard, the way I said it, which was fine with me.

“Listen, you don’t understand,” he said, “I was talking to some friends today and I realized I haven’t introduced you to them because I’m ashamed that I’m not being the Daddy I should be, helping you grow and accomplish things you want to accomplish.”

I turn around and stare at him. He almost smiles, thinking he made his point. I shake my head and say, “You’re not ashamed of yourself, Jonah.” I open the door and say as I step out, “You’re ashamed of me.”

I headed to the shop and walked in just as the day manager, Micah, was leaving. She looked at me in surprise. “I thought you were off today.”

“I was,” I said. “But I was bored at home, so I thought I’d come to hang out with my favorite people.”

“Oh,” she said. “Your Daddy must be on shift at the fire station.”

I felt my anger flare up but controlled it. It wasn’t Micah’s fault Jonah and I was fighting. I didn’t trust myself to say anything without being snarky, so I just let the comment pass and headed to the back room. Derek—the night manager—was there counting inventory.

He looked up at me and his eyes widened. “Rayna. What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

“Jeez!” I cried in mock indignation that—due to my anger at Jonah—didn’t sound so mock. “Can’t a girl show up to work without getting attacked? It’s like you don’t want the extra help!”

“Woah, Woah,” he said, lifting his hands placatingly. “I didn’t say that. As long as you’re volunteering, you can help me put the order away."

He gestured at a stack of boxes and regarded me with a grin. Putting the order away was the task I hated the most and he probably assumed I was just showing up to say hi, so he made a joke about making me do my least favorite task on my day off.

The look of surprise on his face when I cheerfully said, “Sounds great!” and picked up the nearest box almost made up for the earlier part of my day.

“Hey, I was just kidding, Rayna,” he said. “I can take care of that.”

“No, I got it,” I said. I sighed and added, “Honestly, Derek, I’ve had a really hard day and a tedious task like this would be super helpful right now to take my mind off of things.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, all right. If you’re sure.”

He stayed in the back a minute longer, probably waiting for me to say, “You know what? Just kidding, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eventually, he figured out I intended to stay and left me alone.

I spent about an hour putting the order away and just finished when my phone buzzed. It was my mom. I sighed heavily and weighed the benefits of just ignoring her. Eventually, I decided that it was probably best just to get this over with. I answered the phone and said, “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Hi, sweetie!” she answered in that fake cheerful voice she always used right before she lectured someone in that annoyingly passive-aggressive way of hers. “How’s my big girl doing?”

I bristled a little at that but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was probably just being cute, not making some comment about my weight.

“I’m doing fine, Mom,” I said, struggling to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” she lied.

“I’m doing fine, Mom,” I said again, not quite succeeding at hiding my frustration this time.

“That’s great!” Mom said. “So the diet is going well?”

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