Page 74 of Protector Daddy

“Pushing it, Masterson.” But I didn’t miss his smirk.

“I just want her to be free to do whatever she wants. I don’t want to pressure her.” I lowered my voice. “Starting a new relationship then announcing ‘hey, guess what, I have a kid’ isn’t fair to her.”

“What you dealt with wasn’t fair to you either but you handled it. Not necessarily the way I would have but you stood up and did what you thought was best. Trust Honey to do the same. Even if you tried to ‘box her in’ she wouldn’t allow it for long. I know my sister. She’s got brass balls and a spine to match.”

I stared out the window across from my desk at the blur of snow beyond the glass. It had been falling on and off all day. “She’s already here,” I said softly. “Reagan. Staying overnight with her grandparents.”

“Yeah.” Mav scratched his beardy jaw. “I met her at Macy’s. Sort of.”

“And you didn’t lead with that? How?”

“She came in for a coffee. I was there for lunch with Honey. She said her name and my eyes almost fell out of my head. She doesn’t look like you, man.”

“No. I know. But she’s so beautiful. So tall and strong and smart.” I dropped my head into my hands. “I’m fucking this up. I’m already going to lose her. I know it.”

“Which her are we talking about?”

“Take your pick. Probably both.” I hated the weakness I heard in my own voice but I’d been operating under this weight for so long that I couldn’t seem to stop spilling to Mav.

I’d never had anyone to talk to about it. And it turned out I really needed a friend.

Even if Mav would never be my friend voluntarily. I couldn’t even blame him.

“You probably hate me. I drove your wife crazy for months.”

“You did. But she is shit at parking. She accepts it.” He shrugged. “Look, I’m not your biggest fan. Never have been. Doesn’t mean I think you’re Satan either.”

“Gee, thanks.” I managed to smile. “I appreciate the talk.”

“Were we talking? Felt more like sniping.”

“Close enough. But you don’t have to worry about me not taking care of your sister. That’s all I want to do.”

“Good.” His jaw tightened. “She needs you to be strong. Remember that.”

Before I could question him further, he strode away to bust Jimmy’s chops about something I couldn’t make out. They’d already become fast friends.

Everyone liked Jimmy. No one called him an asshole behind his back—or to his face.

I wrote up my reports and filed them and logged off the system, finally finishing with everything over an hour later. By the time I picked up my order at The Rusty Spoon, it was closer to ten pm than nine and the snow was now sticking heavily to the roads.

I pulled up my collar against the relentless wind and hurried across the street to Honey’s building, wishing I’d remembered to take my gloves off the dashboard. Honey always chided me about forgetting them.

Damn, I missed her. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since I’d seen her and the need to see her face, hear her voice, bask in her laughter, was like a physical ache.

I went in through the side entrance then took the stairs to her floor two at a time. She’d given me a key but I still knocked when I came to her door. And knocked again.

She didn’t answer. Maybe she was sleeping? I decided to use my key, easing the door open to her darkened apartment. Some sitcom repeat was on and the light from the TV shifted over her face where she was curled up on the couch, her hands tucked under her cheek on the cushion as if she was a sleeping angel.

Love slammed into me with such ferocity that my throat constricted.

I made myself go into her small galley kitchen and put away the soup and crusty rolls for later even though my stomach protested violently. I’d missed dinner and I probably could’ve eaten the soup and rolls all by myself. But I settled for a couple handfuls of chips while I stood at the counter and watched her sleep like a creeper.

You’ve got it bad, dude.

After I took care of business in the bathroom, including a quick shower, I came back into the living room to find her already eating the dinner I’d brought her. She sat cross-legged on the sofa, her long hair in twin braids, her clothes a deceptively simple tank top and boxers.

“Are those boxers mine?”

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