Page 11 of The Daddy Claus

I've let her spend the last month believing it.

She's right. I don't deserve to call myself her daddy. I don't even deserve her time.

I've spent so long convincing myself that I can't have her, that I think I sabotaged us myself. It wasn't intentional. Fuck no. The only thing I want in this world is the woman currently crying in my bed.

But I've been telling myself for five years that wanting her makes me a lecherous asshole. She's the same age as the baby sister I raised. I get off on her calling me Daddy. At the first hint that I wasn't good enough, I accepted it. Why wouldn't I, when it's what I've been trying to tell myself since the day we met?

Of course, she found someone else, someone who deserves her. Of course, someone else could make her happier. Of course, I was too late.

It's easy to believe what you've conditioned yourself to believe.

But fuck that. She's sitting in my bed right now, crying over me. I'm a fucking asshole for that. But those tears give me hope, too.

That I can fix this.

That it's not too late.

That she still loves me.

That maybe God or Santa or the fucking elves are handing out Christmas miracles. Because I'm going to need one if I'm going to convince this little princess to give me a chance to fix what I fucked up.

Right now, I think she'd rather shiv me between the ribs than give me a chance. But I'm demanding one anyway.

I sink down onto the bed beside her, pulling her into my arms. She resists me for a long moment before ever so slowly leaning into me.

"I'm going to fix this," I vow quietly. "By the new year, I'm going to prove that I'm the only daddy you'll ever need. "

It’s all toomuch to take in at once. I lean against his muscular body and feel warmth wrap around me. His words echo around my mind, planting seeds of hope.

After spending the last torturous month thinking I’d spend the rest of my life missing the man who owns my heart, I’m afraid to believe what I’m hearing. “I’m not jumping back into bed with you until we work everything out.” I have more to consider than just myself now. Our little one’s future hangs in the balance, too.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to win your heart back.” He nuzzles the side of my neck, and all the pain I experienced during the last month flies right out the window. I’m tempted to say the heck with it and jump his bones when I remember how much it hurt when he threw my love back in my face. “If you’ll give me the chance.”

“Uh… Maybe.” I swallow and glance over my shoulder at him.

“Maybe?”

“Yes. I’m not ready to just jump in. I need time to figure out if I can trust you with my heart.” Jordan is offering me everything I’ve ever wanted, but I need to know he isn’t going to shatter me again. I’m not sure I could survive it a second time.

He stares into my eyes and rubs his bottom lip. “I said I’d do whatever it takes and I meant it.”

“Good.” At least, I think it’s a good thing. “Right now, we’re going to have a nice, relaxing Christmas with your family. Once the holidays are over, we can work on fixing our relationship.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” He frowns, and I can see the wheels spinning in his mind as he agrees with my request. “Are you feeling up to this?”

“I’m much better.” It’s amazing what clearing the air does for morning sickness. We haven’t even started working out everything, but knowing Jordan wants to repair things with me lifted a heavy load from my shoulders. Now, I have to figure out if I can trust him with my heart again.

We return to the family room and find everyone decorating the tree. “I can’t believe we’re putting all this shit on today, and we’re going to remove it tomorrow,” Roman grumbles, and Gabbi smacks him on the shoulder.

“We’re not going to take it down before the new year,” she huffs and glares at her much taller older brother. “Now, shut your trap and get to work.”

“We must’ve dropped you on your head one too many times when you were little,” Roman teases. When Gabbi was four years old, her parents died in a plane crash, on Christmas Eve. Although she doesn’t remember her parents, Roman and Jordan do. The two teenage brothers stepped in and raised her.

Gabbi sticks her tongue out at her middle brother, causing him to roll his eyes, then looks up and notices us standing in the doorway. “Are you feeling better?” From the curious looks on everyone’s faces, I’m pretty sure they all know what sent me fleeing to the bathroom.

“Bad sushi,” I automatically fib, not wanting to bring our issues to the family Christmas celebration.

“Bad sushi, my ass,” Jordan growls. “Good swimmers caused it.” Four pairs of shocked eyes stare at us like we just announced the end of the world is coming today.

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