Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“You can play with your toys,” I tell him, “but first, I need to tell you something.”
He huffs in annoyance but nods.
“You know how Frankie has a mommy and a daddy?” I say, using his friend as an example since Damien talks about them all the time.
“Yeah. He has a mommy and a daddy, and a pool, and a yard, and he can have a Giving Tree. Oh! Mr. Domick, can I have The Giving Tree now?”
Dominick glances from Damien to me with the most perplexed look on his face, and I get it because …
“Welcome to parenting,” I say with a laugh.
“We’ll talk about the tree later,” I tell Damien. “But right now, I want to talk to you about mommies and daddies.”
Damien nods, but I can tell I’m quickly losing his attention, so rather than draw this out, I simply say, “You know how I’m your mommy?”
He nods.
“Well, Dominick is your daddy.”
Damien’s brows furrow, and I can’t help but smile at how much he looks like Dominick when he does that.
“You’re my daddy?” Damien asks him. “Like Frankie’s daddy is his daddy?”
“Yeah, buddy,” Dominick says. “I’m your dad.”
“Does that mean we can get a Giving Tree now?”
I snort out a laugh, and Dominick grins, shaking his head.
“Yeah, we can get a Giving Tree.”
Damien jumps off my lap and throws himself into Dominick’s arms, enveloping him in a hug. As Dominick hugs him back, his eyes meet mine, and I note that they’re filled with so much raw emotion. Most of the time, Dominick is cold, brooding, and calculating, but I’m learning that it’s a shield to protect himself from the outside world and that he saves his softness for the people closest to him. The people who have earned the right to see him vulnerable.
“Thank you, Daddy.” He wiggles out of his hold and stands. “Let’s go get The Giving Tree now.”
Damien grabs Dominick’s hand and pulls him to get up.
“Wait, where do we get a Giving Tree?” Dominick asks.
“In the forest, Daddy,” Damien answers, making Dominick’s eyes go wide.
“Better get to chopping,” I joke. “You have a tree to bring home, Daddy.”
23
Dominick
Daddy.
I’m a fucking daddy.
I have a son.
With my gray eyes.
He has Peyton’s red hair and skin color, but his personality is all me. The kid isn’t afraid of shit—and he proved that when he flew off the float and into the water without a care in the world. And I proved I have no idea what I’m doing as a dad when I dove in after him and then proceeded to bitch at Peyton because I thought our son had almost drowned.
Of course he can swim.
Because Peyton is a damn good mother.
And she not only agreed to give us a chance, but she also told our son that I was his father.
Then, he called me Daddy … and I agreed to chop down a fucking tree.
“Okay, so tell me about this tree,” I say to Damien as we sit at the island while Peyton heats up the dinner that Martha made earlier and left for us.
“It’s in my …” He stops speaking and looks up at me with sad eyes.
I have no idea what I did wrong, but when tears fill his eyes, I glance at Peyton, two seconds away from freaking out.
“Mommy, my book!” Damien cries. “My book is gone. It’s at home.”
He jumps off the stool and runs toward the living room, and we both follow after him.
“My book is gone! I gotta go home and get it.”
Tears track down his face, and my heart, which I thought was dead, squeezes in my chest, reminding me that it’s very much alive and beating.
“Please, Mr. Daddy, I gotta get my book.”
He looks around the large room, hoping the book will appear, but it’s not here, and unfortunately, while their stuff is on the way, it’ll be a few days before it arrives since the company that I hired has to pack up everything and then deliver it.
As I watch my son cry in devastation over a book that he doesn’t have because I had to take him from his home in the middle of the night—because he was going to be kidnapped, thanks to a vendetta that a psychopath has against me and my family—my only thought is that I need to make this right.
Peyton starts to speak—I’m sure to try to calm him, but he shouldn’t have to be calmed. He should have his fucking book. Peyton’s trusting me to make sure they’re taken care of, and I’m not about to fuck this up.
“C’mon,” I say, lifting Damien into my arms. “Let’s go get your book.”
“What about dinner?” Peyton asks. “We don’t have to—”
“We can eat out,” I tell her. “Damien needs his book.”
I snatch my keys off the table and head to the garage, thankful that I had Janet make sure booster seats were installed in all the cars I use.