Part of me was proud that my kids were so damn capable. Getting themselves up for school, making their own lunches, doing laundry. But this isn’t basic shit.
Daisy does almost all the cooking. At thirteen, I still ate cold hot dogs out of the package. At thirteen, my kid makes omelets and salads, burgers and chicken with rice. She’s so short she still needs to climb onto the counter to reach the spices she made me buy, yet she’s up there right now, pulling out I don’t even know what. And I truly don’t. What the fuck kind of spice goes into an omelet other than salt?
It took less than a week of living with these kids full-time to see that my daughters spent a hell of a lot of time making sure Shayla’s life worked. They’re in no sports, no clubs. They don’t hang out at their friends’ houses or have sleepovers. “Cuz Mom doesn’t trust strangers.”
I don’t know what normal kids should do, but I’m sure as hell not going to let these kids play momma with me.
“Leave it,” I say to Daisy, taking the carton of eggs from her hand. “I’ll cook.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Dad, no disrespect, but are you serious?”
I know I can’t cook for shit, so this is one thing I’llcave on. “All right,” I relent, handing her the carton. “I’ll go shower.”
“Now?” She whirls on me, an accusing look on her face. “Are you going to shower again later? You have a date tonight.”
I pinch my brows between two fingers. Daisy is definitely the micromanager of the two, and the last thing I need is my daughter telling me when and how to bathe. But then I catch myself. This is being a dad. Respecting what she says. Listening to her opinions. And besides, she’s not wrong.
I lift the bottom of my tee and mop my sweaty face dry, then open my arms for a hug. “Come here,” I tell her. “How would I live without your advice? Give your old dad a hug.”
“Ew, no. Go shower.” She backs toward the stove. “Dad, get away. You’re disgusting.”
I leave my youngest cooking up some delicious-smelling shit on the stove and head upstairs to my room with a smile on my face. I never expected this full-time dad shit to be easy, but so far, it’s fucking awesome. Which makes me feel even more worried about how Shayla is doing without them.
It’snoon before Holly stumbles down the stairs, her eyes puffy. She looks exhausted and stressed.
“Hey, kid.” I’m reading a text on my phone from Savage, and I am not happy.
“Sorry, Dad.” Holly walks over to the fridge and pours herself a huge glass of water.
“For what?” I ask, putting down my phone before I crack it. “What happened?”
She drops into a kitchen chair beside me and cocks her head. “Where’s Dais?”
I jerk a thumb toward the sliding glass door that leads from my kitchen to the yard. “Reading outside. She left you a plate in the fridge.”
Holly helps herself to the plate, sniffs it, and then puts it in the microwave. “Yum,” she says. “I’m starving.” She punches the buttons to heat up her food. “I haven’t had my own room in like ever. And it’s so quiet here. I can’t believe I slept this late. Is there anything you need me to do?”
I get up, grab my wallet, and leave some cash on the counter. “Yeah,” I tell her. “Be a fucking teenager. Talk on the phone to your friends—except that Tyler asshole. Your girlfriends. Play games on your phone. I don’t know. Whatever you normally do on a Saturday.” I point to the cash. “I don’t need you to do a damn thing except enjoy a day off school. Order a pizza or something for lunch if you want it. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Where are you going? You have a date tonight, remember?” She pops two slices of bread into the toaster and looks at me in warning. “What time is the reservation?”
Now I see what they mean about girls ruling the world. Society could come to an end, and me and Savage, Shadow, even that Tyler shithead, would all bebeating one another to a pulp and eating dirt, while women would keep people fed, clean, and getting where they needed to be on time.
“Hols,” I say, trying not to sound shitty. “I’m a grown-ass man. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
She nods. “Okay. If you want to make a good first impression, though, you might want to be early. Not on time. Like five minutes early. It sends a message.” Her toast pops up, and she grabs butter from the fridge. “Oh, and pick up flowers if you have time.”
Now, that is actually a good idea. One I wouldn’t have thought of.
“Anything else, boss?” I ask.
“Do you mind if we Uber to the mall?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No rideshares by yourself. I’ll have one of the guys come and drive you. You need more money?” I peel off another hundred.
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that, Dad.”
I come around the table and grip her shoulders in my hands. “Hols, I’m not an ATM, but this is your first weekend away from your normal schedule. If you want to go to the mall and have some fun, I’m giving you money to do it.” I peel off another hundred, but then I freeze. “Is Tyler working today? Is this about a boy?”
