Kendrick straightens, interest sharpening. “That’s new.”
I drag a hand down my face. “Daisy called me Dad.”
Silence.
Justin’s mouth parts slightly. Kendrick’s expression shifts into something that looks like understanding. Aaron’s gaze goes very still.
“That’s… a lot,” Aaron says carefully.
“It is,” I reply, staring at the table. “And Abby… she panicked. She thinks I’m going to leave.”
Justin leans forward. “Are you?”
“No,” I snap, then soften because it’s not his fault I’m unraveling. “No. I’m not. But I get why she thinks I might.”
Kendrick’s voice is quiet. “What did you do?”
I exhale. “Nothing. That’s kind of the problem. I didn’t do anything. I just stood there and watched her get scared and then I walked out like I always do.”
Aaron’s eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”
Because it’s what I know. Because I’m good at leaving. Because I learned early that staying meant pain.
I swallow hard. “Because I don’t want to hurt Daisy.”
Justin snorts softly. “Walking away will definitely fix that.”
I glare at him, but he just looks back with frustrating honesty.
Kendrick crosses his arms. “You know what’s worse than her calling you Dad?”
“What?”
“You disappearing after she did,” Kendrick says. “That kid already lost one father. You want to be the guy who teaches her she can’t trust anyone else?”
The words land hard, sharp enough to slice through my self-pity.
I stare down at my hands. There’s a faint smear of coffee grounds on my thumb from earlier, like proof I was in Abby’s café, in her life, in her world, and I didn’t know how to hold it.
Aaron’s voice is steady. “What do you want, Brendon?”
The question makes my chest tighten.
I think of Abby in her kitchen, hair down, eyes fierce even when she was afraid. I think of the way she kissed me when she finally let herself stop bracing.
I think of Daisy’s arms around my waist, her small body trusting me without reservation.
I swallow. “I want to stay.”
Justin nods once, like that’s the only answer that matters. “Then stay.”
Kendrick’s gaze softens. “But do it right,” he adds. “Not halfway. Not when it’s convenient.”
I exhale slowly. “I don’t know how.”
Aaron leans forward, his elbows on the table. “You learn,” he says simply. “Just like you learned everything else. One day at a time.”
My phone buzzes again.
