“She’s good,” I say.
Emma is great. But it’s been weird. I’m used to being independent. But now I need an assistant, nanny, babysitters, a tutor, and a maid.
Having people in my business is uncomfortable. Growing up the way I did, with a mom who had mental health and dependency issues, reinforced my private nature. I hid how we lived when my mom was in a bad phase and self-medicating with pills and alcohol. When she was struggling, I made dinner with whatever I could find in the house and forged my school permission forms. I didn’t confide in friends, and I never invited them to my house. I got used to keeping people at a distance, and over the years, it became second nature.
Until Belle. And Poppy.Temporarily, I remind myself.
Now, I don’t just have employees to assist me like Emma. I have people waiting for me, expecting me at home. It complicates things, this eagerness to leave work, the disappointment when shooting runs so long that I’m not able to greet Belle or Poppy in the morning and I’m not there to say good night.
The longer the franchise continues, the harder it is to sync up everyone’s schedules, which means we’re trying to squeeze a six-month shoot into less than three months. For the first time in my life, I have other people to consider, and the guilt of falling short with Belle is crushing me. So tonight, I’m determined to arrive before her bedtime.
I say goodbye to my costars and drive home in the dark as fast as I can and still be safe. Over the years, I’ve learned a lot from the stunt drivers on my films. But unlike many of the stuntmen I know, I don’t live for the powerful rush of adrenaline. Stunt work was just a job. One I’m good at because of my size, fight skills, and methodical nature. It was just dumb luck that it put me on a path that led to money and fame.
When I pull into the long driveway, a sense of peace washes over me as the rolling lawn spreads out and gives way to tall trees and the lake beyond. Many of the trees have lost their leaves, but there’s beauty in their stark shapes against the moonlit glow of the water. The house glows as well, and I see the light in the kitchen is still on.
I look at the clock on the dash and breathe a sigh of relief. Six-fifty p.m. I’ve done it. Every night, I wanted to make it home before Belle’s bedtime, but every night, I failed. I even missed Halloween. Belle had dressed up as Elsa fromFrozenin a costume that Poppy’s mother made her. Poppy sent me photos.
Tonight, though, it’s still early. They might even be eating dinner.
I try to tamp down the eagerness and open the door. I walk into a scene that’s foreign to me, except on television or in my daydreams as a kid.
There’s the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove and the warmth of a fire, music coming from the house’s old radio, and Poppy and Belle in the kitchen laughing. When my footfalls alert them to another presence, they turn, startled.
“Daddy!” Belle runs toward me and hugs my leg surprisingly tight for such a wisp of a girl. “You’re home.”
Emotion clogs my throat. When has anyone been this excited to see me? The enormity of my situation slams into me with far more weight than a forty-pound girl. Fatherhood was thrust on me, but I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. It’s a constant round of being off-balance and unsure of myself. But here she is, happy that I’m home, even as guilt eats at me for my absence since we started filming.
When we first arrived in Snowflake Harbor, I didn’t have a regular babysitter or nanny, so we became even closer than we’d been in LA. Belle got used to coming to set with me every day during pre-production. It feels wrong now not to see her every day. How quickly she’s become an integral part of my world, which makes this even more dangerous.
What will happen when her mom comes back for her? How can I give her up again? If I fight for custody, there’s no guarantee I’ll win. The odds aren’t in my favor since I’ve been absent from her life for so long. But if I did win, I’m not sure what kind of life I could offer her. I have no clue how to be a regular father. I never had one. Plus, I’m rarely in one place for long. Belle needs a situation that’s more stable than I have to offer. It’s her shit luck that Claire, her mother, isn’t any better. It seems that Belle spent more time with her nannies than with her mom.
I shut the door firmly on that dark train of thought. I can’t change the past or know the future, so I need to live in the present. I know the value of having single-minded focus on the here and now, and it’s saved me more times than I can count. If I had a religion, it would be that.
I give Belle a half-hug, half-shoulder pat, feeling awkward with her affection. She tilts her head up and smiles, and the weight of fatherhood gets both heavier and lighter at the same time. Yes, this responsibility is the hardest burden I’ve ever had to carry. But it’s not a load I’ll ever put down. I can’t. Being a father is now an intrinsic part of me.She’spart of me.
Blinking, I look up to see Poppy watching us. Her cinnamon curls are falling out of her ponytail in wild strands. Freckles blend with the pink of her cheeks. Her hazel eyes are soft.
“You’re home early,” Poppy observes. She sounds breathless, and I wonder what she’s like after a night of sex, after I’ve pleasured her for hours. I go hard at the thought, remembering the kiss we shared the night of the wedding.
She’s off-limits now. That much was certain the second I made her my daughter’s nanny. If I remind myself often enough, I might finally remember it.
“We’re making pizzas. Do you want one? Or is that not on your nutrition plan?”
It isn’t. I’d have to do an extra workout to make up for it. But fuck it. “Do you have enough?”
“Here, Daddy.” My daughter holds out a red rolling pin. “Poppy says we have to roll out our own dough.”
I make a mess of rolling a ball of sticky dough on the parchment paper Poppy passes to me.
They laugh at my misshapen pizza pie, and I pretend to be offended. It feels almost like we’re a family. I have to remember this is all just temporary.
Pizza sauce and grated cheese are in bowls, as well as cut-up vegetables and pepperoni. Poppy loads her pie with every topping. Belle makes hers with sauce and cheese. I spread on a little sauce and fill mine with veggies. I’ll have to eat one of my nutritionist-approved meals before I go to bed, but I don’t have another shirtless scene until next week, so I’ll take this small treat.
Poppy eyes up my pizza. “That’s a little sad.”
I shrug. “Maybe. But I only have to be really disciplined when I’m training for a role or filming.”
The ripped body Hollywood expects isn’t possible without extreme measures. Even for someone as large as I am, it takes intense training, discipline, and even dehydration to have the proper muscle definition the audience wants to see.
