“Hello properly,” Helena repeated, testing the words. Then she smiled. “Hello.”
I almost laughed. The sweetness of her had already started doing dangerous things to what little control I had left.
“Hello, little star.”
She seemed pleased by the sound of her name in my mouth. Her doll dangled from one hand, half-forgotten now, while her eyes stayed on me with the open attention only a child could give without knowing how deep it cut.
Then she asked, “Why are you standing there?”
Edwina made a soft sound under her breath, suspiciously close to a laugh.
I looked at her, caught the brief amusement on her face, and returned my attention to Helena. “That,” I said, “is a very good question.”
Helena nodded as if she had expected nothing less.
“Maybe because I’m still learning the rules,” I said.
She considered that. “Mommy knows the rules.”
My gaze lifted to Edwina for half a second. She stood there with Helena in her arms, Christmas light touching her face, and the sight stirred something old under my ribs.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Your mommy does.”
Helena seemed satisfied. Then she tilted her head at me. “What’s your name?” she asked.
I blinked.
“Last time,” she added, frowning a little as she searched for the words, “I said sir. Because I didn’t know.”
Jesus Christ.
It should not have hurt and it did.
“You don’t have to call me sir.”
She blinked. “No?”
“No.” I kept my voice light, even as the words twisted inside me. What I wanted did not matter yet. What my blood demanded had to wait. “You can call me Uncle Hayden.”
The title tasted wrong the second I said it. It felt like swallowing glass and pretending it did not cut.
What else was I supposed to say? Call mefather? Call medad? Christ. I could not rip the world open over her head because my blood was screaming for it. She was too small. And I would not turn my first real moment with my daughter into another adult wound she had to witness.
So Uncle Hayden it was.
For now.
Helena brightened at once, as if I had given her a new word to play with.
“Uncle Hayden,” she repeated happily.
The title still cut, but before I could recover from hearing it in her voice, she tilted her head and added, “Like Uncle Daniel.”
Everything in me went still. The name tore through the warmth in my chest and left nothing decent behind. My jaw locked, and my eyes went straight to Edwina. She saw the change in me at once. Good. I wanted her to see it. I wanted her to understand exactly what that name did to my temper.
Uncle Daniel.
That fucking bastard had a title. He had a place in my daughter’s life. A familiar name. A door already opened to him while I was still standing outside, trying to earn scraps. Now his name sat beside mine in my daughter’s mouth, and it felt less like coincidence than a goddamn insult.
