Page 138 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

“Maybe it’s a wrong number,” Mallory says. She shrugs, reaching for her drink again.

I wipe my hands on my apron and lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello, this is Holly’s?—”

“Holly. It’s me.”

My heart stutters in recognition. “Liam?”

“You need to listen to me. Your dad knows.”

My skin goes cold instantly. “W-what? Knows what?”

“About the pregnancy,” he says, his voice urgent. “And that it was one of us.”

The room tilts under me, my free hand tightening around the counter to steady myself.

Mallory is watching now, her brows drawn tight, mouthing,What is it?

I grip the phone harder. “What…how?—”

“Mags told him,” Liam cuts in quickly, breathing fast. “He’s pissed, Hol. He’s on his way over to you right now. He knows you’re still at the bakery.”

My mind flashes with images, of my dad’s face twisted in anger, his hand raising to strike my cheek as he screams at me for betraying him and fucking his friends, his voice trembling while he calls me a whore.

I can’t even get the next question out before Mallory’s up from her stool, crossing the counter to me, her hand closing over my wrist like she already knows she’s going to have to catch me if I fall.

I hear something in the background of the phone call, a door slamming hard followed by a muffled curse.

“Where are you?” I manage, my voice thin and too high.

“Ten minutes away,” Liam says, the sound of his car starting and chiming coming through next. “I’m heading to you now. Keep the doors locked until I get there, okay?”

Relief floods through me. Liam, always my protector. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

I lower the receiver slowly, my body numb.

My best friend is staring at me now, her eyes wide, alert while she tries to read the expression on my face and act accordingly.

“What the hell was that about?” she asks.

“My dad’s coming. He knows.”

Her eyebrows shoot up so fast they almost vanish into her hairline. “Knowswhat?”

“Everything.” That one word comes out raw, scraping the inside of my throat on its way up.

She blinks once, twice, then exhales something that’s half a swear and half disbelief. “Holy fuck. What do we do?”

“I don’t know. He’s going to lose it when he sees me. He’s going to kill me.” My voice is shaking now, matching the tremor starting in my hands.

“Hey.” Her hands come down firmly on my shoulders, a solid weight, holding me there and anchoring me to the floor. “Breathe. First thing’s first: lock the doors. Second: if he tries to break through the glass, we call the cops. You’re not alone. I’m here, okay?”

I nod, but it’s automatic.

The truth is, I don’t feel steady enough to believe it.

Still, we move together without much fuss.