Page 29 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

To my surprise, Holly’s standing in the doorway, a folded towel in her hands.

“So…is my dad not coming after all?” she asks, strangely calm.

Though, the longer I look at her, I catch it—the slight hitch in her words and the way her fingers tighten around the fabric like she’s trying to wring out all her frustration.

It’s clear she’s trying not to let it show but it’s there.

It’s the annoyance that her old man’s broken yet another promise to her.

“Looks like he’s stuck in town. Storm got too bad,” Liam tells her, though even to me he barely sounds sympathetic.

Holly’s mouth quirks in a humorless little smile. “Figures, huh? Maybe that means he won’t catch me up here after all.”

And damn if I don’t feel something twist in my gut at the sound of it.

This is Carson’s kid.

The one he used to complain about, acting like she’s some kind of burden instead of his one and only daughter.

The one Margaret fought like hell to protect when Carson got too wrapped up in his own life to bother trying anymore.

She deserves better than this.

8

JACK

“Sorry again for crashing your weekend,” Holly sighs softly, her voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fireplace.

She’s standing near the edge of the living room now while something sizzles in the kitchen.

The way she holds herself reminds me of someone who’s trying to make themselves seem smaller.

Refusing to take up more space in the room than they think they should.

It bothers me she even thinks that to begin with, let alone around us.

I wave her off with a small smile, settling myself down in the armchair and trying to pretend seeing her mildly upset isn’t stirring something deep in my best.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. It’s not like you planned the storm.”

The second the word leaves my mouth, I curse inwardly.

Kiddo.

That old nickname Carson’s called her for years slips out on autopilot and the effect is instant.

Holly freezes for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking up at me before darting away.

Her cheeks turn faintly pink, and she ducks her head so fast I almost miss the flash of emotion on her face.

Something between surprise and…guilt? Embarrassment?

“I’ll…I’ll get back to the kitchen,” she murmurs, retreating quickly down the hall.

Smooth, Jack. Real smooth.

I drag a hand down my face and exhale slowly, the firelight throwing a warped reflection of itself in the window as I sigh.