Page 33 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

LIAM

Holly: Hey, we need to talk. Can you come over tonight?

That was the text from Holly I got a little over an hour ago.

Short, and so unlike her it might as well have come from a stranger.

No barrage of emojis, no over-the-top exclamation points, no cheesy bakery pun about “spilling the tea” or “whisking me away.”

It’s been sitting in my messages, burning a hole through my screen, while I scramble to figure out how to respond.

It’s not like she hasn’t texted me about serious things before, but there’s always…softness.

Even when she’s annoyed, there’s something playful under it. But this?

This feels like I’ll be walking into a room set with a live grenade ready to blow.

Does she want to end things?

My heart thumps at the question.

I hope not.

But if she does, I’ll respect her choice. After all, this arrangement is supposed to benefit her the most.

I’m lucky enough she’s decided to let me participate at all.

I’m halfway through trying to find some way to ask if everything’s okay when Reece’s name lights up my screen.

Reece: You get a message from Holly?

A part of me is a little relieved I’m not the only one who got it. Another is worried that it is actually what I think it is: her breaking things off with all of us.

I can’t say I blame her.

Whatever her reasons are, I’m sure they’re good ones.

If not just to simply move on, then maybe to prevent her dad from finding out.

Me: Yeah. You know what’s going on?

Reece: No. But it doesn’t sound good.

Me: Agreed.

He takes a few minutes to respond to me.

Reece: Want to carpool?

Me: Sure. What time?

Reece: Heading out in 15.

I start to type Cool, I’ll meet you at your place when my thumb pauses, another contact coming into mind.

Jack’s.

It’s been weeks since we’ve talked.

Not since the blowout with Carson. Which, in hindsight, was maybe overdue.

I’d forgiven Jack for trying to play middleman between me and Carson for a long time now.

Hell, that’s always been his thing—keeping the peace when someone else is ready to throw a punch, and making sure whatever blow back happens, there aren’t too many casualties.

Carson I could take or leave.

Jack, though…

We were like brothers before Carson ever entered the picture.

We were the kind of friends who didn’t have to talk every day but would drop everything if the other called.

We stuck by each other when Carson bailed on us for Maggie, rode out every stupid bar fight together when we got a little too rowdy for our own good, and always handled business for each other when times got too tough to deal with our messes on our own.

It’s how we always did things.

Since that lunch, it’s been radio silence.

I could go months without hearing Carson’s voice and sleep just fine.

Hell, most days I’d prefer it.

But Jack?

That’s different.

Jack was… is …one of the few people I trust without needing to think about it.

These past few weeks, I’ve kept telling myself that if he sat with it long enough, really thought it through things, he’d see my side.

That Carson’s been a garbage father to Holly for years, and the rest of us, Jack included, have just let it slide because we’ve been too afraid to rock the boat.

We watched him give her the bare minimum and pretended like it was enough when we all knew, deep down, it wasn’t.

And maybe, in some twisted, messed-up way, what’s between us and her now is the first time anyone’s actually treated her like she matters.

Like she’s not some afterthought.

But how the hell do you even start that conversation when you’re also sleeping with your best friend’s daughter?

And not just you, it’s two of your other closest friends sharing the same bed.

That’s not a bridge you can ease your way across without worrying.

That’s stepping into a minefield with a blindfold on and hoping nothing happens as you cross to the other side.

My thumb moves out of my and Reece’s text thread to bring up my contacts.

Jack’s name is at the top of them and my thumb hovers over the call button, the urge to just hear his voice rumbling on the other side aches.

But then, I hesitate.

And after a while, I sigh and lock my phone, staring at the black screen like it’s going to give me answers.

Not tonight.

Reece’s truck is idling at the curb when I step out into the cold, a thin snow drift already falling from the dark sky overhead.

The air bites my face, sharp and pointed.

His headlights throw long shadows across the street, and for a second, it’s just me and the steam of my breath out here in the open before I jog to the passenger side.

The door creaks as I climb in, and blessedly he’s already got the heat blasting.

My hands sting with the shift from frozen air to warmth. I hold them out in front of one of the vents, flexing and unclenching my sore joints until the feeling comes back.

We pull away from the curb, tires crunching over the light dusting of snow, and get back onto the main road.

“You look like you’ve been stewing on that text,” Reece says after a beat.

“You haven’t?”

His mouth pulls to one side.

“I don’t know. My first thought was maybe something happened with the bakery, but…she didn’t sound stressed in that way.”

“Yeah. Sounded like something different.”

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the dull thud in time with the faint hum of the tires.

“Could be personal. Could be about Carson and her mom.”

“Maybe. Or that she wants to break things off with us.”

Reece’s mouth drops into a deep frown at that.

The heater roars in the silence that follows.

The snow outside flurries harder the further we get down the road, smearing into white streaks against the windshield from the wipers.

Christmas lights blur past in flecks of red and green and soft blue, warm and inviting. The exact opposite of the tension sitting between us.

Every so often, I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s about to ask about the other things but every time, he seems to think better of it.

A wise choice.

We hit the block where Holly lives just as another familiar set of headlights swings in from the opposite end of the street.

Jack. I’d know his truck anywhere.

He slows, parks neatly against the curb.

Reece pulls in right behind him, the engine ticking as he shuts it off. My pulse thumps in my throat.

Not just from whatever we’re about to walk into, but from the fact that it’s the three of us here.

I knew I’d have to face Jack sooner or later. I just figured it would be later later.

The snow’s thicker now, drifting sideways in the wind by the time we climb out of the warm cab.

Our boots crunching in near-unison, and for a moment we just wait in front of Holly’s apartment building, like this is some awkward reunion nobody wanted to plan for.

The streetlight above throws halos of light on our breath.

Jack’s the one to break the silence first. “Evening.”

Reece nods once, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, and flashes him an uneasy smile.

I just watch Jack, reading the slight tension in his shoulders and catching how his eyes flick to me for the briefest second before moving on.

No one moves toward Holly’s building right away.

After another long moment, Jack clears his throat and says, “Shall we?”

We fall into step without another word.

It’s almost muscle memory now, the route up to her place.

The same turns stepping off the elevator, the same scuffed corner where the carpet frays by her door, the same neighbor whose shadow moves below their door as they peek through their peephole.

By the time we reach her door, she’s already there with her door pulled open.

The warm light from inside spills into the dim hall, catching the edges of her hair and making them look golden.

Whatever tension’s been riding between the three of us gets shoved to the background the second we all see her face.

She’s smiling, sort of, but it’s one of those smiles that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Something about seeing it doesn’t sit right with me.

“Hey,” she says softly. “You all made it. Good. Come in.”

The warmth inside her place wraps around me like a blanket, chasing away the last remnants of the bitter sting from outside.

I breathe in deeply, expecting to smell her scent lingering in the air but then garlic and rosemary hits me instead.

My eyes wander and spot a table set in the center of her small dining space.

Roast chicken, mashed potatoes so creamy they gleam under the light, green beans slicked with butter and dotted with slivers of almond all take up the small space.

Real plates with cloth napkins are set at four different spots.

It looks like she’s been cooking for hours.

“You didn’t have to—” I start, but she cuts me off fast.

“I wanted to,” she says quickly, her hands wringing together. “Sit. Eat. We can talk after.”

Something about the way she says it makes it impossible to argue despite the desperation in me to do just that.

Reece and Jack both exchange looks before shrugging, so we do as we’re told.

Jack pulls out a chair for himself, Reece drops into the one across from him, and I take the last seat.

Holly moves around us, topping off water glasses before they’ve dropped an inch, setting a basket of warm rolls in the middle that she pops out of the oven right when the timer goes off.

When she finally sits, the tension has us all remaining quiet.

There’s no teasing, no casual flirting, no small talk about the weather or how her shop’s doing.

Not even peppered questions about how busy the streets around her bakery have been with the mess of holiday shoppers.

The room is filled with just the sounds of silverware scraping against plates and the faint hum of whatever Christmas playlist she’s got on in the background.

It almost feels like a holiday dinner except without any of the easy, relaxed cheer.

Halfway through my plate, Jack sets his fork down with a deliberate clink, drawing all our attention up from our plates.

“Holly. Please tell us what’s going on.”

She freezes mid-motion, the serving spoon in her hand hovering above the bowl of potatoes.

Her knuckles go white around the handle.

For a long second, she doesn’t look at any of us, just stares down at the table with her lips pressed together in a thin line.

When she finally looks up, her eyes are glassy.