Page 38 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

The days blur together after that.

I tell myself to just get back to normal, whatever normal even means anymore.

That’s the only way I’ll survive any of this.

The worst part is that the only person I could call right now and vent to about all of this has been stuck at her job pulling double shifts for the past week and a half, and when Mallory does have time to actually text me back to check on me, she’s usually so fried she can barely string together more than a few words before the rest turns to complete gibberish.

As desperate as I am for my sounding board and my friend, I can’t dump all of this on her right now.

It wouldn’t be fair.

So I keep it all stuffed inside me.

I throw myself into work because that’s something I can control. Fulfilling orders, completing invoices, checking off lists.

One week until Christmas means every minute counts if I want to deliver on time, and I will, no matter how hollow I feel doing it.

Even in this fog, my hands know what to do.

The steady movements soothe me: measuring, mixing, folding, packing.

And the customers seem happy.

At least no one’s sending anything back or complaining about delays.

I plaster on a smile when they come in, wish them a merry Christmas, and send them off with boxes tied in ribbon.

It’s a performance, but it’s one I’m incredibly good at.

It’s late when I finally look up from my work two days before Christmas.

The sky outside the front window is an inky black, frost pressing light against the glass.

I’ve been here for hours, chasing some imaginary finish line in my head, trying to get ahead so I can maybe have a day to breathe and decide what to do about my future and the life growing inside me.

Just as I’m finishing pulling the last of the left-over cookies from the display case, the bell above the door jingles.

I almost call out that we’re closed, the automatic greeting already forming on my tongue, but then I see her.

Mallory.

My absolute saving grace.

She’s framed in the light from the nearby streetlamp like she walked straight out of a daydream, grinning despite the faint dark circles smudged under her eyes.

Her messy bun sags halfway off her head.

There’s a takeout box balanced in one hand, a drink tray in the other, and the smell of something warm and savory instantly wraps around me like a blanket.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” she says, nudging the door shut with her hip before kicking it closed for good measure.

Relief hits me harder than I expect.

My chest loosens in a way it hasn’t since the fight with my mom, and…the other thing.

I set the tray I’d been fussing with down on the counter, wipe my hands on my apron, and cross the room in three long steps just to wrap my arms around her.

“You are an actual angel,” I murmur into her shoulder.

“I know,” she says, smug, setting the food and drinks down on the counter before fully returning the hug.

She squeezes me tight in the kind of bone-cracking hug that, on any other day, would have me squirming and swatting her away, laughing while I beg for mercy.

But today?

Today I need it.

I need the pressure, the solidity, the reminder that there is at least one person on this planet who has always been in my corner, no matter what.

I breathe her in, the faint scent of coffee clinging to her sweater, the citrus of her hand lotion, something faintly floral from her shampoo.

It’s grounding in a way nothing else has been today.

When I finally pull back, I do it reluctantly, swiping at the stray tears that have gathered along my lashes before they can smudge my makeup.

“Thanks for coming. I would’ve called you earlier to check in, but things got really busy.”

She waves a hand like it’s nothing, already climbing onto one of the stools behind the counter.

She pops open the takeout container, the steam carrying the smell of teriyaki chicken into the air, and digs out a plastic fork.

“You talk to the boys at all?”

I grimace before I can stop myself, the sound escaping me more like a groan. “No.”

Her brows lift a fraction, but she doesn’t press, just makes a soft, almost noncommittal grunt around her first bite of food.

I use the moment to busy myself, moving behind the counter to throw out the last of the stale cookies and lock the display case for the night.

The motions are muscle memory, my hands doing the work while my brain tries to stay a step ahead of her next question.

When I glance at her again, she’s already swallowed and is watching me closely, her fork hovering midair. “You keeping it?”

My stomach dips. I hesitate for a beat before I answer. “I still haven’t decided yet.”

She sets her fork down on the edge of the container and leans forward, her voice dropping.

“Holly…I’m just going to say it. Having a baby right now?

That’s huge. It’s going to derail everything you’ve been doing.

You just got your lease shit settled with the landlord, and you’re finally making steady money again.

Are you really ready to throw all that into chaos just to have a baby? Will the guys even step up to help?”

I’ve been telling myself the same thing on repeat all day like some kind of mantra.

Yet no matter how many times I recite the words, the same lines spilling out of her mouth, none of it washes away that desperate hope I still carry.

“I know you’re right. But…”

“But?” she prompts gently.

I glance down at my hands, rubbing my thumb along the edge of my apron.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom.”

She sighs.

“You’re twenty-four, Hol. It’s not your only chance.”

Twenty-four isn’t old, I know that.

I know I could wait five years, ten even, and still be fine.

But there’s this quiet, gnawing ache that won’t let go.

The whisper that maybe, for me, this is the moment.

That maybe waiting means never.

I don’t say it out loud, but Mallory can probably see it written all over my face.

She studies me for a long moment, not saying anything while she stews.

Finally, I give her the truth I’ve been too afraid to voice.

“I don’t think I’ll ever let a man touch me again after this.

Not because I’m disgusted, just…because I know no one will ever treat me the way they did.

As good as they did. Why bother trying to replace something when I already know it’s impossible? ”

Her brows knit, and for once she doesn’t rush to fill the silence.

When she does speak, her voice is careful. “You’re romanticizing them because you’re hurt. But you have to be realistic, too.”

“I am being realistic. I’m not saying they were perfect. But they were mine . And now they’re gone. And the only thing I have left of them is…”

The words stick in my throat. My lips press together before I can finish.

Mallory’s eyes soften with a quiet kind of understanding. “The baby.”

I nod, barely.

We let the silence stretch.

My eyes focus on nothing, my thoughts scrambling in a thousand different directions.

Finally, I manage, “I’ll think about it after Christmas. I’m not far along, so if I decide to…to get rid of it, I can still do it after the holiday.”

She exhales.

“Okay. That’s…that’s good. I just want you to think about your options, you know? But whatever you choose, I’m here.”

I lift my gaze to her, forcing a faint smile. “I know.”

The phone at the counter rings.

The sharp, unexpected sound makes us both jolt.

My eyes flick automatically to the clock on the wall, the bakery’s been closed for an hour.

The phone almost never rings this late unless it’s an anxious bride the night before her wedding.

And so far, I’ve got none of those on my books for the next few weeks.

“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. “Knows what ?”

“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.

She grabs our food and puts it beneath the counter to hide it from view so no one knows we’ve been here.

I grab the deadbolt and slide it across until I hear the heavy click of metal on metal.

“Maybe we should go out the back. We can run to my car before he gets here,” she says.

Run .

How sad is that?

Running from my own father.

Terrified and for my life.

He’s never been a stable person, but I’ve never actually feared for my own safety.

Am I about to do that now?

Would he actually have the balls to hurt his own daughter?

“No,” I say, turning away from the door. “I’m not running.”

“Uh, Holly? This isn’t really the time to play heroes.” She looks uncertain, slightly panicked.

“I just…I have to face him. Running away is only going to make it worse. Maybe if I face him head on, I can make him understand.”

Her lips press into a thin line.

“Okay. But I’m keeping my phone in my hand with 911 already dialed. Just in case.”

The gratitude that swells in me is almost too big to swallow.

My throat works around it anyway, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

“Thank you.”