Page 41 of Daddies’ Holiday Toy (Kissmass Daddies #1)

HOLLY

If hell had a waiting room, I’m pretty sure it would look like my week.

Word spreads faster than the flu in this town.

Normally, I don’t give a damn about the things people say.

Growing up poor with an absent father and a single mother, I’ve heard it all— slut, white trash, pity case, charity case .

If anything, it’s made my skin thick enough to survive adulthood without crying into my pillow every night from a few bad customer interactions.

But this?

This feels way different.

It’s not just my reputation people are tearing apart now that word’s gotten out I’m pregnant by one of my father’s friends, it’s my business.

My bakery.

The one thing I’ve poured every scrap of myself into these last few years.

One by one, my orders started cancelling and disappearing.

First, it was Mrs. Price canceling the cookies for her church group with a thinly veiled excuse of, “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, we’ve decided to go in a different direction.

” Then the Marshalls dropped their Christmas pie order, blaming a sudden “dietary change” that I know for a fact is bullshit because I saw Mr. Marshall inhaling three cinnamon rolls just last week while passing by the diner.

And then there were the blunt ones.

“Sorry, I can’t support someone who’s…you know. Setting a bad example for the community.”

Translation: they don’t want a “tramp” who doesn’t even know who the father is between three separate grown men twice her age making their desserts, or even touching the precious food devoured by their greedy mouths.

It’s not just the loss of income that pisses me off the most, though that’s terrifying enough as it is considering I just got back on track, it’s watching everything I’ve built go up in flames before it even had a chance to soar.

My reputation as a baker is dead, all my hard work to keep my business afloat now gone.

At this rate, I’ll have to close my doors within the month.

And for what?

Because my mother couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.

Oh, and in case the universe wanted to twist the knife, apparently my parents are back together now.

Maggie and Carson, playing happy family.

Cute, right?

This week has been one long nightmare that never seems to end no matter how many alarms I wake up to, hoping that I’ve somehow shifted into a different timeline.

If it weren’t for Mallory, I might’ve thrown myself off my own bakery’s rooftop just to make it stop.

She’s been my anchor through all of it, listening, keeping me busy, reminding me to eat when I’m too sick to my stomach from stress to bother.

Since my father’s arrest, he’s done the one thing I thought he couldn’t possibly do—make me feel even smaller than I did already.

He hasn’t spoken to me once since my mother bailed him out of jail.

Not a call, not a text, not even a passive-aggressive voicemail, which is the bare minimum I was expecting.

And while I’ve never exactly had him in my life to begin with, being disowned still hits like a kick in the gut all the same.

I wish I didn’t care.

By mid-afternoon today, I give up on pretending to be productive. With no orders and no customers, there’s no point in standing behind the counter like I’m waiting for something that I know isn’t coming.

I flip the front window sign to “Closed” before locking the door and dragging myself back to my apartment to wallow in peace.

If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d pour a glass of wine the size of my head, dig into a pint of ice cream, and put on the worst Christmas rom-com I could find.

Instead, I settle for a peppermint tea and a pile of cookies I baked from leftover dough, sugar and butter being my sad-girl substitutes for booze.

While the latest Hallmark Christmas flick of the year plays, I keep circling the same thought I’ve been circling all week: maybe I should get rid of the baby.

Not because I don’t want it.

God, that’s the worst part, I do want it. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, just like I told Mallory.

But I keep hearing her voice in my head, reminding me of the practical stuff.

That being a single mother would wreck my life before it ever really started.

And now, with my name already trashed, it feels like I’d be setting this kid up for failure before they’re even born either way.

What kind of child would want to be born to a mom who’s the talk of the town for spreading her legs to not one, not two, but three different guys?

But every time I get close to making that decision, Jack’s voice cuts through the noise: We’ll talk to you soon, once we’ve got our shit figured out.

It’s the only thing keeping me tethered right now.

The only hope I have that maybe, just maybe, I won’t actually have to do this alone.

Finding myself restless once again, I put on my favorite Holiday playlist for background noise while I work in the kitchen, rolling out dough and trying to lose myself in the rhythm of baking.

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills the air, warm and soft, almost enough to make me forget how bad things are.

Almost.

I’ve just pulled a tray of cookies from the oven when there’s a knock at my door.

It’s soft but solid.

My pulse kicks up immediately at the sound.

I wipe my hands on a dish towel and head to the door, telling myself it’s probably Mallory, or maybe my neighbor, sweet Mrs. Morales from downstairs with a piece of mail delivered to the wrong box.

When I open it, my breath catches in my throat.

For a second, my brain refuses to process the sight.

Jack, Liam, and Reece…all three of them filling the doorway in that way they always do, a wall of broad shoulders, heavy winter coats, and an unshakable presence.

The faint bite of cold clings to them, their cheeks and noses rosy from the chill, and in their arms are paper bags stuffed with colorful tissue paper, edges peeking out like shy little flags.

For a moment, none of us moves.

Then Jack takes a small step forward, his eyes sweeping over my face like he’s checking for damage.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Can we come in?”

I can only nod.

My body moves before my brain catches up, stepping aside to give them room.

My legs feel like they’re running on some kind of autopilot, numb and floaty.

They file in, one by one, the scent of the cold air and whatever’s inside those bags trailing after them.

The space inside my apartment instantly feels smaller. I close the door behind them and lean back against it because it’s either that or I’m face planting onto the floor at their feet from sheer shock.

“Is everything okay?” I manage, though my voice sounds more thin and fragile than I mean for it to.

Jack glances at Liam, then at Reece, before his gaze returns to me.

His face is unreadable, but the faint pinch between his brows makes my stomach knot. “We should talk.”

The three most dangerous words in the English language.

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening against the edge of the door before I force myself to move.

“Okay…kitchen or couch? I’m baking right now, but I can pause that for a second.”

“Couch is good,” Jack says, nodding toward it.

I settle into the armchair across from the couch, tucking one leg under me before grabbing a blanket to wrap around my body.

I’m not sure if it’s for comfort or protection, but I need the extra layer between me and them to keep sane.

After setting their bags underneath my Christmas tree, they sit shoulder to shoulder on the couch.

The sight alone feels like a verdict is already forming, that they’re here together in a united front.

Whatever this is, they’re in total agreement.

Jack leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

He’s the first to speak again, his voice steady but carrying something heavier underneath.

“So. We’ve been talking. A lot. About… everything .”

I nod slowly, keeping my face as neutral as I can manage, though inside I’m spiraling so fast I can barely keep up.

Reece leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

He looks tired.

The expression is so uncharacteristic on his face that I stare at him for a long moment.

“We owe you an apology. For how we reacted when you told us about the baby. And for disappearing when you needed us to step up.”

I bite my lip, staring at the space between them on the couch because it’s safer than looking them in the eyes.

“I mean…you said you needed time, so I wanted to give that to you. It was a lot to throw at you at once.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t deserve that kind of silence, Holly.” Liam says, making my eyes move from the floor and up to him again.

There’s something there in them when I look hard. Regret, yes, but something else too.

Resolve.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod again.

Jack shifts, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“This isn’t easy for any of us. But the truth is…we care about you, Holly. More than we should. And the idea of walking away from you, and from this baby, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

My heart lurches at his words. “So…what are you trying to say?”

Reece glances at Jack, then at Liam, like they’re silently agreeing on who should be the one to spell it out for me.

Eventually, it’s Reece who says, “We’re saying we want to be here. For you. For the baby. However you’ll have us.”

I blink at him, the words taking a moment to land. “You mean… all of you?”

Liam nods. “If you’ll let us.”

My eyes immediately dart to Reece. “What about…what happened before? What you said, Reece…about not wanting to be a dad again?”

His jaw works, chewing over the words before he says them. “I was scared. Fuck, I still am. But I’ve had time to think, and… maybe it’s not about what I planned for my life. It’s about what’s in front of me right now. And right now, that’s you. And that’s what I want.”

My eyes sting, but I refuse to cry.

Not yet, at least. “You guys…you have no idea what this week has been like. Everyone’s been talking. I’ve lost all my orders. I feel like I’m watching my whole life collapse in slow motion.”

Jack’s gaze sharpens.

“That stops today. Whatever they’re saying about you, it’s bullshit. We should’ve been here before to protect you, but we’re here now.”

There’s so much I want to say about how much they hurt me by leaving me in limbo, about how scared I’ve been since they’ve been gone, about how much I missed them even while resenting them.

But instead, I just whisper, “Why now?”

Liam shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he’s leaning closer to me.

“Because we realized we’re already in this, no matter what. And honestly? We want to be. We want you, we have feelings for you. We just needed to get over our own shit first to see that.”

I break out into a laugh despite myself.

It sounds a little hysterical coming up, hell maybe I’m hysterical, but it feels good to finally let my emotions out.

Jack stands, crossing the room until he’s in front of me.

He kneels at my feet, putting both of his hands on my thighs.

“Holly. Will you have us?”

I hesitate for half a second before I lean forward and kiss him, letting him pull me up from my chair.

Then he’s wrapping his arms around me, solid and warm, and the scent of his cologne hits me like a memory I didn’t know I was missing.

Reece joins a moment later, his hand sliding gently over my hair, and then Liam’s there too, his palm warm against my back.

I’m surrounded, cocooned by them, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can actually breathe again.

No one says anything.

The only sound is the faint hum of my Christmas playlist still playing in the background and the quiet, steady rhythm of their heartbeats in my ear.

When Jack finally speaks, he says, “Will you have us, Holly?”

That’s all it takes.

The tears come hot and fast, slipping down my cheeks before I can stop them.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

They don’t let me go.