Page 108 of Daddies on Ice

“You’re not nobody,” I say firmly, standing up from the chair. “And whoever is doing this clearly disagrees with your assessment.”

“We’re not leaving you alone tonight,” Ash declares, his tone brooking no argument. “All three of us are staying.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Trisha says, but I can hear the relief underneath her protest. “There’s barely room for me and Becky in this cabin, let alone four adults.”

“We’ll make it work,” Jake says, flashing that charming smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Besides, it’s Christmas. We should be together.”

The mention of Christmas seems to snap Trisha out of her fear-induced spiral. Her eyes widen with guilt. “Oh god. I promised Becky we’d spend Christmas together. She’s probably wondering where I am.”

“I’ll get both girls,” I offer immediately. “Krystal’s been asking about Becky anyway, and they should be together for Christmas.”

Trisha’s expression softens, and she looks at me with such gratitude that it makes my heart skip. “You’d do that? But it’s your Christmas too.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I tell her honestly, and I see the way her cheeks flush at my words.

An hour later, I’m returning with two excited little girls in tow.

Krystal’s red hair is wild from sleep, but her green eyes are bright with anticipation.

Becky bounces beside her, chattering about Santa and presents, her dark curls dancing with each animated gesture.

“Mommy!” Becky launches herself at Trisha the moment we walk through the door. “Santa got Krystal the same book for Christmas too!”

“He must know you’re best of friends, sweetheart,” Trisha says, scooping her daughter up and spinning her around. The joy on her face chases away the lingering shadows of fear, and I find myself smiling despite everything.

Krystal hangs back shyly until Trisha notices her. “And there’s my other favorite girl,” she says warmly, opening her free arm to include my granddaughter in the embrace. “Merry Christmas, Krystal.”

The next few hours pass in a blur of cookie baking, delighted squeals, and Christmas carols.

Jake proves surprisingly good with children, getting down on the floor to help them build Becky’s building blocks set.

Ash, despite his usual stoic demeanor, patiently braids Krystal’s hair while she shows him her new books.

And Trisha, watching her with the girls, seeing her laugh and smile, makes me fall for her even harder.

“Grandpa Carl, will you sing the reindeer song?” Krystal asks, climbing onto my lap with her new stuffed animal.

“Only if everyone joins in,” I say, catching Trisha’s eye. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Becky curled against her side, and the domestic scene makes my chest tight with longing.

We sing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” with exaggerated voices that make the girls giggle uncontrollably. Jake does an impressive impression of Santa’s “Ho ho ho,” while Ash surprises us all by knowing every word to “Jingle Bells.” Trisha’s voice is sweet and clear, and when she catches me watching her, she blushes prettily.

As evening approaches, both girls start to yawn despite their protests that they’re not tired. “Can we go back to the babysitter’s?” Becky asks. “Krystal and I want to have a sleepover.”

“Are you sure, baby?” Trisha asks, smoothing her daughter’s hair. “It’s Christmas.”

“But we already had Christmas,” Becky says with five-year-old logic. “And Krystal and I have books we need to read together.”

After getting the girls settled back at the babysitter’s cabin, we return to Trisha’s.

The festive atmosphere from earlier has faded, replaced by the tension of our situation.

Trisha immediately starts cleaning up the dishes, her movements sharp and agitated.

“You don’t have to stay,” she says without looking at us. “I’ll be fine. There haven’t been any actual threats, just…weird pictures and pranks.”

“Pranks?” Ash’s voice is dangerously low, and he takes the mixing bowl, spoon, and measuring cups from her and starts washing them. “Someone is stalking you, Trisha. Taking pictures of you in private moments. That’s not a prank.”

“He’s right,” Jake adds, moving to help her gather the baking trays. “This person knows where you are, when you’re alone, what you’re doing. That’s not harmless.”