Page 20 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

T he blood won’t come out.

No matter how hard I scrub, it clings to the grout between the tiles. I don’t know whose blood it is. Just that whoever vandalized my place left it here. A threat. A message. More?

The red's faded to a dark rust, but I can still see it. Smell it. Feel it in my throat.

Chleo could’ve been here. I could have been here.

What could have happened? They could have hurt us. Killed us. That thought plays on a loop. Haunts me like a nightmare.

Chleo’s out back in the pantry. Nikolai is with him, keeping him distracted, helping him draw.

Thank God. At least my son didn't see this. Didn't see Nikolai stroll in here looking like he just walked off a slaughterhouse floor. Didn't see me slap his face so hard my fingers still hurt.

I can’t believe I hit him. Nikolai.

I’ve never hit anyone before—not even in high school when Becky Garrison called me a slut behind the bleachers after she hooked up with my boyfriend.

But there was actual blood on his hands and all I could think about was that my son was out back doing his homework.

The memory burns, but what choice did I have? He showed up like something out of a nightmare. Like someone who had just murdered people.

Thank god my son doesn’t know his father. Who he is. What he is.

As for Nikolai? He simply walked in past me, ignored the slap, insisted he was going to help.

I should hate him.

Should have sent him on his way.

But I was a deer in headlights.

And now? He's being so gentle with Chleo. Helping him color between the lines. That kind of tenderness shouldn’t exist in a man like him. It shouldn't reach me the way it does.

I scrub harder. Need to stay busy. Need to not think.

Blood.

There's actual blood in my bakery.

On my floors.

Where my son plays.

I scrub harder and start to cry. I’m soaked to the bone up to my knees, but I don't care. Need to get it out. Need to make this place untainted for Chleo.

When the blood still doesn't come out, I pour bleach directly onto the floor. My eyes sting but I keep scrubbing. My hands hurt, but I keep scrubbing.

The tears now are on autopilot. I barely notice as they hit the floor. Can’t hear myself sob over the roaring in my ears.

“Stop.”

The word is soft but firm. A hand closes over mine, stilling the brush.

I look up. Nikolai’s crouched beside me with agony in his eyes.

“You’ll tire yourself,” he murmurs. “You need a break.”

I want to tell him I’m fine. But all I manage is to let out an ugly sob.

“I took care of it,” he says softly. “The men who did this. They won't be back.”

I throw aside the brush. “You killed them?” I ask, knowing he’s capable. I saw him, five years ago, beat a man into deadweight. He’s capable of things I’ve never wanted to consider.

He doesn't answer and I know why. Because he did it. He killed.

A sob tears from my throat. I reach for the brush again, needing to do anything other than this conversation. Nikolai stops me, his hand curling around mine.

And then next thing I know, I’m ugly crying. Like, ugly ugly crying.

That's when I feel it—the snap. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I feel like I’ll die right here. I want the floor to take me under and never spit me out again.

The very life is being crushed right out of me.

He grips my shoulders and pulls me away from the bleach soaked floors. I fight him, try to break free, but his touch is the only thing grounding me in the moment.

I stop fighting. Let my nervous system override all common sense.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.”

He wraps his arms around me. Pulls me against his chest.

I let him hold me. Just for a while. He traces soft patterns on my back. He almost lets me forget that hell rained over. I bury my face in his shirt. It's clean. Warm. Smells like him. And it only makes me cry harder.

“I'm sorry,” he sounds gutted. “So fucking sorry for bringing this to your door.”

He’s sorry? He did this? He brought this to my door?

God, it would be so easy to make him the villain. To pin it all on him.

But the truth? It’s messier than that.

I’ve been lying for five years. Running. Hiding a boy from his father. And every step I took trying to protect him has somehow led us straight to this.

“They weren’t going to stop at vandalism,” he explains to help me understand.

I push back. Just enough to see his face. Wipe angrily at my tears.

“It was necessary.”

Those three words he says scares the living daylights out of me. Some part of me believes he might be right.

I stumble back, put some space between us. I need air. I need a wall between me and him.

“This is exactly why I ran,” my voice quivers. “I don’t want my son anywhere near a world like this. Chicago was full of crime. You brought it here.”

“Tell me the truth, Lilly. Once and for all.” His voice drops lower. “Is he mine?”

The lie sits heavy on my tongue. Sour. Poisonous. But my version of necessary.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” Nikolai’s voice is agony. “Look me in the eyes and say it.”

I force my spine into steel. “He's not yours, Nikolai.”

“He has my eyes.”

“Many people have your eyes.”

“Please, can’t you just tell me the truth and we’ll figure it out from there?”

The desperation flashing across Nikolai's face is so raw, so genuine, that I almost want to tell him the truth.

But then I think of dead men. Of the blood on my bakery floor. Of the life Nikolai leads.

“Look. Chleo isn't yours.” I wrap my arms around myself. “And you need to leave Fern Falls. Today. Before more people die.”

“Lilly—”

“Please, Nikolai. If you care about me at all, if you ever felt anything real for me, you'll go. You'll leave us alone.”

Something breaks in his expression. Something final.

“Is that what you really want?”

No. God, no. I want him to stay. Want him to be the father Chleo deserves. Want him to hold me like he did moments ago.

But I can't have what I want. Not if it means putting my son in danger.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It's what I want.”

The silence between us stretches so thin I can hear my own heartbeat.

That's when the pantry door opens. Chleo comes racing out, a drawing clutched in his small hand.

“Mama! Look what I made!”

He skids to a stop when he sees Nikolai. His face lights up in that way that makes my heart ache.

“Hi!” Chleo waves the paper. “I drew a horse. Wanna see?”

Nikolai kneels down, bringing himself to Chleo's eye level. “I'd love to see it.”

Chleo proudly holds up his drawing.

“That's incredible,” Nikolai says softly. “You're very talented.”

“Rosa says I'm a natural. Do you like horses?”

“I do.” Nikolai's voice catches slightly. “I used to ride when I was a boy, in Russia.”

“Really?” Chleo's eyes widen. “That's so cool! Can you teach me?”

I see the pain flash across Nikolai's face before he masks it. “I'm afraid I have to go away for a while.”

“Oh.” Chleo's smile dims. “Will you come back?”

Nikolai glances up at me, and I see the question in his eyes. The hope. The plea.

I shake my head.

Something hardens in his expression. He turns back to Chleo. “I don't know, buddy.”

Then, without warning, Nikolai pulls Chleo into a tight hug. He breathes in deeply, like he's trying to memorize Chleo's scent.

“Be good for your mom,” he whispers.

Chleo nods solemnly. “I will.”

Nikolai stands, not looking at me. “Goodbye, Lilly.”

And then he's gone.

I stand frozen, in disbelief that he actually walked away.

“Mama?” Chleo looks up at me. “Who is that man?”

The question hits like a physical blow. “Just a friend, baby.”

“Just a friend?” His big, eager eyes look to me.

“Just a friend,” I repeat, my voice choking.

“Oh. I like him. He’s nice.”

My heart cracks a little more. “Yes. He is.”

I have to turn away before he sees the tears in my eyes.

“Sweetheart, how would you feel about a sleepover at Rosa's tonight?”

His face lights up. “Really? She has a PlayStation!”

“I know. I've already talked to her about it. She's going to take you for a few days while I fix up the bakery.”

“Awesome!”

I can't tell him the real reason—that I'm terrified of what might happen next. That I need to know he's safe while I figure out what to do. Whether to run again or stand my ground.

Rosa arrives thirty minutes later to pick him up.

“You sure about this?” she asks quietly while Chleo gathers his treasures.

“I'm sure. Just... keep him safe, okay?”

She studies my face. “What's going on, Lilly? For real?”

“I can't explain right now. Just trust me. Please.”

Something in my expression must convince her, because she nods. “Call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

I hug Chleo fiercely before he climbs into Rosa's car.

“Be good,” I whisper. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

“Love you too, Mama!”

I stand on the sidewalk, waving until Rosa's car disappears around the corner. The sun is setting now. I turn to go back inside, to finish cleaning, to figure out my next move.

That's when I feel it—a prickle at the back of my neck. The weight of eyes on me. A shadow crossing over me.