Page 36 of Oathbreaker

And it’s too late.

I’m with West now.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep, and when I wake up, I hear that same breathing next to my bed that I heard yesterday morning.

Frankie.

I smile to myself before turning over and prying my lids open.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Good morning to you too.” I smile at the grumpy look on her face.

“Well?”

“What question, kiddo?”

“Are you my daddy?”

There’s no way I’m having a conversation like this without Briar, and that means getting my ass in gear.

“I’m going to need you to turn around,” I say.

“How come?”

“Because I need to put pants on.”

“This again?” she huffs. “Why do you never wear pants?”

Out of the mouths of babes…

“You and I are going to have to set some boundaries,” I murmur.

“Frankie!” Briar comes in, hands on her hips. “What have I told you about opening closed doors?”

“But this is our house!” Frankie protests. “And you said he’s your friend.”

“It is and he is—but he still gets to have some privacy when he’s sleeping.”

“Fine.” Frankie huffs more dramatically this time, flouncing out of the room.

Briar and I exchange a look and then chuckle.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “She’s really curious about you. But I’ll leave you to rest.”

“No, I’m up,” I say quickly. “I just need a few minutes to get dressed.”

“All right. See you when you’re ready.” She leaves the room, gently closing the door behind her.

After our almost-kiss last night, we both made excuses, going to our separate bedrooms, but she seems normal this morning, no hint of annoyance in her demeanor.

I make short work of washing up and pulling on clean clothes. Then I pad out to the kitchen, where Frankie and Briar are side-by-side at the counter. I’m not sure what they’re making, but there’s batter involved and Frankie is giggling. They’re kind of adorable in matching pink and white ruffled aprons, Frankie standing on a stool that’s the perfect height for her to help.

Watching them, I feel the strangest blend of sadness and joy. This was supposed to be my life, and I walked away to be some kind of hero. What the hell was I thinking?

Some kind of caramel mixture gets on Frankie’s nose and Briar playfully wipes it away, licking it off her fingers. They laugh together, and in that moment—faces close together, hair in similar ponytails—there is no doubt they’re mother and daughter. Frankie looks like me, but she has her mother’s smile and mannerisms.

“Good morning again.” Briar turns with a smile. “I hope you like French toast.”