Page 48 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)
Cal
L ola was wrong about Murphy’s case. It didn’t take the court two months to issue a no finding and close the case. It took two months, five days, and six hours.
But who’s counting?
Oh, right. Me.
I’ve spent the last week pacing, racking my brain for how to prove that I’m worthy of being Murphy’s parent.
I’ve successfully kept all of my plants alive, Bubbles has just celebrated his eighth week of life, and Fuzzy is the prettiest cat to ever strut down a Jersey street.
Most importantly, Murphy is happy, healthy, and smarter than any other kid in his class.
Not that I can take credit for any of that. The kid essentially takes care of me.
Regardless, he’s officially mine and I’m his. Letter in hand, I rush through the office, poking my head in one room after another in search of Lola.
There’s not a person in sight but as I pass the cupboard where Lola and I were trapped a couple of weeks ago, I swear I hear Sloaney’s voice.
Stopping short, I press my ear to the door .
“I can see that you’re in the happy stage, but Lo, come on. You’re smart and driven.”
“And?” Lola says, her tone a little biting.
My heart pounds in my chest. What are they doing in there? And why does it feel like I shouldn’t be listening?
“You can’t date a man you work with.”
My heart plummets at Sloane’s words.
“Yes, the two of you are disgustingly cute, but we both know how easily work relationships can go bad.”
But we’re different. We have a plan and Post-it notes.
Tell her, Lola .
But my girl doesn’t reply.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I take a step back and tug at my hair.
“You know I’m right. And I have a solution. Come work with me,” Sloaney, the traitor, says.“Will would take you in a heartbeat.”
Absolutely not. Muscles tensing, I reach for the door. I’ve heard enough.
Just as I’ve grasped the knob, Sloane speaks again, her tone softer this time.
Though her words are just as painful. “Lo, let’s be real.
I’m not moving in. The firm is going under.
It’s time for you to think about your job, your future.
Don’t tank your career for a man. I did it and I’m telling you, it’s not worth it. ”
Heart lodged in my throat, I wait for Lola to defend what we have. I hold my breath so long my vision blurs, yet she still doesn’t speak.
Bloody hell. Is she seriously considering Sloane’s suggestion?
She can’t leave. Fuck.
In a panic, letter clutched in my hands, I stumble up the steps to our flat, all the while willing my daft brain to come up with a plan to change her mind.
For now, I won’t confront her about it. Hell, maybe I never will.
The flat is quiet so I pace, considering every possible outcome of that conversation. If I get it out now, I can move on and forget I ever heard it .
I’m yanking at my hair again, spiraling, suddenly certain I’ll lose Lola to another firm when the door opens and Murphy walks in.
“Cal?” Head tilted, he studies me. “Are you okay?”
Shit. I forgot Murphy would be here.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask him, releasing my hair.
Murphy steps further into the flat, dropping his backpack by the door where Brian will surely pick it up while complaining about how no one puts their shite away, and heads toward the kitchen.
Over his shoulder, he says, “Ran into Madame E. We hung out with Sebastian for a bit. He told us about this bar he used to run back in the day.” He scratches his head. “Did you know that it used to be illegal to go to a bar?”
I frown. Why does Sebastian talk to everyone but me?
With a shake of my head, I force the thought away. Now is not the time to be worried about the ghost. “He probably shouldn’t be talking to you about that stuff,” I tell him.
Murphy shrugs. “Like Madame E says, I just listen to what they say.”
I chuckle. “That’s funny. You’re a funny kid, you know that?”
His lips kick up on one side, though he quickly doffs his usual stoic expression again. “Why do you look like someone died? Did someone die?” The reserved look turns to panic in a heartbeat.
Fuck. He probably thinks something’s happened to his mum.
I dart across the room and squat in front of him. “Everyone’s fine.”
The frown marring his face tells me he doesn’t believe me. “Then what’s wrong?”
Fucking hell. I can’t lie, but I can’t talk to my six-year-old about how my girlfriend might leave me and how Sloane won’t move in, which means we’ll lose this firm and the home he and I have only just settled into together.
When Fuzzy stalks past us, whiskers twitching, heading for Murphy’s room, an idea strikes.
I scramble to my feet and follow him. “Fuzzy’s sad. ”
As if mocking my lie, he nuzzles up to Murphy’s race car bed and purrs.
Murphy pads into the room behind me. “He looks pretty happy to me.”
With a groan, I shake my head. “That’s just a facade. Trust me, he’s worried.”
My little lad inspects the cat, the wheels turning in his head. “The cat is worried?”
Head bowed, I run my hand over the top of Fuzzy’s head. As if he’s determined to call me out, he balances on his hind legs and paws at my chest, rubbing his head against my stomach. “Yes, very worried.”
Murphy flops down on his bed. “What’s the cat have to be worried about?”
“He’s afraid things will go wrong and then he won’t have a job.” I paraphrase Sloane’s statement as I sit beside him. Not that it’s true. I’d never let Lola lose her job. She’s the best of us.
Murphy tugs on my shirt sleeve. “Fuzzy doesn’t need a job, Dad. You have money and a really good job. You’ll take care of him.”
The panic that hasn’t loosened its hold on me since I overheard that conversation in the cupboard instantly evaporates.
“Did you just call me dad?” I gape at my boy.
“Wait. Never mind.” I rub my sweating palms down my trousers.
“The book said not to make this a thing. Back to the topic at hand. What were you saying?”
He gives me a half smile. “We can make it a thing.”
A round of fireworks explodes in my chest. “Really?”
He nods. “Just for a minute, though.”
I take a deep breath, tempering my words. “I’m really glad you called me dad. As you know, I really like calling you my son.”
He ducks a little, gaze averted. “I’m really glad you’re my dad…” His tone is barely above a whisper. “Even if you are kind of weird and obsessive about cats working.”
Sighing, I drape an arm over his shoulders and rest my chin on his head. “It’s not really about the cat. ”
He hums, as if he already knew that. “So what is it about?”
Sitting up, I steel my spine. It’s truth time. “Lola.”
“Oh. You’re worried that she can’t work for you because she’s your girlfriend now?”
I clear my throat. “That’s a dumb thing to freak out about, right?”
Murphy shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m six. But I think maybe what we all really want is to know that we’re safe.”
I nod. “Right. And she’s safe because she has a job.”
Slumping, my son lets out a weary sigh. “No, Dad , she’s safe because you love her.”
That word sends a jolt of excitement through me. It’s such an easy thing to admit. “I do love her.”
He gives me a proud smile, as if he’s the parent and I’m the child. “I know you do. And what happens when you love people?”
I grimace. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”
“Well, you love me and you gave me a place to stay. So,” he prods, “if you love her…”
I jump to my feet. “Oh my God. I’ve figured it out.”
“Finally,”he mutters, dropping his head back.
Heart bursting, I point at him. “I’m going to propose.”
His eyes bug out of his head. “I wasn’t going there.”
“No, this is brilliant.” I stalk to one end of the room, then turn on my heel. “Then she doesn’t have to work.”
“No,” he groans. “That’s not where I was going at all.”
I stop in front of him and hold out a hand. “You are the best son ever,I love you.”
He lets me pull him to his feet. Then, to my utter shock, he loops his arms around my waist. “Love you too, but I’m not so sure about this whole plan.”
My heart triples in size at the gesture.
And his words. I smile because not a thing could go wrong now that I know my son loves me and he’s officially mine to keep.
Now we just need to make sure we can keep Lola too.
I wave a hand, completely relaxed. “It’s genius.
We’ll even get Fuzzy involved. Lola will love it. ”