Page 5 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Cal

“ H ome sweet home,” I mumble to myself as I walk around the disaster that is our new flat.

Brian and Sully look far more subdued than I feel.

Can’t imagine why they’re not more excited about the move.

How could anyone not be thrilled when they see the broken glass littering the kitchen from what appears to be an ancient baseball through the window, or the clumps of dust that have accumulated in every corner of the space?

The ceilings are ridiculously low. It’ll be bad enough for Brian and me. But for Sully? It’s a literal hazard. Already, he’s hit his head on a doorframe. If he’s concussion-free by the end of the day, I’ll consider that a win.

Though we’ll probably all need tetanus shots if we want to leave this place without lockjaw and painful muscle spasms. “I can’t fathom Dad really setting this up. Are you sure this is the place?”

Brian must be pulling one over on us. Or maybe it’s Lola. I’ve pissed her off enough over the years to warrant it. I could see her giving us the wrong address. Bloody hell, it’s probably a ruse. Lips twitching, I turn to hit the men with another joke .

Before I can, Sully lets out a low curse and grips the back of his head.

Shit. That’s the second time he’s hit his head. The no-concussion thing is not looking promising.

“This is definitely the place,” Brian says, his tone flat. “The office is downstairs. Your father brought me here when he signed the trust.”

Sully gives him a murderous glare. Like me, my brother is upset about the way our father turned to Brian with the details of this situation, yet never brought it up to either of us.

There are so many questions we’ll never get answers to. While Brian is stuck in this situation like we are, he at least had the opportunity to discuss it with Dad.

It feels an awful lot like everything in my life is tilting and twirling and I can’t quite catch my bearings. It all started with the loss of my father. It’s still hard to comprehend. The man was always so commanding. Always so in control.

I lived to push at those constraints, and now that he’s gone, I have no one to push against. If he can see me now, I’m sure he’s laughing. He truly did get the last word because if I don’t do exactly what he has instructed, then I lose everything.

A bit ironic considering the way he died—while in bed with a woman who wasn’t even half his age. Not sure he should be the one telling us how to live our lives.

As if his death and the stipulations of the trust haven’t been hard enough on me, discovering that I have a kid, who I now have to drag into this mess, really has me lost. I want him here with me—it was nearly impossible watching Lola and him leave yesterday, but the rules are the rules, and until the court hears Brian’s complaint, the law requires Murphy to stay with Lola as emergency guardian.

It’s probably for the best considering the dump we’ve found ourselves in. At least I have another forty-eight hours to make it habitable.

“Knock, knock,” a woman calls from the front of the flat. The three of us look from one to another, dumbstruck.

“You didn’t set up appointments for today, did you?” Sully asks Brian.

Neither bothers to check with me. They know I avoid meeting with clients like it’s my business. Avoidance should be my middle name.

But there’s no avoiding the woman standing in the center of our living room, her dark black curls covered partially with a golden silk scarf. Beads jangle at her wrists with every step she takes. She’s wearing layers of clothing draped loosely over her body, each a different color.

The lines on her face deepen as she smiles at us.

“You must be Terry’s sons.” She holds out her hand and a gold snake around her pinky finger grabs my attention as I return the greeting, its green eyes mesmerizing me in an almost trance-like way.

“We are,” Sully says. “And who are you?”

Brian is less suspicious. He nods and gives her a professional smile, as if he recognizes her.

The air shifts, and my brother looks at me. Once again, Sully and I have been left in the dark.

“You must be Madame Esmeralda?” Brian shakes her hand, then darts a look at us over his shoulder. “Your father’s psychic,” he explains, his brows lifted.

“My father didn’t have a psychic,” Sully growls.

I have to hold back a laugh at the absurdity.

My father would never.

Me, on the other hand? I’m curious. So I take a step closer, once again transfixed by the snake.

“He did, and she’s our third-floor tenant,” Brian explains, using the even tone he perfected years ago when speaking to or in front of clients.

“Rent control,” she singsongs, “it’s a beautiful thing.”

“There’s no lift in this building.” Sully narrows his eyes on the woman. “You climb three flights of stairs every day?”

The woman tilts her head, appraising him with a hint of a smirk. “Your energy is all off.” Her words are knowing, her voice serious. “I fear you’ll never get her to forgive you if you don’t let go of all that anger.”

My brother huffs and takes a step back, ducking an instant before he slams into a light fixture. “What is she talking about?”

“Seems like a pretty good psychic to me,” I mumble, still studying the ring.

The older woman smiles. “Thank you. Your energy is much brighter. Though this apartment needs plants—lots of them—to really cleanse the atmosphere. Also, caring for plants will help you practice being a dad.”

My heart stutters. “Someone get this woman a chair, she’s bloody brilliant.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Sully rumbles, gripping his forehead. Shit. It won’t be long before he’s complaining that I’m giving him a migraine.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father’s passing,” she says, her lips turned down in a sincere frown. “I told him to watch out for ginger.”

A gasp works its way out of me. “Is that why he was always so weird when I brought sushi into the office?”

Brian shuts his eyes and groans.

She shrugs. “Probably.”

“Lotta good you did him.” Sully grunts. “He was with a woman named Ginger when he had the heart attack.”

I clap a hand over my mouth and drag it down to keep my expression neutral. Yes, my father was having sex with a twenty-four-year-old named Ginger Days when he died. Doesn’t get more cliché than that.

“Maybe be more specific next time.”

She gives my brother a patronizing smile.

“I only see what I see.” Hips swaying and her bracelets jangling, she dances around the flat.

She sweeps her hands through the air and flutters her fingers.

“And what I see is a whole lot of good coming from this move.” She spins around and holds up a finger.

“But to be on the safe side, stay away from women named Ginger.”

“Hell,” Sully mutters.

“But sex wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you.” She gives him a wry look. “Might clean out your chakras.” She turns that expression on Brian. “Same with you.”

When she turns to me, I grin. I definitely don’t need my chakras cleaned out, thank you very much. “You should probably abstain for a while.” She waves a hand up and down my body. “At least until she’s ready.”

My head snaps. “Until who’s ready?”

She’s already heading to the door. “Welcome to the building, boys. Oh, and if you see a man with tattoos up and down his arms, just leave him be. His name is Sebastian and he’s not here for you. He’s here for me.”

I’m still trying to decipher her comments when my brother curses behind me. “Is this the only bathroom?”

I turn and follow his voice. When I find him, he’s standing in a locker room-style bathroom with three sinks lined up beneath a clouded, broken mirror.

On one end of the room are two small stalls with doors and one larger stall with the door hanging half off its hinges, and on the other side is a plastic shower curtain that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Maybe?” Brian answers. “At least there’s more than one toilet.” He pushes one door open with a creak and peers in. Quickly, though, he rears back, his entire body shuddering. “That needs to be cleaned.”

“How many bedrooms?” I mutter as I come to terms with the reality of our situation.

I think it’s finally sinking in. This is not a joke.

“Four,” Brian says as he walks past me. I follow him to the living room. No way do I want to stay in the bathroom and see whatever he saw .

“I’ll take this one.” Sully peeks into a room with an oversized, rounded door. When he steps through it, he doesn’t even have to duck.

“Murphy needs his own room.” Brian points to two doors side by side. “These can be yours.”

I frown. “What about Sloane and T.J.? Where will they sleep?”

Sully appears again, hands in his pockets, face etched with determination. “I can fit a queen and a bunk bed in my room.”

Brian’s lips turn down. “Only T.J. is required to stay. He and Murphy could probably share a room. They’re close in age, and since they’re both boys, I’m sure the court would be okay with that.”

“No.” My brother’s tone leaves no room for objection.

I smirk. “No?”

“T.J. and Sloane are moving in. They’ll stay with me.”

Brian glances at me then back at Sully. “According to the trust, family is required to stay here. If Sloane signs the divorce papers, then she’s not family.”

I wince, my chest aching. It hurts to think of Sloane as anything but my sister. I can’t even imagine how Sully feels since she left him. My normally grumpy brother has turned into an absolute bear, making me a little afraid to ask.

“She doesn’t have to stay,” Brian continues. “We just need to get her to agree to let T.J. move in.”

Sully rocks back and forth on his feet. “ I ’ m not signing them.”

“You’re not signing the papers I spent weeks working on so that she’d agree not to fight for interest in the firm? Your father’s firm that you’ve sacrificed every good part of your life for?” Brian’s words aren’t harsh, despite the topic. His tone is one of pure confusion.

Sully shakes his head and hits us with his signature glare. “No. I’m getting my wife back. I’ll convince her to move in with us. And neither of you will tell her another option even exists.”

I run my hand over my face, trying to hide my smile. “Oh, that’ll go over splendidly, I’m sure, considering that your wife hates you.”

She truly does. I love my brother, obviously, and I adore Sloane, so I would love for them to work things out, but after the disaster their separation has been, I don’t see that happening.

“You’ve got your own shit to worry about.” With a scoff, he grabs his phone and stalks out of the flat, ending the conversation.

While Brian disappears into the last bedroom, muttering about how fucking miserable this next year will be, I take another step toward the bedroom they’ve delegated to Murphy.

The small space is sparse. It’s empty of all furniture, and fuck, there isn’t even a light fixture.

I blow out a breath and rock on my feet, imagining what a little boy would like.

Obviously, he needs a bed and a place to put his clothes.

Does he even have clothes? If not, where do I get them?

And what size should I buy? I glance down at my suit.

Maybe my tailor could whip up a couple for him so we match.

Shit, that makes me smile. Picturing the two of us in matching suits. Drinking our slushies. Smiling at Lola.

Lola.

What are she and Murphy doing right now?

Until now, I’ve never really thought about what an emergency guardianship entails. I’ve never considered how Lola knows what to provide, let alone what to say to kids when they’re put in these situations.

I wish I remembered Murphy’s mother, but try as I might, I can’t conjure her.

Memory or not, the woman never contacted me about a child.

That pisses me off. I’ve missed out on so much.

I’d like to think I’d have done the right thing and been involved from day one if she’d told me.

If that had happened, then my father would have gotten to know his other grandson. Fuck. He was always great with T.J.

But all these would have, could have, should have ’ s don’t change a thing. I didn’t know, and now I do.

And I don’t have a fuck ton of time to figure out how to be a father.

I slip my phone from my pocket and open the notes app. Then I start a list of things I’ll need. Two beds, two dressers, two light fixtures. Clothes.

What else does a kid need?

The task is daunting, and regardless of the things I purchase for him, none of them will be what he really needs. He needs a parent.

I may play dumb, but I’m not. I need to get this right. More than I’ve ever needed to get anything right. This little boy’s mother abandoned him with a father he doesn’t know, and now we’re moving him into a run-down joke of a home. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

“Bloody hell!” My brother booms from somewhere in the flat.

I peek out into the living room.

Sully lumbers through the doorway of his own room. “Rodents!”

Brian points at the phone he’s got held to his ear and mouths, “On it.”

“We need a housekeeper. Furniture and groceries too. And someone to fix the window.”

As my brother rattles off one need after another, I add them to my list. We’ve only got forty-eight hours to get this place ready for Murphy and there’s no bloody way I’m going to let him sleep in a place with mice.

I should be just as peeved about this situation as Brian and Sully are. I know I should find this entire debacle miserable, daunting even. But there’s this part of me, a really large part if I’m honest, that is relieved my father forced this on us.

Not the whole living in a disastrous flat part. That’s going to be miserable.

But the part where I have to live with these two men is more appealing than I ever thought it would be.

Because I have no idea what I’m going to do with a child.

And even if Sully isn’t the perfect father, he loves his kid, and he’s a hell of a lot more knowledgeable than I am.

Brian will help too. He may not be a dad, but he helped raise his nephew for most of his childhood. That alone means he’s more qualified to be a parent than I am.

After they’ve had a few days to wrap their heads around the changes that are hitting us from all angles, I’m confident we’ll figure this out together. We have to. For the first time in my life my only concern is for someone else: my son.