Page 6 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Lola

I study Murphy where he sits beside me in the back of the town car. He looks so small on the black leather bench seat.

As the driver navigates through traffic, he stares out the window, focusing on the Hudson River below us. His eyes shift from the water to the George Washington Bridge, and then up to the New York skyline.

No fidgeting, no tension in his body, no sign of fear, nothing that would indicate the unease a child typically experiences when heading to a new place with virtual strangers.

“You nervous?”

“No.” His words are flat.

Most kids in his situation would be, but in the days I’ve known him, he’s been emotionless, almost numb.

It’s clear that being vulnerable makes him uncomfortable.

So far, he’s the opposite of Cal, who is all big feelings.

Murphy presents as the kind of kid who’s been let down, forgotten, and overlooked so many times that it has hardened him.

It almost seems as if he’s protecting himself by no longer allowing himself to feel.

I wish this wasn’t normal for me. Witnessing this type of trauma. The kinds of walls kids build to hide behind. After eight years doing this job though, I understand. Pushing won’t help, he needs time and unwavering support.

Hopefully, Cal can give him that.

Internally, I scoff at the thought. It’d be easier to believe in the Easter Bunny than it would be to believe the man-child will magically become the parent this little boy needs overnight.

Though Brian and Sully have experience, they also have to get the office up and running. The need to save the business will be the driving force for the workaholics, so I can’t imagine they’ll be a whole lot of help.

New office, new apartment, new kid.

I blow out a breath.

As irritating as Cal is, I feel for him.

The three of them will need a lot of help.

So will the little boy next to me. Just the idea of leaving Murphy with them has created a knot in my stomach that tightens with every hour that passes.

Cal is his father though. He needs to try.

Like with any other guardianship, it’s my job to give the parent the benefit of the doubt.

It’s my job to set them up so the situation works for them both. It’s what’s best for Murphy.

Which is why my fate is sealed. I’m moving to Jersey. Every time the thought hits me, it’s accompanied by a shudder. But with six apartment showings this week, it has to be okay.

Yes, Jersey makes me think of chaos and clutter, but that doesn’t mean it will be that way.

My parents were the cause of most of the chaos.

It’s not fair to blame the entire state, and since I’m going to be a resident of New Jersey once more, I need to get rid of the idea that it’s awful. I can do this.

Becoming a New Yorker nearly a decade ago was a point of pride for me. I jumped in with both feet, and made sure to always keep those feet in Valentino, Manolo and Jimmy Choos. Manolo’s don’t belong in Jersey.

I’m going to need new shoes .

Murphy shifts to sit back in his seat as we pull off the bridge and head toward the first exit.

Itching to perk him up, I say, “The views of the skyline are great here, especially at night.”

At least I think they will be.

He gives me a clipped nod in response. That’s it. This poor kid acts more like a surly old man.

I pat his leg. “It’s going to be okay.”

Slowly, he turns his head, his eyes telegraphing a response that looks an awful lot like are you kidding me.

Yeah, I get it.

Placating words are not going to cut it with him. He’s too street smart.

I force myself to sit in the silence and watch the buildings go by.

Each street we turn onto is more run-down than the last. Eventually, the car stops in front of a three-story building with a broken window.

The flower beds out front are full of weeds, some so overgrown they’ve crawled out onto the cracked sidewalk.

The entire facade is covered in a layer of grime.

Like it needed a good power washing a decade ago.

At this point, the sludge may be forever caked onto the surface.

“This is it.” The non-question leaves Murphy’s lips with a defeated sigh.

My shoulders slump with a similar sensation, but I keep my tone light. “They’re still getting it together. I heard the inside’s already done.”

He turns to me in that slow way of his, never in a hurry, his eyes meeting mine. “Like we’ll go through the door and find ourselves in another place?” The words drip with a sarcasm far too impressive for such a young person.

I bite back a breathy laugh. “Like we’d be that lucky.”

Finally, his lips lift in a hint of a smile. The first I’ve seen from him since he showed up at the office.

Mental note: he responds better to snark.

My kind of kid.

“Let’s go.”I scoop up my purse and climb out. On the sidewalk, Murphy and I stand side by side and look up at the looming structure. The place doesn’t look any better from outside the car. But it doesn’t look worse either. Little wins.

Our driver sets the small carry-on I purchased on the sidewalk beside me. I picked up a few necessities for Murphy as well, all of which are packed inside it.

“Can’t get any worse.” With that, Murphy shuffles toward the building.

“Brian said the door at the back of the building leads to the second floor.” I rush after him.

We skirt the structure, and when we find the back entrance, I punch in the code Brian gave me.

The door opens to a very narrow stairway that leads straight up.

“This is the kind of place adults tell kids to stay away from…” Murphy shakes his head and steps onto the first stair. “And my dad moves into it.”

“At least there aren’t any cobwebs.” I don’t love spiders. I don’t love bugs in general. Especially ladybugs. A shiver races down my spine at the thought of the little red polka-dotted creatures. Gross.

When we get to the top of the stairs, I push the door open and step into a surprisingly large open living room full of…plants? Every window ledge is covered in potted plants. Every other flat surface too.

There are cacti and ferns and spider plants and at least ten other species I can’t name. We’ve stepped into a house plant jungle. And not one of them was in the pictures Brian sent me.

Why the hell would the guys fill the whole place like this?

Murphy sighs. “It’s my dad, right?”

“Um.” It’s all I can come up with. I’m too stunned to form words.

“He’s the weird plant guy, isn’t he?” It’s a question, but there’s certainty in Murphy’s tone.

I blink. “Maybe?” I can’t picture it being Brian or Sully. And yet I’ve never known Cal to be into plants. His office in New York is plant free, and I’m certain I didn’t see any the one and only time I was in his penthouse.

Cal appears in the kitchen doorway, dressed in joggers and a T-shirt, with a mister in his hand, singing softly to himself.

As I assess him, it occurs to me that I’ve never seen him dressed so casually. It’s disconcerting the way my eyes can’t help but eat up every inch of him.

The second he spots us, he freezes, his eyes widening, like we’ve caught him off guard. But an instant later, he breaks into that stupid sexy smile of his.

“Oh, hi,” he says, affecting a casual stance, like the room we’ve just stepped into isn’t something straight out of the Jungle Book.

“I didn’t know you were here already.” When neither of us says anything, his expression goes pinched for a second, almost betraying his nerves, but he recovers quickly.

“I was just getting ready to give these little babies their special midday showering.” His eyes move over the room, softening. “Aren’t they perfect?”

“Why?” I ask, looking from one plant to another. And another. And another . “Why are there seventeen plants in this room?”

“Because the lighting in my room isn’t right.” He shrugs.

“No.” I scoff. “That’s not what I meant. Why do you have so many of them?”

“Jeeze, you sound like Sully.” With a shake of his head, he sets the mister on the table.

“I thought one would be enough. But then when I went to the store, I realized that if I only picked a single plant, I’d be taking it away from its family.

So I got them all. I didn’t want anyone to be lonely.

” Cal surveys his new friends, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly.

“Turns out taking care of plants isn’t as easy as it seems.”

“My dad is the weird plant guy,” Murphy whispers, “and he’s not even good at it.”

At this moment it’s hard to disagree with that statement. This is already going poorly .

I clear my throat. “How about we get Murphy settled and then can we focus on the plants?”

Cal straightens again, and that smile is back. “Yes, wait until you see your room, it’s the best.” Still beaming, he rushes towards us.

As he gets close, I’m engulfed in his spicy cologne. I have to fight the urge to lean in and sniff. I’d never admit it but I’ve always loved how he smells. His scent is just one more annoying attribute on the long list of them that Callahan Murphy possesses.

He snags the small suitcase from me, causing our hands to brush. The brief contact sends warmth rushing up my arm and forces all rational thought from my brain.

“Come on, Lola,” he sings, quickly reminding me that I hate him.

“ Lo ,” I snap.

“Whatever Lola wants.”Cal’s laughter echoes off the low ceiling in the tiny hallway as he practically skips toward the door labeled Murphy’s room.“I got you the best room.”

Murphy says nothing. He just stops a couple of steps inside the door and freezes.

When I follow him in, I see why.

The mattress on the opposite wall is in a blue race car frame. The desk beside it matches.

“When I saw this bed, I knew it would be perfect.” In two strides, Cal is on the other side of the room. He drops onto the colorful comforter and bounces up and down. “I got the extra springy mattress. Come try it.”