Page 8 of Who’s Your Daddy (Dadcoms #1)

Cal

“ R emember, your babies need extra spritzing in the afternoons so they can stand tall and make you proud.”

I adjust my grip on the bottle, ensuring the hold mimics that of the man on the video. Then I point it toward my plant.

When he squeezes, the water comes out in a fine mist. This is a technique that helps keep them damp, not wet. Everyone knows that a plant will die without enough water. But apparently, too much water can kill them too. No plants are dying under my watch, so I’m determined to get this right.

“Why are you standing like that?”

The little voice startles me. I hadn’t realized he walked into my bedroom.

I scream and inadvertently squeeze too hard, sending the bottle flying behind me through the air. I whip around just in time to watch, horrified, as it hits my brother, who is standing in the open doorway, square in the chest.

With a glare, Sully picks up the water bottle and disappears with it, leaving me alone with the pint-sized intruder who scared me in the first place. He tilts his head and studies me like I’m an exhibit at the zoo.

“Ah, I was just watering the plants.” Side-eyeing the computer screen, I slam it shut. I can feel Peter the plant guy’s disapproval. He thinks I’m going to kill this plant. But with one more glance at Murphy, I know that’s not an option. “Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head. “Brian’s making dinner.”

Hands in my pockets, I rock on my feet, willing the nerves skittering through me to settle. This is the first night we’re all in the flat, and more importantly, the first time I’ve spent more than a few minutes with my son.

My son.

It’s such a weird word.

I mouth it, rounding out my lips. Son. Sonnnn.

“Are you meditating?”

I blink at the little lad. “Do you like to meditate?”

Frowning at me like I’m an idiot, he turns and walks out of the room.

Yup. He’s a Murphy. Just like my father and Sully, he’s exasperated by me.

My phone buzzes on top of my dresser, pulling my attention away from his retreating form.

I don’t even have to move to snag it. There isn’t much to my room.

If I stretched both arms out and did one of those eighties work out routines like the ladies in the tight trousers with high socks do—the one where they rock from side to side—I’d hit the walls without much effort at all.

And I don’t even have unreasonably long arms. Sully?

That’s a different story. Though everything about my brother is unreasonable.

The beige walls of my room have yellowed. The dark wood trim around the window where my plant is perched is scuffed and faded from the sun. The drab interior paired with a single bed with one pillow makes it feel sort of like a prison cell.

Maybe I’m being dramatic.

Maybe not. There isn’t even a television in the flat, thanks to the language my father included in the trust that prohibits them.

What the hell did he have against televisions ?

It should make for an interesting time for Murphy, I guess. And we can watch movies on my phone. Maybe I’ll get him an iPad.

The moment I open my phone and tap on the notification, I gasp and clutch the device to my chest.

Boobs. Huge big boobs fill the entire screen. Whose, I couldn’t say. They’re as unfamiliar as the number.

Heart hammering, I peer over my shoulder, worried someone else caught sight of the image on the screen. When I confirm that I’m alone, I let out a long breath and hold the phone up again. Then immediately delete both the message and the image. I also block the person.

I didn’t read the message, so I don’t have a clue who it was from. All I can think about is what would have happened if Murphy had been watching a movie on my phone when the text came in.

Dread swirls in my stomach.

Definitely won’t be using my phone for that.

I swear women don’t send me boob pictures often.

Okay, not that often.

I think it’s because I’m British. The accent makes women do stupid things. Even Sully, bad attitude and all, only has to say hello and women bat their lashes at him.

It’s pointless on their end. My brother has never looked twice at a woman other than his wife. For as much as Sloane complains about him, she couldn't fault him for giving anyone else attention. Ever. Unfortunately, he just never gave her attention either.

His tunnel vision and obsession with Sloane worked well for me. It meant I got all the love from the women.

I set my phone on the dresser, but I pick it up again instantly, thinking better of it. Grumbling about the rack attack and my fear that it could happen again, I turn it off and stuff it into my drawer, nestling it between two jumpers. There. Murphy can’t be attacked by boobs now.

Done caring for the plant in my bedroom, I stroll out to the living room, where Murphy and Sully are sitting at the dining room table Brian had delivered today.

It’s dark mahogany with eight chairs. It absolutely doesn’t fit the space.

Especially because the pool table I ordered was also delivered today.

Now they sit side by side, warring for a spot in the open floor plan.

“My pool table came with a top. We should get rid of that monstrosity.” I nod at the enormous surface they’re perched around as I shuffle to the fridge. Sure, the top is actually a Ping-Pong surface, but it could serve multiple purposes, right?

Sully holds up a bottle of Hanson whiskey, silently offering me a glass. I shake my head and pluck a bottle of water from the shelf in the fridge.

“You can’t eat dinner on a pool table.” Brian skirts around me with a large platter in hand.

I follow and drop into a chair beside my little guy. Holding back a grimace, I study the meat loaf, then eye Murphy.

Surely the kid thinks it looks as inedible as I do.

I watch as Brian puts a slice on Murphy’s plate, secretly waiting for him to tell Brian just that. Murphy cuts a small piece off with his fork and pops it into his mouth without complaint.

Dammit, normally I can count on T.J. to throw a fit about grown-up food. That’s when I swoop in to save the day, offering to order a pizza. But it looks like I’ll have to eat with the big boys now.

“Is your bedroom okay?” Brian asks Murphy as he sits at the head of the table.

I grin down at my plate. Murphy’s bedroom is awesome, regardless of what Brian and my brother said about the race car bed being too little for him. He fits just fine.

Murphy’s eyes cut to mine quickly, then veer back to his plate. He stabs another forkful and nods. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

There’s no stopping the smirk that twitches at my lips. That is until I force a bite of meatloaf into my mouth. Ugh. I fight a shudder. I have no idea why Americans like this so much. Tastes like a dry hamburger.

Needing a distraction, I reach out and swipe a Ping-Pong ball off the table behind us.

I toss it up in the air twice before bouncing it off the side of Sully’s head.

I’m hoping for a reaction, but the man hardly gives me the side-eye before he scoops his next bite off his plate. Damn he’s in a mood.

A phone rattles loudly in the other room, making us all sit up. It’s my brother’s. He’s got his ringtone set to that loud jangle that screams nineties mobile. I wince every time I hear it.

Sully lifts himself from the table. To anyone else he’d seem unbothered as he moves to his room to get it, but I know better. Rather than his usual slow amble, he walks with purpose, obviously on high alert.

I can almost guarantee his son T.J. is on the other end of the line. This is about the time the two of them talk every night.

When my brother speaks, using the softer tone he reserves only for his son, my assumption is proven correct.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” I ask Murphy.

He glances at Brian and they share a knowing look before he turns to me. “I guess we need to find the local school so I can register for first grade?”

I nod, stabbing at the meat crumbles on my plate. Why didn’t I think of that? “Makes sense. But I thought we might do something fun. Since it’s still summer, we probably have time?—”

Brian clears his throat. “School starts on Monday.”

I reel back. “But it’s not even Labor Day?”

Americans celebrate all sorts of frivolous holidays. Some might be absurd but I won’t complain about a day off work. I like the Monday ones best because who doesn’t enjoy a long weekend?

Brian shrugs. “School starts earlier these days.”

“Ah. Then where should he go?” I look at Brian this time. Murphy’s smart, but I can’t imagine he knows anything about local schools.

Brian shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out tomorrow.”

I toss down my napkin with a huff. That’s not an answer.

I have access to a better resource, and I’ll take full advantage.

I stand and march into Sully’s room. Before he can react, I snatch the phone from his hand.

My nephew is still talking when I bring it to my ear, so I wait patiently for him to finish the stream of consciousness thoughts he’s spewing.

Growling, Sully lunges for the phone, but I dance around the room, ducking and spinning out of his reach.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Hey Teej,” I say when my nephew stops to take a breath. “Can you put your mum on the phone? I need to ask her a question.”

“Hi, Uncle Cal,” my nephew chirps. “I’ll get her.”

Without hesitation, he’s yelling for his mum. He’s probably dying to get off the phone. The kid is rambunctious. He’d rather be goofing off than chatting every night. He’s six—just like Murphy; bonus—and doesn’t understand why his father suddenly wants to talk to him so much.

It's been hard on Sully, but he made this bed and now he’s got to lie in it.

“Hello?” My sister-in-law’s tone is laced with confusion when she answers.

“Hi Sloaney, how’s my favorite sister?”

Sully scowls at me. I return the expression with a grin. I’ve always been Sloane’s favorite and now that she hates her husband, I’ve climbed even higher on the list.

“I’m fine,” she says. Her tone is a little short, but I swear there’s a little affection there too. “What’s going on, Cal?”

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard but I’m a dad now.”

She lets out a long sigh. “Lo filled me in. Congrats.”

“So, you see…” I drag out the last word. “I need some advice and since you’re the responsible one when it comes to your kid?—”

“What the?” Sully, who’s given up trying to take possession of his phone, pulls at his hair, glaring at me.

I hold up my hand. “Don’t interrupt me, I’m asking dad questions.”

“I’m a dad,” he grinds out .

“I’m asking Sloane.” I turn away from my brother and pace to the doorway, which takes one entire step.

“What do you need, Cal?” Sloane says, suddenly sounding exhausted.

My heart clenches. Damn. She used to be the fun one, but in the last few years her attitude has transformed. These days it’s reminiscent of my brother’s.

“Here’s the thing. Brian just informed me that school starts on Monday, and I haven’t the first clue where to enroll Murphy.

Though it occurred to me only a moment ago that since he and T.

J. are the same age, they could go to school together.

Wouldn’t that be fun? So what’s your plan now that we’re all moving to Jersey? ”

“Bloody hell,” Sully hisses.

I turn and am instantly assaulted by his panic-stricken expression.

What the bloody hell is his problem?

“T.J. will be staying right where he is.” Her tone is a bit harsh. My question was a legitimate one, I swear. “At the private school he’s attended since he was three.”

“Okay.” I nod once. “Murphy can go there. Can you set that up for me?”

“No.”

“Sloane,” I whine, “don’t be unreasonable.”

“Put Sully on the phone.” The harshness has officially morphed into anger. Yikes.

Frowning, I hold the phone out to my brother. “I have no idea how you haven’t worked this out yet. You’re the exact same miserable person.”

Face ashen, like he’s scared of the device, Sully stares at the phone and takes a step back.

“What?” I mouth.

With a grumble, he shakes his head and snatches the phone from me. “Hi, sweetheart?— ”

I can’t make out what she’s saying, but judging by the angry staccato tone that’s beating against his ear, she’s pissed.

“Yes.” He tugs on his hair again. “I was going to tell you about the move but I—No, I know, I just?—”

Fucking hell. My brother never told Sloane about our move? Or the stipulation that requires T.J. to also reside with us in New Jersey if we want to keep our interest in the firm?

Yeah, I wouldn't want to be him right now.

Slowly, I back out of the room and close the door with a soft snick. Then I shove my hands into my pockets and head back to the table. Looks like I’ve done enough damage for tonight. At least I got the name of a school.