A Daddy for Cooper (Foxwood Hollow #2)

Prologue

Patrick

Well, I supposed this was what I got for buying a dilapidated cottage off a dead elderly lady. A… dilapidated cottage with more Artex and textured wallpaper than anyone had the time to remove…

For now, it had running water, but I’d be ripping out that ugly nicotine-yellow kitchen at the earliest opportunity.

The kettle whistled on my stovetop, and I gave the water a minute to cool a little before pouring it over the ground coffee beans. During the few minutes it would take for the coffee to brew, I made a quick mental to-do list for when I got to work that morning.

Then, with my freshly prepared mug, I headed out the back door, inhaling the wafts of fragrant steam.

The twilight-blue sky began to glow orange on the horizon as the sun rose. I hoped I would never get tired of this view. This was the reason I’d bought the place, warts and all.

Ouch. My left knee protested a little as I took a seat on the back step, and the cold of the concrete seeped through my jeans in a pleasantly grounding way. I took a deep breath and then sipped my coffee.

It’s not a bad life, just a bad day, I reminded myself. Maybe more like a bad fucking year, though, if I’m being honest.

But in the soft warmth of the rising sun and the quiet that came with starting my day before everyone else, I was beginning to see how the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be might close one day.

After wiping rogue tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I took a steadying breath.

I felt immeasurably guilty that the grief that consumed my every waking moment wasn’t due to the loss of my dad only two months ago, but was instead because of the boy who’d broken my heart just a week before that.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t loved my dad, I had.

Still did. But we’d never been able to bridge the gap to be truly close.

Despite being my parents’ “miracle baby,” my dad having already been almost fifty when I was born and a man who largely communicated through grunts had made it difficult to connect.

Not that I was much better at communicating.

Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I was even grieving my dad for myself, or grieving for my mum, who I knew had seen and loved a different version of him. A softer version, I suspected.

But the pain my ex had left behind was visceral and jagged. Like having a limb amputated with a bread knife and no pain relief.

I scrunched my eyes shut like that could block out the images of what I’d walked in on.

Striped marks across his back from the caning we’d agreed on.

Sweat-soaked black hair.

Oh, and those two alphas taking their turns fucking him while he begged for their cum.

Arguably, it was the last part that haunted me. The sounds, especially, liked to play themselves on repeat in my head when I was at my lowest.

A rustling sound at the bottom of the garden interrupted my spiralling. I was rarely grateful at being interrupted, but it was convenient right then.

It was probably only a rabbit or something, but I stood and wandered down, mug in hand, to take a look even if only as a distraction.

“Oh, hello, little fox. Got yourself in a tangle?”

There was a footpath which ran along the back of my house, and just next to it, there was a small fox all tangled up in some brambles like he’d run through the bush and brought most of it with him.

He let out a pitiful whine, looking very sorry for himself.

“Come here, little fox. I’ll give you a hand.”

I perched my mug on the wall before opening the gate and moving to crouch down next to him. His fur was that of an adult, but he looked young. He was small for an alpha fox, and he had the biggest green eyes I’d ever seen. It was like staring into the rainforest.

“You’re okay,” I reassured him as I snapped the main bramble that was wrapped around his middle. “This one might hurt a little, okay? There’s a thorn in your paw.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath like he was steeling himself for the sharp pain.

It wasn’t a very funny situation to be in, and the fox was clearly suffering, but he was so adorable that I struggled to hide the smile which tugged up the corners of my mouth.

It felt foreign. How depressing that I couldn’t even remember the last time I smiled when it hadn’t been something forced for the sake of my mum or a customer.

I quickly pulled the thorn out, and the fox let out a high-pitched yap before huffing.

“There. All fixed up, little fox. When you shift back, you’ll need to put some antiseptic cream where I pulled that thorn out, okay?”

The fox looked up at me from the corner of his eyes and nodded his head once. Unable to help myself, I reached out and scratched him behind his ear, and he butted his head into my hand.

“Like that?”

When I pulled my hand back the cheeky fox nipped at my fingers until I petted his head again.

“Good thing you’re cute, little fox. You’re a needy one.”