Chapter 7
GABE
“Daddy! I want more hot cocoa!” I smile down at my daughter, bundled up in her puffy coat with a scarf around her neck and her gloves on her little hands. Her cheeks are pink and rosy, but she’s not bothered by the cold weather.
“You’ve had two cups already,” I tell her, trying to resist her big blue eyes. I swear, I’ve been wrapped around this kid’s finger since the day she was born and looked up at me with those big eyes.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” she pouts.
“Yeah, Daddy. It’s Christmas Eve.” Oakley, my boss, who’s currently sporting a full Santa costume minus the beard decides to help my daughter, bending down next to her and looking up at me too.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare.” I look over and see my ex-wife, Shelly, with one hand on her hip as she stands there, all bundled up next to her new husband, Randy. “I can see it in your eyes, Gabriel Martin Daniels.”
I curse just as Oakley hops up and cackles. “Martin is your middle name?”
“Thanks for that, Shell,” I say to my wife—I mean ex-wife. Shit, that’s still hard to grasp some days. Especially holidays. Realizing Amber is going home with them tonight and not me—yeah, that hits pretty hard. I never thought when Shelly and I decided to try to make a baby that we’d be here.
Living in different homes. And while it’s all perfectly pleasant and cordial, it hurts like hell sometimes.
“One more,” I say to my daughter, who’s giddy with excitement as she gives Oakley a high five, and he takes her to the hot cocoa bar to grab another hot chocolate.
Shelly’s scolding me with her eyes, but whatever. She’s not that mad, and it’s not like she doesn’t spoil our daughter here and there. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t have done that if you had to deal with the sugar high later tonight.”
Way to hit me right in the heart, Shell. I rub at the spot in my chest that aches like a motherfucker, trying to place a playful smile on my face. “Hey, I’ll take her.”
Her expression softens then because Shelly is really good at reading me.
Always has been. We were high-school sweethearts.
Best friends before that. Even though our marriage didn’t work out for reasons I’m still not really sure of—I’d still be married to her today if it were up to me—she’s still my best friend.
“We’ll bring her over first thing tomorrow morning. ”
After she wakes up and runs to their living room and sees her presents from Santa there. Opening them with excitement—something I’ll miss out on. And yes, Santa will come to my house too, but it won’t be her first stop.
I need to stop wallowing in this, but for some reason, I can’t shake it. Since she could walk, I’ve looked forward to Christmas morning with her. Toddling over to the tree after running out of her bedroom to discover all the presents we’d worked so hard all year to put there.
There’s nothing like that, and now I’m going to miss it, and Randy will be there. Not me.
And don’t get me wrong, Randy is a nice guy, I suppose, but he’s not her father. I am. I don’t want to be replaced.
“First thing.” Randy grips my shoulder as if he’s trying to comfort me, and my entire body tenses. I kind of want to rip his hand right off his body, and as if Jackson picks up on it from across the fire, he’s there in one second flat.
“Hey, buddy. Do a shot with me.”
“Sure,” I say, my jaw ticking with the anger I manage to keep at bay, excusing myself from Shelly and Randy and walking off with Jackson. “Thanks,” I say when Jackson pours a shot of whiskey.
He clinks his shot glass with mine. “No problem. Didn’t think Travis and Oakley would appreciate you drawing blood at their house. Though we are outside at least.”
“I’m not a violent man,” I say, tossing back the shot at the same time he does, letting it burn just right on the way down.
“No, of course not,” he says with a laugh, placing his shot glass down on the table. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. Just discussing morning plans,” I say, going to pour another shot, but he stops me, taking the bottle.
“One to take the edge off.” He places the bottle down on the table. “Not to get shitfaced. I’m assuming your morning plans involve an adorable curly-headed blonde.”
I grin at that, looking over at Amber, who’s dancing with Oakley and Walker near the fire.
Fuck, I hope they keep her away from the flames and watch her.
I try not to let that worry overtake me to the point of going over there myself.
I’ve had this talk with Shelly a few times lately—letting her explore the world and not worrying so much.
It’s easy for her to say though. Shelly’s with her most of the time. I’m not.
“It does.”
“So then what’s wrong?”
I huff, annoyed, just thinking about it. “I won’t be there in the morning when she first wakes up.” I try to keep my voice down. I know Shelly still cares about me, and I don’t want her upset because I’m upset. I don’t want to ruin her Christmas.
“That has to be hard, man. I’m sorry. But she’ll be at your house tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. They said they’ll bring her over.” I try not to sound bitter.
“So make it great when she is there. I know it’s hard to miss out on some things, but that’s not what she’s going to remember.”
“You sure about that?” I look at him, my insecurities bubbling up. “Because all I can think about is the times I’m not with her.”
“And that’s your first mistake. Trust me on this. She’s going to remember when you were there, if you do it right. That little girl knows how loved she is. Believe me.”
I look over at her, tugging on Oakley’s arm. “Come on, Uncle Oakley! I want to open presents!”
“That’s up to your parents, kiddo.”
Who knew Oakley had boundaries?
I look back at Jackson. “You’re right.”
“I usually am,” he says confidently.
“So since we aired out all my shit, we gonna talk about Rebecca now?” I’m nice enough to keep my voice down since Rebecca is standing outside, just not near us. Because why would she be around her date, right?
“You and Archie need a new hobby,” he grumbles, but he’s off the hook fairly quickly because Amber has convinced the party to move inside to open presents.
And I can do nothing but smile as I watch my little girl be spoiled by literally every single guest at the party.
She really does have everyone wrapped around her tiny little finger. There are kid tool belts with play tools, and dolls. Even a refinished vanity from Cane. They all know her so well.
“Hey . . .” I hear Shelly’s soft voice and look next to me, seeing she’s sidled up to watch at my side. “You know how much she loves you, right?”
“I love her,” I say, the words barely making it out of my mouth.
“She knows.” I meet Shelly’s eyes and pick up on what she’s trying to say even before she says it. “Just because we aren’t married any more doesn’t make you any less her father.
“I know that,” I snap a little more harshly than I intend. She doesn’t even flinch.
“So then quit sulking,” she says in her sassy little manner that should piss me off but really doesn’t. Not at all. I adore her. Maybe I’m not in love with her anymore, but I’ll always love her.
“It hurts not being able to tuck her in on Christmas Eve and see her first thing Christmas morning,” I admit.
She nods knowingly, looking back over at Amber unwrapping all her gifts with flighty little giggles. “I know. And next year, I’ll feel the same way. It’s hard, but we both know it’s for the best.”
“Is it?” I ask her, my throat sore from all the emotions bubbling up. I really hate that feeling. Sometimes, I just want to forget how shitty it feels and push them all down, but maybe I’ve been doing that for far too long and that’s why it hurts so much.
“Don’t do this,” she says, losing her patience. “I’m happy and married.”
“Oh, I know,” I say bitterly.
“Come here,” she says, taking my arm and leading me to a hallway. Her eyes tell me just how mad she is at me right now, and it’s pretty damn mad. “We didn’t work. You can’t stand here and tell me that you’re still in love with me.”
“Says who?” I say stubbornly. I do still love her. Maybe not in that way, but I do. And I could definitely still be married to her and be happy with our daughter.
She shakes her head at me like she pities me. “Randy is in love with me. He loves me fiercely. He’s not with me because he wants to keep a family together . . .”
“That’s not why we were together,” I snap at her.
“Not at first, but the last two years of our marriage?” She folds her arms defiantly, keeping her voice down. “You forget how bad that was.”
No. I really don’t. “At least we were trying for Amber.”
She snorts angerly at that. “No. We weren’t trying. You were avoiding me. I was miserable. You were miserable.” She points toward the living room. “You think she didn’t feel that?”
I feel a little sick, thinking about that time. I thought I was trying, but apparently, I was withdrawing. “I’m sorry,” I croak.
“Don’t be.” She places a reassuring hand on my chest, and I close my eyes, relishing in the comforting, familiar gesture. “Gabe, I will always love you, but we didn’t work. We were always better friends than lovers.”
We did fight a lot. Maybe we were never really happy.
“I’m happy to be your friend.”
She smiles. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me forever.”
I hear Randy’s obnoxious laughter—which Shelly seems to find endearing—and sure enough, when I look at her, she’s smiling at the sound. “Do I have to be stuck with him too?”
She shoves my chest and rolls her eyes. “Yes. You do. He’s a good man.”
I know he is. And he’s a good stepfather to my daughter, which frankly is the only thing that really matters to me.
“Come on. I don’t want to miss any more of what those goobers got our daughter.”
I grin and follow her back to the tree, where our daughter is destroying the wrapping paper, caught in a tornado of presents with all the goofy-ass big men I work with playing with her toys like children.
It’s honestly the best part of my year so far.