29. I Hate That Word
29
I HATE THAT WORD
WYATT
“ S hhhh, I know your fever’s gone, little devil, but you’ve got to be quiet ’cause your daddy’s sleeping on the couch.”
My eyes drift open at the sound of Dakota’s low murmur, and I peek through my lashes to see her dancing around the open kitchen in nothing but a tiny cotton tank and little plaid shorts with my smiling girl in her arms.
I’m dazed with sleep, so it takes me a second to remember everything that happened last night. I must’ve fallen asleep before she got back from her dad’s. But my baby girl is smiling big, which means I’m smiling. Her cheeks aren’t flushed either, so she must be feeling better.
Relief hits me like a runaway train.
I almost jump off the couch to check on my girl, but then I remember Dakota said that her fever’s gone, and I notice the morning light glinting off Vi’s curls. Dakota’s grinning down at her. My breath stops.
There they are— dimples.
Not for me, but for my little girl, and that’s even better. I let myself stare, watching, soaking up this moment. I can’t capture this, so I’d rather watch a little longer. I shove my feet under Tuna’s warm body, snoozing peacefully at the end of the leather couch, and stay right here.
“It’s like this,” Dakota whispers, picking up Vi’s tiny fist. “One-two-one. One-two-one.”
She mimics my chant, her voice soft and playful, as she two-steps around the granite counter with my daughter in her arms. If I hadn’t already loved her before, this would make me fall for her now. I keep my eyes barely open, just slivers of light peeking through my lashes, so she still thinks I’m asleep.
The sweet, familiar melody of “You're Gonna Miss This” by Trace Adkins hums under her breath as she twirls and sways in the kitchen.
Seeing her melt for my little girl makes this big world shrink to the three of us, and I can’t help but stare at them. This right here is what I want. Simple, slow mornings with two girls I love. The hockey season can be brutally fast-paced, so I always appreciate the slower things in life.
She kisses her cheek, making her baby hands clap and trying to grab at her face. “Your daddy taught me how to two-step,” she whispers. “He’s pretty good, but don’t tell him that ’cause he already knows it. He’ll teach you one day too.”
Vi’s curls are a mess, but her chubby cheeks are flushed with happiness. She giggles as Dakota two-steps with her, and her tiny feet try to kick at the rhythm.
After seeing her sniffling last night, the joy rolling off my daughter is a massive relief. It’s these moments that make all the snotty tantrums worth it. I swear parenting is a roller coaster of little moments filled with the biggest emotions.
And laundry—so much laundry.
She continues two-stepping, and as much as I like watching them, I want to be a part of this now, so I get up. Tuna doesn’t even budge. She just blobs on the couch.
“Looks like you’re getting better, but you’re still a little stiff,” I tease.
“Oh, you’re awake.” She whips her mess of brown curls to me. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Vi’s all smiles and no fever this morning. It must’ve broken in the middle of the night. I changed her diaper, oh, and made her some breakfast. Banana pancakes. I figured I’d let you rest.”
I glance at the rooster clock.
It’s 10:00 AM.
My brows fly up in surprise.
“Thank you,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I slept this late. Or the last time I woke up with my girl fed and her diaper changed by someone other than me or my parents. How’s she doing?”
I drop a peck to the top of Vienna’s head, and then feel her temperature. Her forehead is cool, and my shoulders loosen in relief. I feel like parenting is always like that. Kids get fevers, and they randomly go away.
She flashes those dimples again at my baby girl. “She’s all smiles, just like her daddy.”
I sway them both in my arms. Most bull riders are pretty small, so she fits snugly in my embrace. “Can I join in on this dance party with my girls?”
Dakota’s brows shoot up. “ Your girls?”
Using my knuckle, I lift her chin. “Yes, my girls.”
I smush Vienna between us, settle my hand on Dakota’s lower back, and start leading them in a two-step. Vi giggle-screams, and this right here is everything I want. Two-stepping in the kitchen with my girls.
Both our lives are so intense that I want to come home to something as easy as breathing. There’s no other woman who would trek through a half-mile of cacti in the middle of the night just to get my daughter a thermometer.
Well, there probably are, but I only want this one.
The song comes to a gentle, final strum.
I twirl them both in one last spin. Vi tucked safely against Dakota’s chest. “See honey, that’s how you two-step.”
She bites her bottom lip, and it seems like both our thoughts drift back to last night. At least, I’m thinking about the way our bodies felt pressed together, and how I want everything from her. But then she looks down at my daughter and gives her a big smack of a kiss on her cheek, and I think that might be even better than her thinking of me.
Vi starts squirming in her arms, which usually means she wants some space to move around, so I take her and navigate the sea of toys in the living room.
“Here you go, baby.” I drop her into her enclosed playpen. She crawls forward, and I watch to see if she’ll stand, holding my breath, but she doesn’t.
“What’s wrong?” Dakota asks. “Why are you frowning?”
I sigh, trying to push the worries away. “I’m waiting to see if Vi will walk. I’m trying not to stress about it, but it’s hard.”
Dakota starts washing one of her orange-juice-crusted sippy cups. “Hey, she’ll get there. She’s so close. I’ve seen her pull herself up on furniture, so maybe she’s just not ready yet.”
“Maybe,” I mumble, wrapping my arms around her from behind. It’s nice to have someone to share my worries with because normally, it’s just my parents, and they always listen, but they have each other.
I have no one.
I kiss the curve of her neck. “Thank you.”
“For teaching your daughter my amazing dance skills?” she teases, drying the sippy cup.
“No, for everything you did last night. It’s nice having someone during the hard parts.”
She turns around to face me, gripping the granite counter. “It’s nice feeling needed during the hard parts.”
She sucks on her bottom lip again , and the motion has me remembering last night again , and the way she bit my lip. I want her, so I press her hips back into the sink.
I’m trying to keep this PG, since Vi is ten-feet away playing with her singing vegetable toys, but with the way my boxers are tightening, this is quickly bypassing right into PG-13 territory. And with the way her nipples are hardening in that tiny tank, it might go straight to an R-rating.
I lift her chin with two fingers and go in for a kiss right as Vi lets out a high-pitched wail that travels into the kitchen.
“Dada!” she screams, slapping her toys. “Mo!”
With a heavy sigh-groan, I drop my head to Dakota’s shoulder. “That means she’s hungry.”
Her shoulders shake with a chuckle, and she kisses my cheek. “You’re a daddy first.”
“Yeah, but it’s hard to remember that with you in those tiny shorts,” I drawl, navigating the land mine of toys again to my daughter.
“Want me to take them off so you forget?” she challenges.
Fuck me. I do not need to be thinking about that right now.
I focus on my baby girl, ignoring the smart-mouthed, sexy-as-hell bull rider bending over in my kitchen like she knows exactly what those tiny shorts are doing to me.
I scoop Vi up from the playpen, dump some more blueberries onto her highchair, and start putting her hair into pigtails. I’m getting damn good at pigtails. Braids are a whole other beast, but I’ve been practicing on my own hair, so that’s one benefit to keeping it longer.
Dakota watches with quirked lips, but a thought seems to occur to her the longer she stares, and she frowns. “How’re you so calm right now? We kissed last night. That’s a big thing, but you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.”
Play it off, Patterson. Stay calm to keep her calm.
“I’m not worried because it felt normal to me, and I hope you’ll let me kiss you again ’cause I can’t stop thinking about it,” I admit while finishing with Vi’s hair.
Her pigtails are lopsided, but oh well. At least it’s not the pigtail-tantrum-fiasco that happened in the Target candle aisle.
“Normal?” Her mouth falls. “Kissing me feels normal to you? How? We basically did a one-eighty and went straight from friends to a hell of a lot more.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, trying to play it off. Act casual. “But it feels very normal. Like I should've kissed you a lot sooner.”
She groans, burying her face in her hands.
Okay.
Not the reaction a man wants.
I can almost hear her thoughts spiraling, so I walk over to her and cradle her cheeks. “Hey. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Her honey eyes search mine until she releases a breath, and then all her worries spill out in one massive string of oxygen. “I’m just a little overwhelmed with all this. You two mean more to me than anyone else, so I want to think this through. I know I can’t do the whole summer fling with you.”
Being with me comes with a lot of big decisions. Capitalized Big Decisions, if I’m honest. If a woman’s going to be with me, she has to be okay with potentially being a mom to my daughter.
I’ll never be a casual fling again. My life isn’t easily flung anymore.
I press my lips to her forehead. “I know I come with a lot of strings, being a dad, and I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready for, so let’s take this one day at a time.”
“Hey, your daughter is not a string,” she says in a passionate voice. “She’s one of the best parts of being with you. It’s like a two-for-one package, but I still occasionally smoke weed on the weekends with Lana.” That thought seems to make some light bulb go off in her brain, and she rubs a hand through her dark hair, seeming stressed. “Oh my god, what if we really do this whole thing, Wyatt? I just realized I’d be Vi’s mom . ”
Mom.
She said mom.
I should be surprised she jumped to that conclusion so fast, but I’m not. Her mind always spirals, imagining every possible outcome. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I shrug like that one word didn’t spark a swarm of hope in my chest while I pepper her inner wrist with kisses. “You’re fine. Legal occasional marijuana consumption doesn’t make you a terrible parent.”
“Technically, it’s not legal in Texas. I’m breaking the law. Do you really want her to have a criminal for a mom, Wyatt? How does this not bother you?”
“Well,” I say, still stuck on the word mom . Still trying not to react. “For one, I like that you’re thinking long-term about us, and two, she already has a criminal for a dad. Don’t you remember that one summer the cops busted me for stumbling around on the beach in Corpus? I spent the night in the drunk tank, covered in someone else’s piss, and she still calls me daddy, so… We do our best, but no parent should be expected to be perfect. That’s like expecting your kid to be perfect all the time.”
“I forgot about that. You and beaches.” She huffs a laugh. “Still. I’m mostly used to keeping things casual since Boone, so this is a lot for me to process.”
“We can keep things casual,” I blurt without thinking.
All the happiness in me comes to a screeching halt.
Goddammit.
I hate that word. Casual.
I don’t know why I said it, and I want to take it back, but her eyes brighten with something that looks like relief. “Are you sure?”
I don’t want to be like the other guys she only calls when she’s drunk, but the last thing I need is to scare her off before this starts, especially if she’s not ready to be a mom. I don’t want to force her into anything .
“Sure, we can,” I lie, swiping my thumb along her bottom lip. “But just to be clear, if you want to sleep with someone, you better be knocking on my bedroom door. No one else’s. I’ll take real good care of you, honey.”
She bites her bottom lip in a challenge. “Oh, I bet you will. I already know how nice you are.”
“Damn right.” I trace my tongue along the shell of her ear, and she releases this breathy little moan that nearly destroys my self-control. “Us nice guys might always finish last, but that’s only ’cause we know our ladies get to finish first.”