36. Drunk Toddler
36
DRUNK TODDLER
WYATT
I can’t keep my hands off Dakota for the next week as she prepares for the rodeo. We have sex everywhere .
My bed. Her bed. The kitchen counter. We almost get caught by the cops when we fool around in my truck like two high schoolers drunk in love.
We can’t get enough of each other.
But on Wednesday, I wake up to an empty bed and step out into the kitchen to find Vienna fed, changed, and playing in her playpen while Dakota flips banana pancakes and the laundry machine whirs.
She’s not the domestic type, but I’m not surprised either. When she feels like her life is spiraling out of control, she tries to control the things within her power.
I can’t decide what I like more—her in my arms or her with my daughter. She’s dressed in her workout gear, biker shorts and a black bra, ready for our daily gym session because she’s the most determined woman I’ve met.
I wrap my arms around her from behind. “Morning. Why’s the TV off? You normally like having the background noise.”
She shrugs. “Stella told me you were pretty strict about screen time with Vi, so I’ve been trying to keep it off.”
That makes me hold her tighter, and I genuinely wonder how I’m ever going to let her go. I’m beginning to think I need to put in for a transfer to Austin, but I’m worried about telling Cruz.
I brush off a tiny curl on her forehead, still worried about how she’s been doing since Nash’s fall. “How’re you feeling? Are you ready for the rodeo this weekend? I got a babysitter, so my parents and I can come watch you. We’ll all be there.”
She stirs the pancake batter harder, faster. “I’m ready. I just have to pick myself up and keep going, like always. I can’t let the highs go to my head just like I can’t let the lows bring me down.”
And that’s exactly what she does.
Every day leading up to Tejas, we’re in the gym, squatting, lunging, lifting. She won’t stop, because if there’s one thing about Dakota, she will always, always pick herself back up no matter how far she falls. She acknowledges her fear, but it’s never a roadblock. It’s the kind of woman I want my daughter to be one day.
She’s so focused during our daily workout sessions, and meanwhile, I can’t keep my hands, eyes, or lips off her. Especially now that I know what it feels like to be inside her. It’s better than I even imagined, and I imagined it a hell of a lot.
There is nothing, and I mean nothing , I would rather do than kiss her all day, but I’m trying to rein in the urge so I don’t play my entire hand before she shows her cards.
At the gym, I pretend like my throat isn’t parched, watching her squat in the tiniest shorts that should really only be considered scraps of fabric. I can barely get a word out. When I tell her to add more weight it comes out sounding like take your clothes off.
And now, as I FaceTime Cruz, I’m getting half hard looking at her discarded pink panties on the bathroom tile, so it’s a good thing he can only see me from the chest up.
“I slept with her, Cruz.”
“Hell yeah!” he erupts on the phone screen, startling me enough that I nearly drop my razor in the bathroom sink. “I knew she couldn’t resist a shirtless Patty Daddy.”
He wiggles his dark brows, and his brown eyes brighten.
“Yeah, thanks for the top-tier advice.” I huff a laugh, the razor gliding precariously close to my skin. “Except now, every time she steps into the arena in those fringe chaps, my dick gets rock-hard, and I can’t focus on anything but her.”
I almost nick my throat, thinking of those chaps, as I shave my neck beard. Last night, Dakota kept nuzzling up against my scruff. I think she likes it, so I’m leaving the stubble along my jaw and cleaning up the edges.
“So, things have been good with her?” he asks on speakerphone, his deep voice reverberating against the bathroom tiles.
Good is an understatement. She can’t keep her hands off me, and I’ve never been this happy. Nothing could bring me down right now. “Things have been incredible. Going back to Nashville is gonna be tough, though.”
His brown eyes turn down, and I’m tempted to take back my words at the sad look on his face. “But I’m in Nashville.”
My stomach drops, but I need to come out and say it. Cruz is my boy, so he deserves my honesty.
“I’m thinking I might put in for a transfer,” I blurt to get it over with. “Austin’s getting an NHL team, and it’d be nice to move back home.”
I wait, carefully analyzing him. Cruz goes silent for a second and then throws his head back onto the pillow on the screen. “Why the fuck is everyone leaving? Tremblay first and now you? I’ve barely spoken to him since he moved to Argentina, and I don’t want to lose you too.”
Guilt slithers beneath my skin. “Aw, come on, Micah. Don’t do this to me.”
He jams his finger at me on the screen. “No. No first-naming me. I want to know why. ”
“It feels like home for me,” I explain, setting down the razor. “I love it down here, man. I’ve got family here. The schools are great, and I want to be with Dakota. I can’t leave her.”
Cruz stares at me through the phone, and then heaves a sigh. “Fine. If you need to transfer, then do it, but don’t be surprised when I follow your ass down to Texas.”
My brows soar. “You’d follow me here? Really?”
“If you or Tremblay jumped off a bridge, I’d jump,” he admits, and that’s Micah Cruz, loyal to a fault. “You do know it’s hot as shit down there though, right?”
“Only in August and September, and even then, you just find a lake, crack open a beer, and fall asleep on a floatie in the water. I got the world’s worst sunburn from doing that one summer. My entire chest was peeling off.”
“You’re really selling me on the whole Texas thing,” he deadpans.
“Wyatt!”
Dakota’s wild shriek slices through the quiet of the barn, sending a jolt of panic straight through me.
“I have to go.” I drop my phone, our conversation forgotten, and the razor follows close behind.
I rush out from the bathroom with shaving cream still smeared on half my face, my towel hastily wrapped around me, trying not to imagine the worst-case scenario.
I burst into the living room, and my eyes immediately dart to her. “What?” I panic, my heart throbbing in that way it only does around her. “Is Vi okay? Are you okay?”
I scan Dakota’s body for injuries, blood, something terrible, but she’s standing by the stone fireplace in nothing but a thin white tank (that shows her nipples) and boxers (that look a lot like… mine?). Damn, I like seeing her in my clothes. But then, I notice Tuna wagging her black tail and the look of radiant joy on Dakota’s face.
Her grin is so blinding I blink to make sure she’s real.
“Wyatt,” she yells again, pointing at something in the living room. “Stop staring at me and look at your girl!”
My gaze follows the direction of her outstretched arm, and there, right there, on her ABC mat—holy shit—there’s my baby girl, wobbling on her tiny feet like a drunk toddler staggering her way toward me. My heart vaults from my stomach to my throat.
She’s walking.
My little girl’s finally walking.
“She’s walking!” Dakota exclaims again, her voice bubbling over with excitement. “She’s actually walking, Wyatt. Look at her go!”
Every other worry dissolves as I drop to my knees, my arms outstretched to my girl’s toothy grin. “Come here, baby girl. Come to Daddy,” I call out, my voice choked with a lump of emotion.
Vi’s baby greens lock onto me, her smile widening, and she stumbles her way into my waiting arms. The impact when she bumps into my chest is the sweetest collision of my life.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper, peppering her face with shaving-cream kisses—her cheeks, her lips, her tiny button nose. “You did it, sweetheart. You’re a little walker. I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” I breathe out, my voice thick.
“Dada!”
The wave of relief and awe that hits me is so potent, it nearly knocks the tears out of my eyes.
Dakota’s standing by the leather couch, snapping pictures with her phone, and I wish I didn’t have shaving cream smeared on half my face, or that I had on real clothes, or that my eyes weren’t watering because there’s a stench in my baby girl’s diaper that’s stronger than nuclear waste, but that’s parenting for you—never quite camera ready.
Still, I wouldn’t trade a photo of me with my little girl for the world, even if I’m a mess in it.
Dakota sets her phone down on the granite counter, studying us with a half-smile that’s full of emotion. “I like this version of you. A lot.”
I pick up my daughter, balancing her on my hip. Now that she’s mobile, things are going to get a lot crazier. “What version?”
She gestures to my bare chest, nibbling her lip. “The dad version, and basically any version.”
I walk toward her with my girl on my hip, dropping my voice to a teasing lilt. “Oh yeah?” I say, tickling Vi’s stomach until she squeals. “You think walking around with a baby girl that definitely needs her diaper changed is hot?”
Vienna giggles at that, so she thinks my joke is funny, but Dakota doesn’t laugh. She looks at me with this warm smile that’s half joy, half… not sadness, but something nearby. Yearning? Nostalgia? I can’t tell.
“You mean,” she starts. “Do I think being a reliable, trustworthy man who knows how to care for another person is attractive? Yeah, I do. I know what a good father looks like, and you, Wyatt Patterson, are one of the best.”
Her words strike me deep.
A lot of the time, I question whether I’m getting this whole dad thing right. I try to shake off the worry that I might be messing up with Vienna, taking it one day at a time, but it gets to me—not having a partner to share these moments with.
I want someone by my side through all the highs and lows of parenthood. I never realized just how much I needed to hear that validation. My throat’s too tight to even murmur a thanks.
Vienna makes grabby-hands at Dakota. “Dee-dee!” she squeals, at least, that’s what it sounds like to me.
Dakota startles at the noise, like she’s surprised my daughter would even remember her, but my girl’s got good taste in people.
“Hi, little devil,” she says in a choked-up voice, taking her from me to smother her face in kisses. “Or maybe I should call you little walker now. I’m so proud of you. We’re gonna have to put a gate on that spiral staircase now so you don’t become a little climber.”
That one extra thought for my daughter does me in. She’s thinking of my girl’s safety, and it makes me want to get down on one knee right in this living room, but I need to figure out my future first because I’m not asking her to change her plans for me.
As I watch her set her phone down, her glossy gaze meets mine, and I notice the moisture pooling in her brown eyes.
“Are you crying?” I ask, half joking, but I also need to know because I rarely see her cry.
She swipes at a corner, a small laugh mingling with a sniffle. “Yeah, but I don't know why. I guess I just didn’t know little things could feel so big.”
She kisses my girl’s cheek, and seeing Dakota like this, all vulnerable and open, hits me hard. She’s usually so guarded, and I pull her in, giving her a solid hug. “You don’t need to give me a reason. I know. I’m glad this moment happened with you, too.”
“You know something, summer boy?” she says, keeping her damp eyes on my daughter.
I kiss the top of her hair. “Yeah, honey?”
She breathes in deep and kisses Vi’s nose. “I think I’m falling for your little summer girl.”
I hold her close at that, my daughter sandwiched comfortably between our bodies. “Fall as hard as you want; we’ll be here to catch you.”