Chapter 7
Goldie
It’s been one nightmare after another. Years of dreaming about what it would be like when Dad got out of prison and we could be together again has been snuffed out. Today was the first time I called my dad Dad right to his face instead of Daddy . He stopped being Daddy the second he chose drugs over me.
Now, I feel broken. Worse than that. Unwanted. A burden. And I miss Aunt Lydia more than ever—the woman who was more like a parent than either of my biological parents. I miss her hugs and how she would hum an old Irish lullaby that neither of us knew the meaning of, which her mom used to sing to her.
I miss our old apartment that always smelled like the glass potpourri pots she used to let simmer on the stove for hours on the weekends, the apartment filled with the scent of citrus and mint—not the foul stench of soggy cigarette butts and sour garbage. I don’t know how anyone can choose to live like that, let alone my dad, who lied about the kind of life we were going to live after I found my way to Texas.
I don’t understand why he did that. We’d been talking on the phone for weeks ever since Aunt Lydia got her late-stage cancer diagnosis, and her health deteriorated faster than her oncologist predicted. Davis had been upset on my behalf when he found out I had to hitchhike to get to Texas. I had defended Dad and made excuses for him, but the truth is I was upset, too. Dad had promised me he had the money to buy me a bus ticket, but at the last minute, he said he had to lend it to a buddy whose car had broken down. I bet that was another lie.
I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know my aunt had been in similar sticky situations before when it came to money. As soon as she had saved a little in the bank, she’d be hit with some unexpected emergency, so I ignored the hollowness in my gut that warned me not to get my hopes up about him. I should have listened to it.
That wasn’t even the worst part, though, since I knew he didn’t have much to live on, and I hadn’t been expecting anything grand. The worst was the way he spoke to me, calling me ungrateful and selfish within minutes of seeing me for the first time in eleven years. It broke my heart.
If Davis hadn’t been with me, I would have been stuck there for who knows how long, making my newborn daughter suffer in those living conditions. I want to throw up just thinking about her breathing in that filth for even the short amount of time we were there.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper miserably to Davis, my heart sore.
Davis squeezes my hand twice. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, I do. What happened back there…with my dad and that other guy. I didn’t know it was going to be like that. That he would be like that. And then he attacked you…” I thought I was done crying, but fresh tears slip down my cheeks and drip onto my lap when I hang my head.
“None of that was your fault, honey.” I see him from the corner of my eye, darting his attention to me and back to the road, his brows pinched as he shakes his head.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I would have fought that guy off harder, you know….if I didn’t have Lily. But I couldn’t and…and…thank you. For what you did for us. Thank you. It means more to me than you will ever know.”
“I told you I’d take care of you.”
“Yeah, until I got to my dad’s apartment. But now…what do I do now?” I pick at a loose thread connecting the stretchy band to the bottom of my hoodie.
Davis sighs, and I wish I could read his mind. Is he annoyed that he’s still stuck with me? He’s done more than any other sane person would do in his situation. What will I do when he gets tired of taking care of me—of us?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again and try to pull my hand away.
He doesn’t let me. “Like I said, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“But now it feels like you’re stuck with me until I figure out what to do. I mean, you don’t have to be. You can just drop us off at…at a shelter or something.” I reach for my backpack to get my phone so I can look up women’s shelters. “There’s got to be something like that where you live, right?” My breath is coming fast and choppy as I fumble with my phone one-handed, in the beginning stages of a panic attack.
“Honey, stop. Take a deep breath,” he commands calmly.
I drop my phone on the seat next to me and do what he says, taking deep breaths in through my nose and letting them out through my mouth right along with him until I can get my breathing under control.
“Good girl,” he says, his praise making my cheeks grow warm with pleasure. “Listen, I know I said it in the heat of the moment—that I was your Daddy now.” He clears his throat. “I should apologize for that,” he finishes under his breath. I wait a beat and raise my brows when he doesn’t follow it up. Davis shifts in his seat uncomfortably and moves my hand off his lap onto mine but doesn’t let go of it. “I’m not taking y’all to a shelter. Even if I knew where one was, I wouldn’t just drop you off.” He lets that statement hang in the air for a few seconds before sighing again. “Here’s the deal—you can say ‘no’, but I hope you won’t. I want y’all to stay at my house.”
“Your house?”
“Yeah. Technically, it’s my childhood home, though I moved back in permanently to take care of my dad after his first stroke, and I can’t bring myself to move out and sell it now that he’s gone. Since I’m on the road for weeks at a time, you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”
My heart beats faster, processing his offer. “You’re saying you’re going to let us live there while you’re gone? Why would you do that? I mean, that’s super generous and so, so kind of you, but—”
“But nothing. Like I told you the other day—you need help, and I’m in the position to help you. So yeah, you can live there. For free. The only thing I ask—and it’s kind of a big thing, but I hope you don’t mind doing it—is that you’re there when I get back home.” His attention flicks to me and back to the road, where orange construction barrels force traffic to slow down as the two lanes merge into one.
My mouth drops open. “That’s it?” Jesus, why did my mind go to such a dirty place when he said big thing ? What is wrong with me? I mean, he’s incredibly attractive and so sweet with Lily and me, but still…
The eighteen-wheeler in front flashes its hazards twice in thanks after Davis lets it merge ahead of us.
“Yes. I need to know that you and Lily are safe when I’m not there. That you’re not going back to your dad’s, especially on your own.”
A house all to myself where I won’t have to worry about drunks and scary men and filth. There’s no question. “Wow, that’s…yeah, I can do that.”
“Yeah?” He squeezes my hand.
“Yes,” I say with meaning. I probably shouldn’t be so quick to agree after knowing the man for such a short time. But at least this way, I’ll have time to recover and figure out how to get on my feet while he’s on the road.
“Good. Then that’s settled.”
I guess it is.
* * *
We pass through a smallish town that Davis says he’ll give us a tour of soon since it’s fully dark out now after crawling through more construction zones. We take a winding two-lane country road for about ten minutes past the town. The tall, dense woods behind the ditches on either side of the road block most of the moonlight, leaving me little to look at except Davis’s shadowed, strong side profile. It’s not a bad view.
Davis slows the truck when there’s a break in the line of trees on the left, and he turns onto a long paved driveway that leads to a clearing. There aren’t any street lights out here, but automatic flood lights bolted into the two front corners of the light-brown brick ranch-style house flick on, illuminating it and the overgrown lawn in need of mowing.
Davis parks next to a silver Buick Lucerne in front of an attached two-door garage on the left side of the house and then helps me out of the truck. The house itself looks slightly dated, built sometime around the eighties or nineties, but it’s well tended. No peeling paint on the red shutters, broken concrete, or any trash in the yard. A wide cement patio to the right of the garage extends just past the middle of the house, with two wooden rocking chairs set to the left of the red front door.
It’s like those chairs are calling my name, enticing me to sit and stay awhile . I can picture myself rocking Lily out here in the middle of the day, enjoying the peace and quiet since the road won’t see nearly as much traffic as the middle of town.
When I finally turn around to get Lily from her car seat, Davis already has her unbuckled and cradled in his arms. I can’t do much more than stare in awe of him. This is how it should have been with Colton—him bringing us home from the hospital. Yet, for some reason, the image of him in Davis’s place won’t fully form in my mind. It doesn’t feel right to do so.
I snap out of my thoughts when Davis tips his head toward the house. I grab my backpack and phone and follow him up the two steps onto the porch. He unlocks the door and steps inside to turn off the soft beeping from the alarm pad on the wall to the right, then gestures for me to follow him inside before closing the door behind me and flipping on the overhead light in the entryway.
Like Dad’s apartment, the front door leads directly into the living room, but one that is much larger and, most importantly, looks tidy and smells clean. Homey. Comfortable. I’d love nothing more than to sink into the well-loved brown leather recliner to the left or sprawl out on the matching leather couch, wrapped up in one of the vintage crochet afghans—the kind that Aunt Lydia used to make—thrown over the back of it, which faces the massive entertainment center displaying all kinds of sports memorabilia.
Instead of exploring the room, with it being so late, Davis leads us deeper into the house, flicking on more overhead lights in the open kitchen on the backside of the house. Front and center is an unexpectedly large island and past that is a picture window above the white porcelain farmhouse sink, topped with a short red gingham curtain that looks out toward the pitch black backyard. Davis pulls two bottles of cold water from the stainless steel double-door refrigerator, then tips his head again to the right side of the house down a dark hallway.
He stops at the first door on the right and pushes it open with his hip, then flicks on that light, too. It’s a modest-sized room painted a muted, cool-toned gray, with a massive oak bed under the large window facing the front lawn. If I thought his living room furniture looked inviting, it’s got nothing on the bed covered in a thick blue and gray plaid comforter with four plump pillows.
“You sure are fond of plaid,” I tease.
Davis chuckles softly. Speaking just above a whisper, he says, “This is my room. It used to be Dad’s, but I moved my bed in here after he moved to his assisted living facility. You can have it, and I’ll take the couch until I can get a new bedroom set for my old room across the hall. I’ll stay in there when I’m home.” Before I can insist that he take the bed while I sleep in the living room, he says, “I’m going to get a crib for Lily tomorrow that we can put up across from the bed, but for now, I’ll get the cradle Dad made when my older sister was born from the garage.”
“Davis…you don’t have to do all that,” I say, twisting my hands, feeling like I’m taking advantage of his generosity after he’s done so, so much for us. “First the bedroom, now a crib?”
Davis walks to the left side of the bed to set down the bottles of water on the glass-topped matching nightstand, then holds up his hand. “Stop. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t. I’ve fallen asleep in the living room often enough to be comfortable. Besides, this room has an attached bathroom that’s bigger than the one in the hall.” He hikes his thumb over his shoulder toward the darkened open door behind him.
“This is too much,” I say feebly, and he shakes his head.
“Now, you take Lily. I’m pretty sure she needs a diaper change,” he says with a scrunched nose. “I’ll grab our bags from the truck, then get her cradle.”
Our hands brush as he passes her to me, and our eyes lock when I look up to thank him. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I also can’t look away. Standing close with Lily in my arms between us, he rubs his large hands up and down my upper arms. As if in slow motion, I tip my head back as Davis slides his hands up to cup my jaw, and he leans down to place a gentle kiss on my lips after tilting his head to the side so his ball cap doesn’t bump my forehead.
Almost immediately, he steps back and clears his throat. “Sorry, I…I don’t know why I did that.” He pulls his ball cap off to run his hands through his hair, shaking the flattened strands loose. Before I can tell him that I—for some strange reason—don’t mind, he turns and leaves the room.
After Davis returns with our bags and the wooden cradle he’s brought from the garage, he wipes it down with a soapy cloth and sets it up between the bed and the dresser on the right side of the room while I nurse Lily. Feeling totally out of my element, I very carefully give Lily a bath in the kitchen sink like one of the nurses in the hospital showed me how, much to Lily’s disapproval, while Davis takes a quick shower in the hall bathroom.
When I’m done, I stand in the middle of Davis’s bedroom, unsure what to do next. Lily is wide awake, though I’m dog tired, so I can’t just put her in the cradle while I go to sleep. Aunt Lydia would know what to do , I think, my heart sinking. It’s catching up to me, just in these last thirty minutes, how much of this I’m going to have to figure out and do on my own.
Davis knocks quietly on the open door, pulling me out of my depressing thoughts. His hair is towel-dried, sticking up every which way, and he’s dressed in black and gray plaid pajama pants, wearing a white undershirt that’s maybe a size or two too small, stretched taut across his shoulders and belly.
I can’t help but smile. “Seriously, you do know other patterns exist besides plaid, right?”
He huffs but smiles back. “Before I head to bed, how about I watch Lily so you can shower again? Get that smoke out of your hair.”
So. Maybe I don’t have to do this on my own. At least not yet.
Davis rifles through his dresser and walks back around the bed toward the bathroom. “I, uh, didn’t think to buy a second outfit, and I know you’re out of clean clothes. So you, um, can wear some of mine tonight before I show you how to use the washer and dryer out in the garage tomorrow.” He drops the pile on the bathroom counter that matches the long, sandy-beige granite countertops in the kitchen.
Our arms brush again when I hand Lily to him, but he lowers his eyes so we don’t share the intense eye contact that would possibly lead to another unexpected kiss. He rocks Lily side to side, then sits on the edge of the bed. I can’t help but watch for a few beats, my belly fluttering as he smiles and coos at Lily. Davis looks up and tilts his head in silent question, snapping me out of it.
Inside the bathroom, painted a pale yellow, I upend and arrange the small plastic bag with the postpartum care items the hospital provided me with on the counter. I stare at my heavy breasts and soft but still very swollen belly in the mirror while the water heats up. It’s such a bizarre feeling—feeling empty after carrying Lily for nine months. Almost wrong.
Davis had this look of marvel when he touched my belly before I gave birth, but I wonder what he would look like doing so now. Maybe his nose would wrinkle, same as my stretch marks. Not that he would have any reason to touch my belly now, of course.
I take my time in the shower, gingerly washing all my sore areas, and pull on the oversized plain white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants after hastily pulling a brush through my damp hair, which is sure to be a frizzy mess tomorrow. I return to the bedroom to find Davis dozing on top of the comforter, his head turned away from me on one of the plump pillows and his legs crossed at the ankles. He’s bare-chested now, Lily asleep lying flat on his chest, her cheek positioned right on top of his calla lily tattoo, with his hand resting on her back.
My breath hitches at the scene. My life may have gone to shit fast, but this…it’s a bright spot in the middle of so much pain.
When I gently move his hand so I can pick Lily up, he resists momentarily. “I was just resting my eyes,” he mumbles. It’s the same thing Aunt Lydia would say when I’d wake her up after she’d fallen asleep in her armchair.
“Sure you were,” I whisper with a quiet laugh.
He relaxes his hold when I gently raise Lily off his chest, check her breathing, and then place her on her back in the cradle. Once I’ve turned off the bedroom and bathroom lights, I survey Davis, asleep and snoring softly on the bed. The man has been mostly awake for probably close to forty-eight hours, and waking him up just to kick him out into the living room doesn’t seem fair. But I also can’t stomach the idea of sleeping in the living room so far away from Lily, who I’m sure will be awake in an hour or two for her next feed.
Figuring I can explain myself and beg forgiveness tomorrow morning, I slip under the comforter on the right closest to Lily, facing her on my side, and scoot back toward the middle next to Davis, finding comfort in his solid presence at my back. Right on the edge of falling asleep, Davis rolls over onto his side, too, and drapes his arm over my waist, spooning me from behind. I smile just before slipping out of consciousness.
Davis
With her head tucked under my chin, I bury my nose in her hair—so silky and lush—and slip my hand under her shirt, over the side of her soft belly, and up to cup her heavy tit. I moan as I roll her nipple, my cock hard and aching with the need to bury it inside her, already dripping with pre-cum. I abandon her tit a few seconds later to slip my hand down under the waistband of her pajama pants to play with her clit with the pad of my middle finger as I hump her ass lazily.
Fuck yes . My wife is already wet and—
Wait . Since when do I have a wife? And what’s that sound? It sounds like my baby is crying…
Wait, wait, wait . Since when do I have a baby?
My eyes snap open, moonlight filtering through the blinds, and I fling myself out of bed when my bleary eyes adjust enough to see the shadowy figure of a woman in my bed, and just past her, a cradle with a fussing baby. What the fuck? I stumble backward into the bathroom and flip the light switch on to find my hand streaked with blood. What the absolute fuck?
I spin around when the baby mewls to find Goldie rolling onto her back with a small smile that slowly fades, her mouth falling open when she sees my hand and face. She makes a little whimpering sound in the back of her throat as she sits up.
“I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was still half asleep, and I thought you were my—mine. And Jesus , I’m sorry, Goldie.”
My cock twitches in my pants under her gaze the longer she stares at me, and when Lily cries louder from her cradle, stealing her attention, I finally have the presence of mind to turn back around and close myself into the bathroom. Panicking, I shuck my pants and turn the shower on full blast to the coldest setting, then step into the large tub under the spray of water, punishing myself for what I’ve done.
Grabbing my bar of soap, I hurry to lather my hands to wash the blood off my fingers. My dick still hasn’t deflated, despite the icy water, and I’m sick. I’m so goddamn sick because I stroke it. I hate myself as I stroke my dick furiously, thinking about the weight of Goldie’s tit in my hand, her nipple hard between my fingers.
I slap my hand against the wall, barely biting back the roar of Goldie’s name when I orgasm, my dick swelling and jerking with each rope of cum that shoots out and drips down the small, white square tiles. My toes curl, and I almost lose my footing at the intense pleasure, utterly disgusted with myself.
As much as I would rather pack a bag and leave like a coward, I know I need to face Goldie and own up to my mistake—if you can call it that. Assault would be a more appropriate term. I have to apologize and assure her that it will never happen again. I’ll get on my knees and beg her forgiveness if need be.
Swinging open the bathroom door after pulling my pants back on, I come face to face with Goldie, sitting on the edge of the bed, nursing Lily. “So, uh, that was weird,” she says with a forced chuckle before I have a chance to speak. “I’m sorry.”
I rock back on my heels and grip the doorframe. “Am I living in the twilight zone? I came out here to beg you to forgive me for being a creep. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here last night or get under the covers with you.” Or stick my hand down your panties while you were asleep , but I can’t seem to say that part out loud.
She shakes her head and drops her eyes. “That was my fault. It was cold in here last night when Lily woke up a couple of hours ago, and I thought you might be freezing. I didn’t want to kick you out since I knew you were exhausted, so I pulled the covers over you.”
My head spins. “Are you seriously blaming yourself for what I did to you ?”
She goes on. “I should have gone to sleep on the couch, but your bed is amazing. I was so tired, and you were spooning me before, and it was warm and comfy, so I got back into bed and hoped you would cuddle me again. I shouldn’t have done that.”
As I imagined doing so, I drop to my knees in front of her. I’m almost as tall as she is sitting on the bed, and I reach up to cup her cheeks, angling her to look me in the eye. “Stop blaming yourself. I’m the one in the wrong, and I promise I will never touch you like that again.”
Her brows crease in the middle with a frown. And then, just as she did at the hospital, she shocks the hell out of both of us when she slips her hand behind my head and kisses me.
Instead of pulling away and figuring out what kind of alternate dimension I’ve woken up in, I slant my head to the side and slip my tongue between her lips. I want to taste her, morning breath and all. I drop my hands to her wide hips, yanking her closer to the edge, her thick thighs on either side of me.
And then I remember that one—we’re not alone. And two—Goldie just gave birth. What the fuck am I doing? I finally find the strength to pull away and sit back on my heels. If I expected Goldie to look or feel as heated as I do, I’m wrong. Her already pale skin loses its color.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why…” Goldie stands from the bed and takes a few steps to the side, biting the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Goldie shifts Lily to her shoulder and absently pats her back to burp her as she paces back and forth, the repetitive motion lulling Lily back to sleep.
I lurch to my feet and approach her but stop when she backs away and then rushes to lay Lily down in her cradle. Goldie finds her backpack and the bags I had left on the floor just inside the bedroom the night before, gathering them to drop them at the foot of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing. Thank you for everything. I mean it. But I…I can’t stay here. Maybe my dad will let me stay with him if I apologize until I can find somewhere else to go.”
I spin her around, battling between fear and anger at the thought of her leaving me to live with her dad. “You are never going back to your dad’s,” I tell her with more force than necessary, though I keep my voice low for Lily’s sake. “You are going to stay right here,” I say, pointing at the bed, “while you recover. I’m not going to allow you to put your or Lily’s health and safety at risk by going back to that shitty, dangerous apartment and living with that asshole.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Goldie’s eyes flash with warning, and she bares her teeth, replacing the woman who had kissed me softly just a few minutes ago with this feral creature. This is the side she showed when she first pulled the gun on me in New Mexico.
“Don’t you think for one second you can tell me what to do, Davis,” she hisses. “Where I can and can’t go. You’re not my dad or Lily’s either.”
Something inside me cracks, and I crowd her until the backs of her knees press against the mattress. I get right in her face as I drop my voice low. “Oh, yes, I am.”
She snaps, “You are what?”
“I am your Daddy ,” I growl, baring my own teeth. “And by law, I’m Lily’s father, too.”