Chapter 6 Phantom
PHANTOM
I wake up early Saturday morning to another raging hard-on. The dream I had about Poppy ended with me doing filthy things with that full mouth of hers. I’ve had the same dream every night since she agreed to have dinner with me.
If things were different, I’d pick a woman at the compound and work out this frustration the right way. But I’m a full-time dad now, and that means the only release I’m getting is with the woman in my dreams.
I take care of business thinking about Poppy’s big brown eyes, then climb out of bed, the faint light of early morning starting to make it past my room-darkening curtains.
The house I live in now is nothing like the places I grew up. I shove aside the curtains, and instead of a graffiti-covered alley with overflowing dumpsters, junkies, and sex workers, I see nothing but blue and green.
My large, open backyard runs right up to a small dock I built with my own hands. I have a couple of kayaks and some inflatable tubes that the girls have floated on every night until the bug spray failed them and they came running in for dinner.
I crack my window and let in some fresh air. It’s peaceful. No concrete jail yard. No drunken prospects puking on the gravel.
The sound of water running through the pipes reminds me that I’m not alone. Two teenagers bring more noise, and God, the smells—all good, mind you, but the body sprays, hand lotions, and shower gels that seem to stink up every room make me feel like I’ve been dipped in fruit-flavored candy.
And I love every single second of it.
I head down to the garage for a workout, lifting weights and running on the treadmill beside my bike until I’m wrecked. When I go back inside to shower, Daisy is in the kitchen, sitting at the table in her pajamas with a glass of juice and her tablet.
“You’re up early,” I say, heading to the cabinet. “It’s Saturday. You can sleep in, you know.”
“Dad, how old did you say Poppy’s son was?” she asks.
I shrug. “Don’t remember.” I load up the coffeemaker and throw her a look. “Younger than you, I think. Why?”
She waves her hand. “I want to start babysitting next summer. Maybe Poppy’s son can be my first client.”
I wipe my sweaty forehead with the hem of my T-shirt. “Sounds like a plan,” I tell her.
“What kind of restaurant is it?” she asks. “Where are we going?”
The blue stripe of color in her hair is tangled at the top of a messy bun. She sounds so serious. She’s deep in planning mode. I pour myself a cup of black coffee, kiss her head, and sit down beside her.
“Ew, you’re so sweaty,” she frowns.
“Worked out,” I say, drinking my coffee.
“I hope you plan on cleaning up before your big date.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches into a smile that my extremely focused kid doesn’t notice. “It’s not a date, Dais. It’s a meal.”
“Why do adults always try to overcomplicate things?” she asks. “Like, seriously, Dad. Who asks somebody they hardly know out to dinner just as friends? You’re actually not friends. So, it’s a date. A weird one with kids, but whatever. You do you, boo boo.”
I almost choke on my coffee. “You’re thirteen years old,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be playing video games or something?”
“Oh, I will,” she says. “But first, breakfast. I’m feeling omelets.”
She turns off her tablet and heads to the fridge. She pulls out all the ingredients and gets to work. The last few days have been a blur of adjusting to the new normal. Buying food was easy. I just let the kids drive the shopping cart and get what they wanted.
But seeing how grown up my girls are has been hard.
In the past when they’ve slept over, we often stayed at the compound and ran out for breakfast to a diner or a donut shop.
But I told the kids they need to live their lives like they would if they were with their mom, just with the other parent.
I want the transition to feel as close to normal as I can make it.
And they’ve shown me too much about what normal with Shayla was like.
The first night, Holly asked me what time I wanted her to wake me up in the morning.
“Why would you wake me up?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was stupid. “You need to take us to school, Dad. The bus won’t pick us up at your house—”
“Our house,” I corrected and held up a hand. “I know about the bus, Hols. I’m asking why I would need my daughter to wake my ass up in the morning. I know how to set an alarm.”
Holly was silent as she thought about that. “Are you sure you’ll get up, though? I mean, if we’re late…”
I raked a hand through my hair and tried not to yank it from the roots. “Isn’t it normally the parent screaming at the kids to get up and get ready for school on time?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know.”
But I did. I knew exactly what that meant. Just like I got it when, on Friday night, Holly walked into my room and helped herself to my clothing hamper.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.
“When do you do laundry?” she asked, looking apologetic.
“Whenever the hell I want to,” I say, pointing for her to set down the basket. “And I do my laundry my damn self.”
Holly nodded. “Even towels? I can throw yours in with ours.”
“Even towels.” I’d growled and taken my basket back from Holly.
Part of me was proud that my kids were so damn capable. Getting themselves up for school, making their own lunches, doing laundry. But this isn’t basic shit.
Daisy does almost all the cooking. At thirteen, I still ate cold hot dogs out of the package.
At thirteen, my kid makes omelets and salads, burgers and chicken with rice.
She’s so short she still needs to climb onto the counter to reach the spices she made me buy, yet she’s up there right now, pulling out I don’t even know what.
And I truly don’t. What the fuck kind of spice goes into an omelet other than salt?
It took less than a week of living with these kids full-time to see that my daughters spent a hell of a lot of time making sure Shayla’s life worked. They’re in no sports, no clubs. They don’t hang out at their friends’ houses or have sleepovers. “Cuz Mom doesn’t trust strangers.”
I don’t know what normal kids should do, but I’m sure as hell not going to let these kids play momma with me.
“Leave it,” I say to Daisy, taking the carton of eggs from her hand. “I’ll cook.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Dad, no disrespect, but are you serious?”
I know I can’t cook for shit, so this is one thing I’ll cave on. “All right,” I relent, handing her the carton. “I’ll go shower.”
“Now?” She whirls on me, an accusing look on her face. “Are you going to shower again later? You have a date tonight.”
I pinch my brows between two fingers. Daisy is definitely the micromanager of the two, and the last thing I need is my daughter telling me when and how to bathe. But then I catch myself. This is being a dad. Respecting what she says. Listening to her opinions. And besides, she’s not wrong.
I lift the bottom of my tee and mop my sweaty face dry, then open my arms for a hug. “Come here,” I tell her. “How would I live without your advice? Give your old dad a hug.”
“Ew, no. Go shower.” She backs toward the stove. “Dad, get away. You’re disgusting.”
I leave my youngest cooking up some delicious-smelling shit on the stove and head upstairs to my room with a smile on my face. I never expected this full-time dad shit to be easy, but so far, it’s fucking awesome. Which makes me feel even more worried about how Shayla is doing without them.
It’s noon before Holly stumbles down the stairs, her eyes puffy. She looks exhausted and stressed.
“Hey, kid.” I’m reading a text on my phone from Savage, and I am not happy.
“Sorry, Dad.” Holly walks over to the fridge and pours herself a huge glass of water.
“For what?” I ask, putting down my phone before I crack it. “What happened?”
She drops into a kitchen chair beside me and cocks her head. “Where’s Dais?”
I jerk a thumb toward the sliding glass door that leads from my kitchen to the yard. “Reading outside. She left you a plate in the fridge.”
Holly helps herself to the plate, sniffs it, and then puts it in the microwave. “Yum,” she says. “I’m starving.” She punches the buttons to heat up her food. “I haven’t had my own room in like ever. And it’s so quiet here. I can’t believe I slept this late. Is there anything you need me to do?”
I get up, grab my wallet, and leave some cash on the counter.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Be a fucking teenager. Talk on the phone to your friends—except that Tyler asshole. Your girl friends. Play games on your phone. I don’t know.
Whatever you normally do on a Saturday.” I point to the cash.
“I don’t need you to do a damn thing except enjoy a day off school.
Order a pizza or something for lunch if you want it. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Where are you going? You have a date tonight, remember?” She pops two slices of bread into the toaster and looks at me in warning. “What time is the reservation?”
Now I see what they mean about girls ruling the world. Society could come to an end, and me and Savage, Shadow, even that Tyler shithead, would all be beating one another to a pulp and eating dirt, while women would keep people fed, clean, and getting where they needed to be on time.
“Hols,” I say, trying not to sound shitty. “I’m a grown-ass man. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
She nods. “Okay. If you want to make a good first impression, though, you might want to be early. Not on time. Like five minutes early. It sends a message.” Her toast pops up, and she grabs butter from the fridge. “Oh, and pick up flowers if you have time.”
Now, that is actually a good idea. One I wouldn’t have thought of.
“Anything else, boss?” I ask.
“Do you mind if we Uber to the mall?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No rideshares by yourself. I’ll have one of the guys come and drive you. You need more money?” I peel off another hundred.
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that, Dad.”
I come around the table and grip her shoulders in my hands.
“Hols, I’m not an ATM, but this is your first weekend away from your normal schedule.
If you want to go to the mall and have some fun, I’m giving you money to do it.
” I peel off another hundred, but then I freeze.
“Is Tyler working today? Is this about a boy?”
Holly looks shocked and then laughs. “Oh my God, Dad. I’m not a stalker. I wanted to pick up some supplies, that’s all.”
My pulse calms a little. “No boys. I can’t go back to prison.”
She chuckles. “I’m glad you’re doing this, Dad.”
“Doing what?”
“This date,” she says, loading her eggs onto the toast to make a sandwich. “You’ve been single as long as I can remember. You should find someone, you know? Not every woman is going to treat you like Mom did.”
My breath catches in my throat. “This isn’t a date,” I tell her, despite what I said when I asked Poppy out.
“This is about being…” I don’t know what to say.
I sure as fuck don’t want to tell my fifteen-year-old daughter that I couldn’t think of a better way to see the sexy salon owner again.
“Grateful. She did right by you girls, and paying the bill was the least she deserved. Dinner is a gesture.”
Holly gives me a smug smile. “Okay, Dad. Whatever you say. It’s totally not a date because you’re not single and Poppy isn’t beautiful. Cool. Got it.”
“Text me when you need a ride,” I grumble, shaking my head.
These girls. They are too damned smart for their own good—or my own good.
I shout goodbye to Daisy through the patio doors and hop on my bike. This may be my new normal at home, but it’s business as usual at the club. And Daddy’s got to go to work.