Chapter 8 #2
I nod. I’m not sure why I’m convinced Joker’s B isn’t a bad person.
I just am. Her notes to Daddy, the way she only takes small things that are easily replaced, the way she never damages anything.
I know it’s not okay; theft is wrong. I just feel like there might be some justification for what she’s doing, like our plans for liberating Harry-the-Goat.
Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons.
Even Daddy, who adheres as rigidly to rules as anyone I’ve ever met, agrees with that.
“Are you going tonight?” I ask.
Daddy rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “If Mac’s up for it, I think so. If not tonight, tomorrow. Club’s too busy over the weekend and Joker’s B almost never steals anything over the weekend anyway.”
“I’ll wait until Master Mac wakes up before I post the sleepover in the playgroup chat.”
Daddy nods. He checks his phone then puts it face down on the table.
We’ve already had breakfast so it’s not against the rules for him to check his phone but I know what he’s waiting for.
Max and Mr. De Leon are flying to England today.
Their take-off was delayed by a fault with the plane.
Max’s text said it wasn’t hard to repair but they needed to wait for a part to be delivered.
Daddy’s waiting for the text that says they’ve taken off.
“It will be okay, Daddy.” I squeeze his fingers.
“I know, baby. I’m just . . . excited? Anxious? Impatient? Nervous? I’m feeling a lot of things. I want Livvy to be here with us. I know it’s not long now. I just have that sense that things could go wrong at the last minute.”
I know he’s all those things. Logan has a good poker face but I’ve learned his tells over the last few months.
The way color pinkens his cheekbones even after he’s been sitting for several minutes; the way two fingers on his right hand keep tapping the table, his thigh, his teacup; they’re all signs of agitation.
And I know he’s precariously balanced right now.
That’s why I put the Batman sticker in my journal.
He’s my Batman Daddy as much as he’s my dragon-Daddy.
He feels driven to protect everyone around him.
I love that about him but it’s also a huge weight on his shoulders that he needs help managing.
“Do you want to call the hospital again?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Doctor Amadi has my number if anything changes. I don’t want to harass her. She’s been great about providing updates. She confirmed that Miranda’s visitation privileges were revoked yesterday. Miranda won’t have access to Livvy again before Max arrives. I just—”
“You’re just worried. It’s totally understandable, Daddy.”
“Thank you, baby. I don’t want you to worry. Max has dealt with Miranda before. He can handle her if she pulls anything at the eleventh hour.”
“If you don’t have to go to Jersey today, could we do something to get your mind off things until Master Mac wakes up?”
Daddy’s handsome face creases into a smile. “Yes, we certainly could. Is it a good day to visit the Rexes?”
“Really?” I bounce in my seat. “Or-or-or, could we visit the big ships instead because I’m saving the Rexes to visit with Livvy?”
Daddy took me to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum on a rainy day after Halloween.
I loved all the naval history but better than that was seeing Daddy’s fondness for the big ships.
He talked more about his time in the military while we were there than he ever has before.
Having him remember those times today might be a good pressure valve for his anxiety.
“You liked those big ships, huh? We could definitely do that.”
“And maybe Cappa could come with us? It’s near where he’s living now, isn’t it?”
Daddy hums. “We’re going to have a lot of people-ing once Livvy arrives, baby doll. Sure you wouldn’t like a day with just the two of us?”
I nod eagerly because I always want a day just with Daddy.
I feel selfish when I’ve kept him all to myself for too long, though.
So many people love Daddy and want to spend time with him.
I don’t want to deprive them, or isolate Daddy from his friends.
But I really do love spending time just with my Daddy.
Once we agree on the plan for the day, we move fast. I make sure Sable has food and water.
Sticking pork chops in marinade only takes a few minutes.
I leave a note for Mac and Bren telling them about the picnic leftovers in the fridge in case they’re hungry and reassuring Mac that I have dinner covered.
Then I run upstairs to let Daddy dress me and help him pack my backpack.
Now that the cooler weather’s settled in, Daddy loves seeing me in tights, a short skirt, and oversized sweaters.
There has to be a little pink, of course, because it’s Daddy.
But he’s gotten into my pastel Goth aesthetic more than I ever could have hoped.
Today, it’s stripey black and teal tights under a black cobweb-edged mini with a hot pink crinoline and an off-the-shoulder black sweater that says “Daddy’s Little Ghoul” in pink rhinestones, which Bren and I made after enduring days of Daddy’s terrible Halloween jokes.
The sweater has thumb holes in the sleeves so the cuffs make half-gloves, something I’ve always wanted, and corset-style lacing from my wrists to my elbows with dangly ribbon laces.
While Daddy laces up one sleeve, I sneak my black cat ears off the dresser and slide them into my curls. When Daddy looks up, I grin.
He chuckles. “That’s how it’s going to be today, huh, little girl?”
I nod. “It’s a cat ears kind of day, Daddy.”
“Then I think you need to wear something for Daddy.”
Uh-oh. Wearing something for Daddy is inevitably owie.
I try it on, as Daddy would say.
“But, Daddy, everything I’m wearing is for you.”
“Nice try, little girl. Go to the cupboard and get me the flat pink clamps.”
Grimacing, I shuffle to the big armoire where Logan keeps all of the instruments of nipple and bottom torture.
Tragically, I know where everything is by heart now.
I fish out the horrible clamps, which not only bite in but close over the tip and squish my poor nips flatter than pancakes.
The only good thing about them is the pretty pink enamel on the clamp’s face but even that quickly pales with how sore I’ll be from the nasty little teeth and squashy-squash-squash in a few hours.
Daddy fastens them on, left then right, his eyes holding mine and drinking in each flinch as the teeth pinch in and the top squashes.
He plants a kiss between my breasts before he smooths my sweater back down over my breasts.
I look down, hoping that the clamps will be visible under the sweater, since Daddy didn’t give me a bra to wear today.
He doesn’t like other people to be able to see my nipples, so maybe he’ll take the awful clamps off if they’re too visible.
But no, any outline that might show against the cloth is covered by the “Daddy’s Little Ghoul” lettering. I sigh, resigned to a day of nipple torture.
“I’ll check them every hour, baby doll. Yellow if you need a check-in sooner.”
“Ta, Daddy. Thank you for taking care of me even if your nasty nipple clamps are more bitey than a Rottweiler.”
Logan laughs. “What are you like, little girl?”
“I’m like a baby with chewed-up nips.”
“I’ll make sure they’re not too chewed-up in an hour. If you can keep them on through lunch, I’ll make time to fuck my baby good and hard before I go to Jersey. How’s that for a good deal?”
“Deal, Daddy!”
“That’s better. There’s my enthusiastic girl. Let’s go have fun.”
Despite the horrible clamps, we do.
New York’s changeable fall weather cooperates, spitting rain while we’re on the train but clearing to blue skies and scudding gray clouds as we walk down to Pier 86.
Daddy’s quiet as we clamber over the huge aircraft carrier.
I make him pose with me since he looks extra rugged and Daddyish today.
He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his beard has come in dark and soft.
Daddy’s eyes are always wolfy and magnetic but never more so than when he wraps me in his arms and poses for selfies.
His white teeth flash when he sneaks a hand up my sweater to tug on one of the clamps, which gets me squealing and batting at him.
He captures a shot of that on his own phone and sends it to the playgroup chat, which causes my phone to light up with suggestions from the Littles’ Army on how to deal with nipple-clamping daddies.
He gets more serious when we get on the submarine.
He tells me about the men in his unit, including Manny and Max, and what it was like to live and work in such confined quarters.
That Max is an unbeatable chess player doesn’t surprise me; that Manny is good enough at Uno to play at the competitive level does.
“I didn’t even know there was such a thing, Daddy,” I say as I peer into one of the bunk rooms.
“Mmm-hmm. First world championship was held not too long ago. Manny was invited to play in the qualifying rounds but he turned them down. Too busy with our business, Jen, and the kids.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t ever get drawn into playing Manny for anything but pennies. He’s phenomenal at Uno but he’s also damn good with other card games. He used to clean me out regularly at blackjack and poker, too, the bastard.”
I giggle, imagining Logan’s chagrin losing to his business partner. Daddy’s very good at games. Card games, board games, sports games, Daddy loves them. Except Hearts. There, I reign supreme.
“Does he play Hearts, Daddy?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen him play Hearts.” Logan rubs his hand over his mouth. “You are extremely good at Hearts.”
“Blunts’ Hearts Crowned Champion,” I say, pretending to buff my nails against my sweater but not actually doing it because I don’t want my sweater to press against the nipple clamps. They are owie enough.
Logan claps his hands together. “I know what we’re doing after dinner the next time Manny and Jen come over.”
Grinning, happy to have diverted Daddy both from his worries about the Great Baby Caper and somber memories of his time in the Navy, I link my arm through Daddy’s as we tour the rest of the sub.