Chapter 7
seven
AIDAN
“That was so much fun.” Isla’s sleepy voice drifts through the quiet room, her face still lit with the excitement from the night, even if the rest of her is sinking into the softness of the covers. She’s got her stuffed bunny clutched tight against her chest.
“Yeah?” I drop onto the edge of her bed, brushing a loose curl from her face. “You had fun decorating cookies, huh?”
“Mmhmm.” She nods, her curls bouncing with the motion. “And Lucy said mine was the prettiest one she’d ever seen. Did you see her smile, Daddy? She has a really pretty smile.”
I grunt, feeling that tightness in my chest. “Yeah, she seems nice,” I mutter, hoping that’s enough to shut this down.
“Daddy,” she whines, dragging the word out in that singsong tone that means I’m not getting off easy. “Can we go back again soon? Please?”
I hesitate, my gaze shifting to the small window. “We’ll see,” I finally say, standing up and tucking the blankets tighter around her.
“Good night, Daddy,” she mumbles, eyes already drifting shut.
“Night, love,” I whisper, flicking off the light and easing the door shut behind me.
I head downstairs, running a hand through my hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. Innocent people like Lucy don’t belong in my world. But hell if she doesn’t make me wish things could be different.
I need a drink. A strong one.
I make my way to the kitchen, the old hardwood creaking beneath my weight. The whisky bottle’s there on the counter, just waiting. I pour a heavy splash into a tumbler, the amber liquid sloshing as it fills.
I take a sip, relishing that familiar burn as it slides down my throat. No matter how much I try to focus on the warmth spreading through me, though, Lucy’s smile keeps playing behind my eyes. The way she looked at Isla, that kindness in her gaze… It stirred something I thought I buried years ago.
I swirl the whisky in my glass, watching the liquid catch the light. Another sip. What am I even doing? I came here for a fresh start, to give Isla some stability. Not to pine after the first beautiful woman I saw.
I exhale sharply, slamming the glass down harder than I mean to. I rub the back of my neck, glancing at the clock. I should probably head to bed.
As I climb the stairs, I already know sleep will be a losing battle. That smile has itself lodged somewhere it doesn’t belong, and I’ve got no fucking clue how to get rid of it.
The next morning, I’m bleary-eyed and irritable, trying to pour Isla’s cereal without spilling it everywhere. She’s still buzzing from last night, chattering away with endless energy, while I grunt out half-hearted responses, just trying to keep my head from splitting.
“Daddy, can we go to Lucy’s café today?” Isla asks, her spoon clinking against the bowl.
I wince at the sound. “Not today, sweetheart. Daddy’s got work to do.”
Her face falls, and the guilt hits me. But what choice do I have? This house needs too much work. Two weeks isn’t gonna cut it. It’s more of a construction site than a home right now.
The kitchen faucet’s still dripping, and the draft creeping through the windows isn’t letting up.
It’s as if the house itself is daring me to crack, testing how much I can take before I break.
And maybe I deserve it. Maybe all this frustration is mine to own for dragging Isla into a life where I’m always too busy, always fixing things, always chasing something just out of reach.
“Daddy?” Her small voice breaks through the noise in my head, her hand tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Maybe another time?”
Her hopeful tone twists the knife in my gut. I crouch down to her level. “Yeah, love. We’ll go soon.”
The way her face lights up shouldn’t feel like a victory, but it does.
“Besides, Nana is going to stop by today,” I remind her, watching her eyes widen with excitement.
“I forgot!” She squeals, bouncing in her seat. “Can I show her my new drawings?”
“I’m sure Nana would love that.”
Right on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Isla bolts from her chair, nearly sending her cereal flying in her rush.
“Nana!” Isla cries, throwing herself into my mother’s arms.
“There’s my little sunshine,” Mum says, lifting Isla up and showering her with kisses. She glances over Isla’s head at me. “Aidan, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward.”
I grunt in response. “Thanks.”
I finish off my lukewarm coffee as I listen to Isla’s animated chatter, showing off her latest work of art she’s added to her ever-growing gallery on the fridge.
A familiar ache hits me deep. This is how it should be. Surrounded by family, loved, and being doted on. Not stuck in a half-finished house with a father who’s barely keeping his head above water.
“And this one,” Isla says, pointing to a colorful blob that might be a cat, or a very misshapen horse, “is Fluffy. The cat I want.”
Ah. So it is a cat.
Wait.
“The cat you…want?” I wince.
“Aye,” she says matter-of-factly. “Every princess needs a cat.”
“Every princess needs a…cat,” I repeat, still trying to wrap my head around it.
She lets out a sigh, one of those exasperated ones no four-year-old should be capable of. “Isn’t that what I said?”
I glance over at Mum, hoping she’ll throw me a lifeline here, but I couldn’t be more wrong. She’s doubled over in laughter, practically in stitches. Great.
“Oh, this is payback, dear,” Mum gasps between breaths, wiping her eyes. “It’s like watching you thirty years ago. Minus the princess thing.”
This kills me. Isla asking for all the normal things I can’t give her. A pet, a real home, the kind of stability every kid deserves. I doubt Mum’s keen on us carting a cat back and forth to her place every two weeks, but even if she didn’t mind, it’s not fair to the damn animal.
This isn’t the first time I’ve realized my job just doesn’t work for us anymore. It was tough when Isla was a baby, but the money was decent, and her mother was still around. For a while, anyway. Long enough to fool myself into thinking it might all work out. Except now it’s just the two of us.
Fuck. I need to get out of my head. There’s work to be done, and it sure as hell won’t magically finish itself while I sit here feeling sorry for myself.
I glance at the list I scrawled on a scrap of paper earlier—patch the hole in the living room wall, finish painting Isla’s room, replace the leaky kitchen tap.
“I’m gonna get to work,” I mutter more to myself than anyone else.
I head straight to Isla’s room first. I promised her a pink room, her princess castle, and I intend to make good on that.
As I lay out the drop cloth and pop open the paint can, Isla’s giggles float up the stairs, followed by a loud thud. “Everything all right down there?” I call out.
“We’re building a fort!” Isla yells back.
The sound of her laughter cuts through the heaviness in my chest. The house might not be perfect yet, but it’s a start for both of us.
I’m finishing the second coat of paint when Isla pads into the room, her favorite stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand. She plops down on the drop cloth, careful not to touch the wet walls, and tilts her head to look up at me.
“Daddy, can we invite Miss Lucy over?”
The question throws me. I glance down, wiping paint off my hands. “Why would we do that?”
“She’s nice,” Isla says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And she said we could ask her for anything. Remember?”
“Lucy’s got her own things to do,” I say. “She’s busy running the café.”
Isla doesn’t look convinced. “But I like her. And I think she likes you.”
I huff out a laugh. “Isla, just because someone’s nice doesn’t mean—”
“She smiled at you,” she interrupts, as if that’s all the proof she needs.
I shake my head, trying not to let the heat creep into my face. “Go on, love. You’ve got fort-building to finish.”
As she skips out of the room, I lean back on my heels, staring at the now pink walls. Invite Lucy over? What kind of idea was that?
I haven’t let a woman close to us ever. Haven’t even looked at one, honestly. What’s the point? It’s not like I’ve got time for dating with my schedule. Two weeks on the rig, two weeks home, trying to make up for lost time with my daughter. That’s my focus. That’s all I’ve got room for.
Besides, the last time I let someone in, it damn near destroyed me. Isla’s mum left a mark I’ll probably never get rid of. That same mark is on Isla, too, even if she’s too young to remember. I can’t risk that again.
So, no. I’m not letting my mind drift into unrealistic fantasies of someone new stepping into our world. I’m silencing that thought before it ever even starts.