Not gonna happen.
I rise to my feet abruptly, my chair scraping across the hardwood floor and then wobbling behind me. “This is my daughter! And if she doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s because you’ve kept her from me. The only way to get back to normal is to move forward.”
My parents look back and forth at each other, carrying on a silent conversation.
Mom tries again. “If you’ll just sleep on this, I think you’ll see that we—”
“No, Ma. No.” I stomp and the antique china cabinets rattle behind me. “She is my daughter, and this is my decision. You’re not going to keep her from me.”
“Son.” My dad’s voice deepens as he rises out of his own seat and meets my eyes from across the table. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s not going to work.
Jude pushes his chair back, ready to jump in and play peacemaker.
As for Cannon? His expression says he’d readily taser the fuck out of me if I start to get out of line. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Cannon was always the ruthless one. Don’t let the ridiculous man-bun fool you.
“I’ve sacrificed too much. So sorry, Father Dearest. There’s no way I’m going to just fade into the mist and leave my kid behind again.”
Dad’s jaw ticks. “No one is trying to keep Callie from you. But let’s be honest—it’s not really your decision. You know it’s more complicated than that.”
Ma touches my hand. “Your father’s right, dear. We have to work with the system, and you know that takes time.”
A feral sound escapes my chest. “I’m aware of how it works.” I grit out tersely. “But since you’re family, I assumed you’d do the right thing until we could sort out the legal stuff.”
Jude opens his mouth to throw in his two cents but a giggling flash of pink and yellow darts into the dining room. The flash comes to an abrupt halt when she sees the room full of people.
Time seems to stop around me, as I take in my daughter. My heart literally stutters at the sight of her tiny face.
Christ.
I’ve seen pictures, but she looks even older in person. It’s been more than three years since I’ve laid my sights on the girl. Those big, innocent eyes still hold the essence of her youth, as do her little hands. But her cheeks no longer squish up like the used to. She’s outgrown that cute, pudgy toddler phase, and now she’s so stinking tall—bird legs and all—wearing pajamas with some cartoon character splattered across her little belly. And I’d recognize that mess of blonde curls anywhere.
Callie’s widened eyes dart to her grandparents before returning to me. “D-daddy?” Her voice is hesitant. Almost as though she’s afraid...of me.
My arms are aching to wrap around my child, to pick her up and squeeze her tight, but she looks like a nervous baby deer. She looks like she’s about to run. I don’t want to scare her.
I’m bigger than I was a few years ago, bulky muscles cording my shoulders and biceps. Think that the movie cliché of jailbirds working out all day is just a bunch of bullshit? Well, let me tell you—when you suddenly find yourself with eighteen hours of free time each day, you put your body to work. And I’m sure my scruffy beard and tattooed forearms don’t exactly give off cuddly teddy bear vibes, either.
I drop to my knees on the floor in front of her. My heart thuds in awe as I take in every detail of her, examining her pretty face, noticing that same old freckle on her cheek and that little crease between her eyes. As gently as possible, I reach up and brush her wild hair back from her face.
She’s simply perfect.
When I was in prison, my parents refused to bring Callie to see me. It’s no environment for a child, they’d tell me. Especially a little girl.
I hated that they made up their minds without giving me a say. As her father, it should have been me making that call. Not them.
But when I stare into my daughter’s eyes, I know deep down it was the right decision. I’m glad she didn’t have to see me in there. In that dark, dingy place, where the only colors around were gray concrete and orange jumpsuits.
I’m about to answer Callie. To tell her that—yes, I am in fact her daddy—when a big laugh and tiny woman burst into the room. “Callie-Cal! Where are you?”
My attention snaps over to a teeny brunette with glittering brown eyes and a larger-than-life grin. Even this early in the freaking morning.
Her thick, long hair drapes down over her perky breasts, flowing almost to her tapered-in waist. She wears white sneakers with a fluttery, little pink ruffled dress that looks obnoxiously modest even while expertly highlighting her slim waist and athletic thighs. Throw some wings on this sparkling woman’s back, and she’d be a goddamned fairy.
My cock twitches.
I don’t like her. Already.
The miniature woman drops her attention to where I’m kneeling on the floor with my daughter.
She freezes in her tracks the moment our gazes lock.
3 Jessa
My canvas sneakers squeak to a cringe-worthy halt in the middle of the kitchen. I’m sure everyone in the room can hear my heart pounding. But my hammering pulse has nothing to do with all the running I’ve been doing, chasing Callie around the house. My erratic heartrate is all about the man on bended knee brushing the little girl’s hair from her face.
It’s him.
Oh, my god. It’s him.
Eli Kingston.
Tall and dark-haired with wide shoulders—but minus the twinkling smile. Rough beard taking up residence on his strong jaw. That body looking even more powerful in the plain black Henley sweater than it had in the business suit he wore in the photo on Callie’s night stand. The sleeves are pushed back to his elbows, revealing muscled forearms and ink.
Bad boy
