You Can Count On Me (Christmas Daddies, #2)

by Fae Quin

“Pops says violence is never the answer,” Bubba quoted again, but his eyes were full of mischief this time. “But Theodore Roosevelt said ‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’ And he was the president, so…” He shrugged as if that explained everything.

These two lost boys had me wrapped around their little fingers and they didn’t even know it.

No one touched what was mine and got away with it. No one.

“Did you just spill milk all over my kid’s fucking backpack?” Trent’s voice was low, dangerous. Calm as a river just waiting to drown you.

There was so much I needed to figure out, but that was okay. It was all okay. Because Trent was sunshine, laughter, and broad shoulders. And he might be strong enough to carry us both.

No sparks. My. Ass. Goddamn fireworks were going off inside me.

I raised my eyes to Heaven, praying for strength. Please God, help me so I don’t beg to lick his ass. Amen.

And now I was running again. But this time I was running toward something. Toward Rooster, and Bubba, and a life I’d never admitted I wanted. Toward being a father—even though I knew I wasn’t good enough for that. Toward being a lover, and a partner. The person to protect Rooster when he got that lost, scared look in his eyes. Toward a man who wanted to carry my burdens the way I wanted to carry his. Toward comfort, and shared beers, warm meals, and laugh lines. Toward home. A home that had a space for me, and all my broken brittle pieces. Where I was important. Where I was loved. Where I was needed. Me. Irreplaceable, in a way I’d never been before.

“It’s okay, Pops,” Bubba reassured him. “I can be big for you sometimes, if you need it. I don’t mind.”

He was everything I’d never known I wanted. A miracle dressed in cow print flannel.

Wasn’t like I was about to tell Trent’s damn mama that the only books I read were ones that had more sex than plot and a whole lot of dicks. Even monster ones. Especially monster ones. With knots.

I’d been manhandled, kissed, pampered, and plied with gallons of hot chocolate. My belly was full. My baby was safe. My best friend was waiting…

Any man that looked that good in beat up jeans and flannel deserved a second chance.

“I’m terrified because you’re everything. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And for the first time in my life, every action I take is wrong, wrong, wrong. I don’t have sweet words. My silver tongue gets tangled. You make my hands sweaty, and my heart race. I feel like I’m in goddamn grade school when you’re around.”

Words were tricky, slippery things. But they could free you too.

I was not, by nature, a jealous person myself so I didn’t understand the emotion firsthand. But I’d certainly read enough books where the alpha male got all posture-y and growly about it and…wow. This was my reality now. Sexy alpha male. Jealous. Over me!

The scent of his pine cologne tickled my nose as I pressed my face into his neck and inhaled. He squeezed us tight in response, and suddenly the crowd wasn’t too loud anymore. The world wasn’t too colorful. Everything was just right.

I should send a thank you card to all the other dicks that Trent had sucked, because clearly his skills came from experience.

His socks had holes. That’s probably how all the mischief managed to sneak in.

“I freaking knew it! Triles is real!”

Being a dad wasn’t about the title. It wasn’t about perfection. Being a dad meant showing up when you were needed. It was as simple as that.