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

by Fae Quin

You think you’ve seen everything by the time you hit thirty-seven. But then a familiar tiny blond eleven-year-old shows up at your house just after dark, wielding a baseball bat in one hand and an inhaler in the other. And he threatens you with it—the bat, not the inhaler—until you agree to take his dad on a date, and you realize you were wrong. You definitely haven’t seen everything. Nope. Not even close.

It was so goddamn perfect a picture of it should’ve been under “world’s most fuckable ass” in the Guinness Book of World Records.

“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.

“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.

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

just wanna let someone else be strong for a change.”

“Let me carry the weight for you. Let me be in charge. Let me hold you. Let me fuck you. Talk to me when you need to—pick me. Let me in. Let me fight your battles. Let me stand beside you. Let me share your secrets. Let me keep you safe.” I swallowed. “Please—” My voice cracked. “I’ve never felt the way I do for you, and it’s scary and wonderful—but god. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Love was patience. Love was imperfection. Love felt like…falling knowing there was somewhere soft to land.