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.

Jesus. Those eyes. Holy hell. How could they even be real? When had they gotten so green? Like soda bottles, or sea glass. Smooth pieces of stone that lay hidden at the bottom of the lake somehow finding their way to shore every summer just in time for rowdy little boys and their older brothers to pick them up, take them home, and add them to their growing collections. I’d spent days in the sweltering heat collecting stones the color of Rooster’s eyes. Pale and vibrant all at the same time. For years they’d sat on my window sill, catching sunbeams in the same way I bet his eyes did.

I’d never reacted this way to someone else. Like his voice wrapped me in a warm hug and simultaneously sucked my cock into somewhere warm and tight. Full body shudders. Jesus. I didn’t know if I wanted to hold him or fuck him—or both. Definitely both.

“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.

My pulse was still racing. My hands shook. My entire body was full of butterflies, fluttering their wings so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. I’d never fallen in love before. Never had a crush. But there was no other explanation for what this feeling was. And I’d already fucking screwed it up.

For years it had felt like something was missing in our little household of two. Now I knew what it was. Or more accurately, who it was. A big ridiculous man, with a smile that could charm a snake out of a barrel.

I watched Trent Montgomery steal my son’s heart the same way he’d stolen mine. With that wicked smile. And those kind, steady eyes. And a heart so big he had no choice but to share it with the world.

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

Quicker than I could blink, I was halfway to the playground, alarm bells ringing in my head, and anger unlike anything I’d ever felt before burning hot and ashy in my chest. I ate up the distance faster than if I’d been flying, my vision going red-hot with rage. 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.

I hugged him. He smelled like pine trees and aftershave. I tucked my face against his neck. I let the soft scent of him soothe me as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hid against his bulk. My outsides had never matched my insides. My body was bigger than I felt I should be, but in that moment, as Trent squeezed me back, his arms snug around my waist, my size didn’t matter.

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.

Rooster was solid and warm. Cinnamon sugar. He smelled like cinnamon sugar. I held on tight. And the way he melted against me had my heart racing and my toes curling in my boots. I’d never been so viscerally affected by someone else’s touch. Never felt sick with need, desperate and grateful—like the innocent brush of his lashes against my skin or his soft as sin lips against my throat was enough to make me burst into flames. No sparks. My. Ass. Goddamn fireworks were going off inside me.

I’d waited for this moment. Ached for it. Ached to hear that voice—sweet as honey, low and melodic. Ached for the words to be mine, and mine alone. Ached to soak up his lilting accent, to memorize every dip and cadence. And now that I’d had a taste, I wasn’t ready to let him go.

I was a player, a slut, a flirt—all those things. I’d been proud of that too, until recently. Now there was only one bed I wanted to fall into. One body I wanted to sink inside. One mouth I wanted to kiss. One set of arms I wanted to call my home.

If I’d been a better man, and a better friend, I wouldn’t have checked out his ass as it jiggled when he walked. But…Jesus had said love thy neighbor, hadn’t he?

The way he looked at me when I did was enough to make my heart do somersaults in my chest. Like my laugh was the single most amazing thing he’d ever heard.

I traced the shape of his cheek with my eyes, then my fingers—when I realized I was allowed to. I pushed his hair back. I watched his lashes flutter, and I thought, maybe if I was lucky enough, Trent would be the first person to stay with me. I could make a home here with him.

It was funny how I’d had sex more times than I could count, but I’d never felt intimacy like this.

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

I’d taken the empty holes in my childhood and filled them in. I hadn’t wanted Bubba to fall the way I’d grown up falling. Maybe Trent’s craters weren’t a mirror of mine, but we both had cracks to fill, and people we hid them from.

“The truth is, I’m terrified all the time, but of you especially,” Trent admitted, his eyes searching mine. “Of…me?” The idea was so ridiculous I wanted to laugh. “Yes.” Trent’s voice wobbled. “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.”

“I look at you and I feel fluttery all over, like I’m five on a playground and all I wanna do is pull your goddamn pigtails. You make me nervous—I’ve never been nervous before—and I don’t know how the hell to get you to like me, especially since I made such a mess of things before.”

“This is Sergeant Pecker,” Rooster introduced his rooster. I couldn’t help but laugh, my grip on my thermos wobbling as the chicken released a menacing sounding burble toward me. “Of course it is,” I snorted, unable to contain my mirth.

“God, you have the prettiest damn smile I’ve ever seen, you know that?” I stopped laughing, but the smile stayed firmly on my face as I ducked my head, unable to look him in the eye. “Prettier than sunsets over the mountaintops, or dew on grass, or the lake my dad took us to when we were little.” Trent swallowed, and I stared at the stubble that decorated his jawline, embarrassed—and happier than I’d been my entire life. “If I could bottle it up like sunshine I would. Put it on my mantel and save it for a rainy day when I need it the most.” “Or you could ask me to smile for you?” I offered, surprised by my own forwardness.

Miles was everything I’d never known I needed. Serious when he needed to be, loyal, protective—and yet…playful, soft, and needy. He was the kind of person that made a house a home. The kind of person who took his trauma and used it to make the world a more beautiful place. He was as strong as he was needy. Lost as he was found. He made me feel stronger than I’d ever been before. I needed him. He needed me. The tide and the moon.

Apparently, I’d been doing sex all wrong, and it had never had anything to do with my sexual position. No. I didn’t think I’d ever had sex with someone I actually trusted. Someone I knew would take care of me. Someone who would let me unburden myself and relax.

Trent had sex the way he did everything else—with a naughty grin, and more enthusiasm than a single person should have.

“I think Pops loves you, but I think you love him more. And maybe now you’re around I don’t have to protect him anymore. You can do it for me.”

He was comfort. He was companionship. He was tranquil lake water and tumbled river stones. He was innocence. First love the way it’s meant to be. He was happy days, butterflies, and the promise of a future all wrapped in a big cow print covered body.

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

“You don’t need to earn love, baby. That’s the best part about being human. We make mistakes, sure. But we all deserve to be loved.”

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is that…I’m scared of a lot of things,” I admitted, and my voice wobbled. “But I’m not scared of you. Not anymore.”