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

by Fae Quin

There was a flicker of hurt still there. Hidden behind his confusion, trembling quietly. I’d done that. I’d hurt him. Jesus.

For someone like me, friendships were precious, rare things.

It was the first night he’d come over without my little matchmaker at his side. Without a mission to accomplish. It was the first time he’d come for me. Just me. Because we were friends.

“You don’t have to talk,” he’d said simply, lips quirking up. “It’s okay.” Poof, like magic, the couch became comfortable again, my heart no longer felt two sizes too big. The game wasn’t too loud. My breathing slowed, and just like that, I was fine.

Even though I was a few inches taller than him, he sure made me feel small. Not in the way other people had made me feel small in the past. Belittled. Disrespected. Unloved. No. I felt small in an entirely new way. Safe. Comforted. Valued. Like now that he was around, there was a real adult to take care of whatever trouble might befall us. I didn’t have to stand quite so tall, or be quite so perfect.

“Mr. Montgomery was my dad,” I corrected him with a grin. Dad would’ve loved Bubba. “You can call me Trent, or nothing at all.” “Alright, nothing at all.” The cheeky grin he flashed my way made my heart throb. “Aren’t you a little young for dad jokes?”

I wanted to protect this damn kid. Funny how a few short weeks ago I’d been so adamant I’d never get involved with a single dad because of the commitment. Hell, I wasn’t even involved with Rooster yet and I was already fucking committed. 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.

took in a breath. Despite my fear, I caught up quick enough to Trent to catch the tail end of his conversation. What had happened? Why had he run like that? Why— “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.

Forward, I went. The threat of the future not quite so frightening. Forward. I could do this. I could do this. I could— I spoke. “Thank you,” the words stuttered out, shy and tentative, hidden safe against the soft skin of his throat as I held on tight and let him take some of the weight from my shoulders. “Thank you, Trent.” I moved forward. It was barely an inch, but that was enough.

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.

Trent kept glancing over at me, a knowing glint in his gaze, like he was grateful I was here. Like he was glad that I was hearing this. His eyes said, stay. His eyes said, listen. His eyes said, I have your back. They said, you’re not alone anymore.

“Close your eyes.” I closed my eyes, and he squeezed my hip in reward. “I’ve got you,” he repeated a second time, and this time I felt it in my very bones. I’ve got you. I fell asleep like that, and my dreams couldn’t hold a candle to reality when I woke up the next morning with Trent still wrapped around me.

For so long, my contradictions had hurt more than they helped, but I’d been stuck all the same. And now I was running again. But this time I was running toward something.

Toward comfort, and shared beers, warm meals, and laugh lines. Toward home.

Where I was important. Where I was loved. Where I was needed. Me. Irreplaceable, in a way I’d never been before.

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted anymore, only that I wanted more.

“It’s okay, baby,” I repeated, heart breaking the second I spotted the tears that slipped beneath his fingers. “It’s over now. It’s done. Everything is fine. I’m here. I’m here.”

I was tired of being a mistake. Tired of years and years of letting my life pass me by because I was too damn scared to take a chance. Tired of never meeting someone worth taking a chance for. Tired of forgetting to live. Tired of letting my past act as a tourniquet on my future. Tired of being silent.

“Messing up our date… Not paying attention to how uncomfortable you were… Not trying to ease that pain—” His breath caught and he shook his head a second time, more violently. “Not trying harder. Not trying to understand—” I flipped my hand over and squeezed his right back. He exhaled like a popped balloon, deflating as our fingers tangled and the unspoken distance that had existed between us—invisible but unsurpassable—since that first night began to close inch by inch. “That was the stupidest, sorriest thing I’ve ever done in my whole fucking life.”

His eyes willed me to understand. They said, I’m sorry I mistreated you. They said, I’m not perfect. They said, I’m trying. They said, it hurts.

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 couldn’t believe that I made him nervous. I made him nervous.

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

I bet he’d never been touched the way I wanted to touch him. Loved the way I wanted to love him. Appreciated the way I wanted to appreciate him.

Miles’s voice wobbled. “I hated myself for years. The kind of hate that eats you from the inside out. That turns your soul black.” His voice cracked and a few tears spilled down his cheeks and into the halo of dark hair laying on the floor. “When I get something good in my life, I always question it.” My breath stuttered out in response to those raw, broken words. “I don’t know how to be happy—for years…” More tears escaped. I swiped them away and Miles flashed me a grateful smile before continuing. “For years I couldn’t even talk to you. Couldn’t have a real conversation with the one guy in the whole goddamn town I liked—because just looking at your face made me weak.”

Mistakes are just lessons.” Mistakes are just lessons.

“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.” When Miles nodded it felt like the sun peeking through clouds on a rainy day.

A secret. Right. Because we were friends. That’s what I wanted. That’s what he wanted. We all wanted this. So why did my heart hurt?

“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.”

I wondered… What if? What if he stayed the way no one else had before? Not even Robin. What if we never moved back across the street? What if he felt what I did? What if we were enough? What if I was enough? What if, what if, what if—

Miles was the reason I woke up with a smile in the morning. He saw me the way I always wanted to be seen. He made me laugh. He made my heart hurt. He made me feel fluttery all over, like I was five on a playground and all I wanted to do was pull his goddamn pigtails.

When I only ever felt at peace when I had my hands on Miles and his heartbeat thudding against my own. 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.

“That’s why you need to believe me when I tell you that you’re good,” she said softly. “I’ve seen good. I’ve known since the day I held you in my arms that you were gonna bless every person that came across your path. We chose you to run the farm, Trent. Your Daddy’s legacy. The last part of him I had left. Not because no one else wanted it, but because even though you were barely an adult yourself we knew you would take good care of it. You were the only one who loved as fiercely as he did.” Her eyes squeezed shut and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “The farm was yours, from the day you were born. We just didn’t know it yet. I never meant to make you feel like you were the last choice. You were the only choice.”

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

I was ready to keep him. I was ready to commit. If he’d have me. If I’d finally earned him.

White snow. Red truck. Barren tree trunks. Please don’t let him be hurt. Please, God. Please.

Love was vulnerability. It was trusting someone to love you after showing them the parts of yourself you’d never been able to embrace.

Home was sharing burdens, as partners, because that’s what partners do. Trent Montgomery was my home. He was real. He was strong. And sweet. And capable. Reliable. Trustworthy. Kind.

You make me feel safe. You make me—” I stuttered out a sob. “You make me feel whole. Like I’m not broken at all.”

“I know you’re scared too. I know this maybe isn’t what you wanted–But you don’t gotta be scared of me anymore. Of us. Of making mistakes. Not when I love you more than anything in this God given world. You don’t gotta do this alone. I’m here. I’m here, and I choose you.”

I was going to be loved, whether either of us was ready or not. And I couldn’t bring myself to regret any of my mistakes. Because they’d led me here. To this single, perfect moment. Where I was loved. Where I was appreciated. Wrapped in the arms of a flirty lumberjack, I had finally found my home.

“Because you’re mine,” I growled, and Miles nodded, his head jerking in agreement. “And you will always be mine. Till the day I die, I’ll choose you.”

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