DADDY ISSUES: A SINGLE DAD ROMANCE

by Morris, Liv

  Maggie

  I was washing the dinner dishes, putting them back where they belonged. As I stacked the last plate on a shelf, a crashing sound came from down the hallway, the one leading to Lucas’s office.

  I ran to see what had happened but was met with a closed door. I placed my ear against the wood. At first, I didn’t hear a thing. Then there was the faint sound of crying. Not snotty sobs, but more like someone freed something built up inside. That someone was Lucas.

  Oh, how I wanted to twist the doorknob and fling the door open, run to him with my arms open wide. The crash was more than an object breaking. Inside the room was a broken man.

  Instead of barging in on his privacy, I laid my hand on the wooden door, hoping to connect myself to him and his pain. I’d be here if he was ever ready to confront what tormented him. And something did torment him. He wore it in the tightness of his jaw. Torment swirled in his eyes and tipped-up chin. It was the battle armor he showed the world. But I believed the fight was within himself.

  I walked away after a few minutes, deciding it would be awkward standing there if he did open the door. What the hell would I even say to him? Asking if he was okay would only aggravate him, emphasizing I’d witnessed his vulnerability, likely making him push me further away.

  I found the bag I’d packed from home by the front door, probably where Barclay had left it. I took it to Lucas’s bedroom and locked the door behind me. I searched the corners of the ceiling for a video camera, like the ones I noticed in the main living area and kitchen, but I didn’t see one in here. I blew out a breath, thankful I had some privacy.

  Looking for the bathroom, I opened one of the doors in the vast space. It was a guessing game. Behind it was a closet, resembling a gentlemen’s clothing store. Everything was perfectly displayed. Suits lined up in a row stretching for yards. Pressed dress shirts lined another wall. Shoes were exhibited on shelves with lights above spotlighting each pair. I didn’t see a sock on the floor anywhere. His home was ridiculously ordered—a polar opposite to my room. Messy met clean freak. It was sobering, though he probably paid someone to brush dust off his suits every day. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that kind of money. He had way more than Tessa’s boyfriend, but Lucas shared the same elite stratosphere.

  I tried another door, dropping the bag onto the carpeted floor. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The outside wall of the bathroom was full, floor-to-ceiling glass. A window out into the world, even the shower. I probably smelled like baby puke. I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough.

  The shower wasn’t difficult to work, though there were two overhead spouts, making me feel like I was caught in a heavy downpour. I closed my eyes as the water rushed over my skin, then opened them to look out the glass to the city below me. The darkness of Central Park was sandwiched between lit buildings. It took my breath away and was the first thing in this sterile home I wanted for myself. What a luxury.

  Just as I finished washing my hair with products that smelled like Lucas, I heard a rhythmic knocking. In a rush to keep the baby from waking up, I turned off the showerheads, wrung most of the water out of my hair, then wrapped myself in the softest towel to ever touch my skin.

  The tapping continued. I was beyond annoyed. It was obvious this man had never been around a baby before. There were some rules he needed to follow. First and foremost, never wake a sleeping child. Second, the person who wakes the child puts them back to sleep.

  After leaving the bathroom, I saw Lucas had done the unthinkable. He’d woken the baby. She wasn’t crying yet, but her arms and legs were in full motion. What the hell was wrong with him? Unless the place was on fire, he was going to hear a mouthful from me.

  I made sure my towel covered me in all the important areas. My hair dripped on the carpet, but I didn’t give a crap at this point. I was pissed.

  “Stop it, Lucas. I’m coming,” I called out and the knocking finally quit.

  When I unlocked and opened the door, I didn’t have time to move backward as Lucas walked straight into me. I prepared to hit the ground—a seemingly common occurrence around him, but this time, it was his fault.

  “Oh my God,” I screamed, closing my eyes.

  Big arms wrapped around my body, pulling me against a hard wall of flesh. Lucas saved me once again from falling flat on my ass, but I didn’t smell smoke drifting through the apartment, so he had some explaining to do.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I spat out, taking in his face.

  His hot breath fanned against my cheeks. I could light a fire from the scotch I smelled too. His cloudy blue eyes were surrounded by bloodshot whites, and not just from the alcohol, but also from tears. The man was tormented.

  “I needed to get my clothes.” His voice was slurred, making me wonder how he’d caught me in time.

  “Couldn’t you get the door to open without waking Esmé?” He shrugged his shoulders, still holding me tight in his arms.

  “You were in the shower. Didn’t want to barge in.”

  That made more sense. “But how did you know?”

  “I heard the water through the door. No one else uses my shower,” he whispered the last sentence, making the words take on a dark warning. His thumbs rubbed across the exposed, damp skin of my back, right above where the towel ended. I shivered at the delicious feel of his touch. “It’s my refuge.”

  “Oh, Lucas. It’s just a shower.” Though I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful one, he needed some perspective. “You sound like a spoiled child and I took your favorite toy. As a matter of fact, you’ve acted like the biggest jerk to me tonight.”

  “You’re right. I have.” He leaned his forehead against mine. The closeness was killing me, but I’d made some progress with him. He admitted he was being horrible. I gave myself an invisible high five.

  “I know today’s been hell on you, but you’ve done everything in your power to get me to hate you. Why?”

  He gazed down at me. I waited for his answer, hoping this might be the moment he let me see Herb once again.

  “Oh, Peaches,” he said, tilting his head with a sad smile. Before he continued, he removed his arms from around me.

  I instantly missed their protective feel, but he brought his hands up to my dripping wet hair, brushing it behind my ears. He kept his palms on both sides of my face, cupping it tenderly. My heart was racing. I’d never desired a man like this before, even though I knew he was trouble in with a capital T.

  “I need you to hate me.” One of his hands trailed over my jawline, ending under my chin and lifting it upward. His gaze was focused on my lips. Kiss me, you fool, I wanted to scream, but I was the fool for wanting that. “Because I want you so bad, it hurts.”

  “Then put yourself out of your misery.” I reached up on my tiptoes, trying to narrow the distance between our lips.

  “That’s the problem. I have nothing but misery to give you. It’s why Barclay made me promise never to touch you.” His arms fell to his sides, but a battle warred in his eyes. “And I’ve already broken it, but no more.”

  I had to think quickly. I didn’t want the angry grouch to return once the alcohol wore off.

  “Let’s call a truce. No more fighting or making me walk around on eggshells. I’m here for as long as you and Esmé need me. Okay, Mr. Shaw?” I threw out his proper name like we were negotiating a contract.

  “As long as you quit calling me, Mr. Shaw.”

  I smiled up at him, and he tried to return it, but there wasn’t an ounce of happiness in him and he couldn’t fake it. He gathered up some clothes for the night and started to leave the room.

  “Good night,” he said to me. “And thanks.”

  My heart leapt. He might not be a lost cause after all.

  20

  Lucas

  It was D-Day—the day I would find out if I was Esmé’s father. I needed a drink, or several, but the thought of having one turned my already queasy stomach upside down. I stood out on my terrace breathing in some fresh
air—an oxymoron in this city. The evening sun was sitting in the western sky as I waited for an answer that had the power to change my life forever. The clinic said they’d have the results to me by sundown and it was minutes away.

  I fielded calls all day from reporters after the story about Coco, aka Erin, and the baby broke in The New York Post. Page Six wasn’t enough for my troubles. They’d plastered it as a headline on the front page. Most of what they wrote was the truth, so Iron Gate’s PR team had their work cut out for them.

  So far, their only advice was exactly what I said to the reporter last night, no comment. But the lack of a denial gave the media all it needed to take a salacious story and turn it into a headline. Everyone loved reading stories about a Manhattan prince falling from his lofty throne.

  I ran my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time and looked out over the city I’d grown to detest. It felt more like a prison than a home most days.

  When my father called me in the early morning hours, I didn’t answer. He’d left a voicemail sharing his great disappointment in letting my personal life become gossip fodder once again. I hadn’t returned the call, because he was right—something I hated to admit to him. He’d cleaned up my messes since the accident with my mother when I was seventeen. This time, I was on my own. Nothing he could do or say would help.

  Barclay told me he was there if I needed him. He didn’t realize he’d connected me to the one person who seemed to give a shit about me, even after I’d been a royal shit to her. Beautiful Peaches. I deserved nothing from her, yet I needed her strength like my next breath.

  The terrace door clicked behind me. I felt her presence and a sense of relief before she came to stand beside me. Our hands, palms down on the brick and concrete edge, mirrored each other as we looked out over upper Manhattan. Our view towered over the city.

  “She’s asleep.” Maggie spoke softly, trying not to disturb me in the quiet above the city’s noise, but it didn’t matter. My thoughts hammered against my skull with the possibilities of what the future held for the kid and me. Together or not.

  “She’s mastered the art.” The child had slept more than she’d been awake since Coco walked out. Even during the DNA test this morning, she didn’t make a sound as the technician exchanged her beloved thumb for a cotton swab.

  “Babies grow in their sleep. It’s totally normal.”

  A gentle breeze blew Maggie’s hair away from her face. Raven locks moved in ripples with the wind, shining from the day’s last rays of sun. When she turned toward me, wisps fell across her cheeks, covering her beautiful eyes. I brushed them away, letting my fingers linger on her soft cheeks. She tilted her head, leaning into my touch. I was mesmerized by her beauty.

  Remembering my promise to Barclay and myself, I dropped my hand. But my fingers still felt the buzzing connection that pulled me to her, making it easy to forget she was forbidden.

  “Any word?” Her voice was raspy, deeper than usual.

  “Nothing yet.”

  The waiting game killed me. I wanted to know if the child was mine. If not, my lawyer would call the authorities, but where would the child go from there? A short-term foster home?

  If our DNA matched beyond a reasonable doubt, I would be connected to the child for life. The idea of that happening scared the fuck out of me too.

  Lost in our thought, Maggie and I continued to look out over Central Park. Shadows formed as sunlight fell from the sky. Her hand moved, our pinkies now side by side, more like a stranger’s touch in a crowded space, though we had plenty of room.

  Her small finger lifted and wrapped around mine. I closed my eyes, trying to keep my body from reacting, but it was a vain attempt.

  “You made a promise. But what if I was the one to touch you?” She took my hand in hers, both of us turned toward one another. “As a friend of course. We can be friends, can’t we, Lucas?”

  What a loaded question. I bought relationships with women and kept them in my bed for a few months, but never in my heart. It sounded cold and clinical, maybe it was, but they left with a fat bank account. I chose this life because I didn’t want to be alone, though I couldn’t give them anything of myself. They served as a physical escape. The brief moments of sexual pleasure freed my mind from dark memories. When the high wore off or I grew to care more than I should, I’d choose another woman to take the last one’s place.

  The answer to her question was a sad reality. I didn’t have friendships with women. I just fucked them like a selfish prick.

  “I’ll only disappoint you in the end. It’s the pattern of my life when someone gets too close.” I couldn’t release my hand from hers, though. My words said one thing, but my body wanted another.

  “It’s okay. I don’t want to be your friend for what you’ll give me. That’s not how friendships work. I care for you. Let me do that little bit at least. I don’t want anything from you in return. Can you try that?”

  I exhaled, knowing it would be best for both of us if I requested a different nanny from a company my lawyer suggested. Perhaps someone older who did her job without all the damn feelings.

  She gazed up at me, eyes wide with hope, waiting for my answer like her happiness depended on it. Telling her yes led us down a road where I’d use her and break her heart in the end. But the selfish part of me strangled the still small voice.

  “Sure, Maggie. We can be friends.” I spoke the untruth without a flinch, hiding my deceit.

  The smile lighting up her face made the lie almost worth it. Except I knew where the road ended with a man like me who didn’t allow others in his world. And this time, money wouldn’t help soften the goodbye or her broken trust.

  21

  Maggie

  Waiting for his attorney to call had me on edge. I fixed cold-cut sandwiches for us with fruit on the side. It kept me busy. He ate all his food. I hardly took a bite of mine. My nerves were making me jumpy with worry.

  I went to check on Esmé, who still had Xs over her eyes, when the buzzer sounded through the still apartment. I dashed to the main living area, my heart pounding in my chest, but not from exertion.

  Lucas stood at the smart panel by the front door. His shoulders were high and his jaw was strained. You could file a photo of his posture under stiff as a board. He was wearing the weight of this moment in his life.

  I waited in the kitchen, not sure if I should go to him. He had thrown so many different signals my way over the last two days, I never knew which version of him would appear at any given moment.

  Which one would win tonight? I prayed it would be Herb. If it was the hardened man with the cold and indifferent arrogance, I wanted to hide out in the master bedroom with the baby.

  “Yes,” Lucas said, his voice curt.

  “Mr. Sloan is here, sir,” the doorman responded through the speaker.

  “Send him up.” Lucas placed a palm against the wall, leaning forward and dropping his head. I itched to console him, let him know I cared, but I waited.

  “Well, it’s showtime.” The air felt heavy from the weight of his words.

  Lucas pushed off the wall and headed to the door, awaiting Mr. Sloan, the attorney who supervised the DNA test yesterday. It’s crazy how a swipe of a simple cotton swab could determine a man and baby’s future.

  I jumped when a knock echoed through the air. Lucas wiped his hands over his jeans and opened the door before the sound faded from my ears.

  Mr. Sloan walked into the apartment, his tailored navy suit and yellow tie perfectly pressed and over-the-top formal for a Sunday evening. But it was a professional call. He was also wearing an epic poker face. The man could make a killing in Atlantic City.

  His attorney carried an envelope in his hands. Mr. Sloan was not over five foot five, if I had to guess, and he held it up to Lucas, a giant in comparison.

  Lucas swallowed hard. I did too. There was a lump of nervousness stuck in my dry throat.

  Finally, he took the results from Mr. Sloan and walked over to t
he elegant dining table. He sat at the head, laying the envelope in front of him. It made sense. I would want to sit down before I found out something so important too.

  Mr. Sloan took the seat to Lucas’s left while I leaned against the kitchen island, trying to blend into the surroundings. So far, it had worked. I warred with whether I should give Lucas his privacy, but I wanted to know too. Should I stay or should I go. The crazy eighties song popped into my head. I covered my mouth, fighting back a nervous laugh. I knew from my behavioral psychology class that humans often did this as a way for the subconscious to relieve stress. But if I’d laughed out loud, it would have only made the tension worse. I hated being so impulsive.

  “Here goes.” Lucas gave a nervous chuckle. I wasn’t the only one needing to release the tension. He picked up the envelope, inspecting the outside. I held my breath.

  After ripping off the tabbed strip, he turned the envelope upside down, and a slip of paper floated to the table. I leaned forward, waiting for Lucas to give some indication of what it said.

  He straightened the paper in front of him, bending his head to read it. It felt like an hour passed before he moved a muscle. My stomach twisted in a knot. I don’t remember ever feeling this nervous.

  “The DNA markers matched. It says, ‘Subject A has a ninety-nine point nine percent chance of being the father of Subject B.’”

  The dining room chair fell backward as Lucas stood to his feet. Grabbing the paper in his hand, he paced from the living room to the dining room.

  “I don’t know how in the hell this happened. I was always so careful. In every aspect.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucas. This news is quite the shock, but we—”

  “We?” Lucas interrupted Mr. Sloan. “It’s me. I have no business raising a child.”

  “I’ve prepared a strategy. Please take a seat and let’s talk about this. Find a way out.”

  I slumped to the floor, heartbroken to hear Lucas’s first reaction to the news. Get rid of her. I wanted to shout out and run to his side, look him dead in the eye, and yell, “Stop!” Didn’t he realize she was a part of him? A precious, though horribly timed, gift.