Best Friend's Daddy (A Single Dad Romance)

by Naomi Niles

  “It’s him, Polo,” I whispered. “Should I just delete it?”

  In the end, I had to open it.

  “Okay,” he had written. “I warned you not to leave me. I was clear. But you didn’t listen. But don’t worry, my darling. I’m going to find you. And, when I do…I’m going to make you suffer.”

  And just like that, the fear was back.

  Chapter Five

  Peter

  “Come on, Pete!” John’s voice was unnecessarily loud. “Get your lazy ass out of bed!”

  I sat up and groaned. The door opened and John stuck his head in. “You up yet?”

  “Barely,” I complained. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “I took a day off.”

  “You took a day off?” I asked incredulously.

  “That’s what I said,” he nodded. “I thought I’d stay here today and help you start on the new addition.”

  “Oh,” I said in surprise. “Okay…”

  “Are you always this slow in the morning?” John he.

  “I really need to get a lock on that door,” I sighed, as I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

  I leaned against the sink for a moment and studied the bullet wound on my side. It had healed well, but I would always have the mark. I ran my fingers around the scar as my thoughts travelled to that night at the carnival. Talen and I had been talking when Maddow and his gang had shown up.

  I had seen the fever in his eyes. Maddow was bored and looking for a fight. I had just presented him with the perfect opportunity. He had approached us, his moronic gang following suit. The moments surrounding the gunshot were steeped in confusion for me, but there were a few small things that stood out in my mind.

  I knew that it was one of Maddow’s henchmen who had fired the shot, and it hadn’t been premeditated. They had just come over to stir up shit, and their little foray into fun had taken a darker turn when one of Maddow’s boys got overly excited and fired badly.

  I knew that the crowd had burst into chaos the moment the gunshot exploded through the air. And, I could remember Talen holding me. He hadn’t loosened his grip until the paramedics had forced him to.

  That moment had been months ago now, and I hadn’t heard from Talen for weeks. I’d called him every now and again when his visits became more and more scarce. And when he stopped responding, I resorted to poorly worded text messages. Sometimes he replied with one-word answers, but more often than not, he just didn’t reply.

  I washed my face clean and stepped into the shower. After my morning ablutions were out of the way, I walked out to the kitchen where John was pouring orange juice into glasses.

  “Are you making breakfast today?” I asked pointedly.

  He laughed. “You’re funny. I took the bread and eggs out of the fridge for you.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” I asked.

  “I was thinking some savory French toast,” he suggested.

  “All right,” I nodded, as I reached for a bowl to get the eggs whisked.

  “Looks like the new neighbor moved in last night,” he pointed out, gesturing out the window to the beat-up SUV down the drive.

  “Have you seen her yet?” I asked curiously.

  “Not yet,” he replied. “We could go over and introduce ourselves later?”

  “Umm…yeah, I don’t know about that,” I said uncertainly.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to encourage too familiar a relationship,” I said. “I mean, going over to introduce ourselves implies that we want to have some sort of neighborly relationship with her.”

  John frowned at me. “Why are you making that sound like a bad thing?”

  “Because I like being out here on my own,” I said evasively.

  “You mean you like living in a bubble,” John clarified with raised eyebrows.

  I shrugged. “That depends on how you see it.”

  I got on with breakfast as John descended into a thoughtful silence. He leaned against the sink, next to me, sipping his orange juice. I could tell he was in a strange mood today. I glanced over at him curiously.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” I asked.

  “What? No, no.”

  “Sure?”

  “One hundred percent,” he replied with confidence.

  I nodded as though I believed him. “So, why’d you decide to take a day off work?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. He took his time sipping his orange juice and then set it down on the counter he was leaning against. “I just…wasn’t feeling it today.”

  “You weren’t feeling it today?” I repeated.

  He shrugged. “Haven’t you had days when you just woke up and…didn’t want to do go to work?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. “I love my job. And, I thought you did, too.”

  “I did, I mean, I do,” John said quickly. “I do love my job,” he said again slowly, as though he were trying to convince himself. “I think I’m just…getting older and going through a transition.”

  “A transition?” I repeated. “Is this you trying to tell me that you’re secretly a woman?”

  John shot me a look.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” I asked. “You want to have gender reassignment surgery and this is your way of telling me? Well don’t worry, buddy, I’ll accept you no matter what. We all will.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, if that had been the case, I would have told you a long time ago.”

  I laughed. “Okay, then what do you mean by ‘transition?’”

  “What I meant was more of a…mid-life crisis.”

  “A mid-life crisis?” I repeated incredulously. “Are you kidding?”

  “Umm…”

  “You realize you’re only thirty-two, right?” I asked. “You’re not old enough to have a mid-life crisis in the first place.”

  “Well, I can’t think of any other way to explain it.”

  “Try,” I challenged him.

  He sighed. “I don’t know… Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about…”

  “About?”

  “Well…”

  “Oh, just spit it out, John,” I sighed. “You’re thinking about Mom, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know how it started or even really when it started. All I know is that I find myself preoccupied with thoughts of her more often than not.”

  “How often is often?” I asked.

  “I don’t know… I can’t exactly quantify it for you.”

  “Once a day?” I pressed.

  John sighed. “I guess,” he said, throwing his hands up into the air.

  “That’s a lot.”

  “I know.”

  I sighed. “Okay, what about her are you thinking about?”

  “Lots of things,” he said. “But mostly, I’m curious about her. She was a mysterious woman.”

  “She was an unhappy woman,” I clarified quickly. “Don’t mistake the two.”

  “Sometimes I wonder…”

  “What?”

  “If the reason we enjoy being by ourselves so much is because of her,” John said, turning around so that he was facing the window above the sink. “We’re both getting older, Peter, and neither one of us are even close to settling down.”

  “Settling down?” I said. “I didn’t think you were concerned with that.”

  “I didn’t think I was either,” he admitted. “I thought I was perfectly content to spend my life working until I dropped dead.”

  “But?”

  “But if I was really so content with that future, then why do I feel so conflicted lately?” he said, almost as though he were talking to himself.

  “John-”

  “Don’t you ever think it might be nice to have something permanent?” he asked, interrupting me.

  “We do have something permanent,” I pointed out. “We have this house and we have each other.”

  “That’s not what I’m talk
ing about,” John said in frustration. “I’m talking about something that’s completely our own. Something we don’t have to share with one another.”

  “Like a wife?” I asked. “Like a child?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I know this sounds strange.”

  “Really strange,” I said.

  “But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about this before now?” he asked, ignoring my interruption.

  “I can’t say that I have,” I said stubbornly.

  “Bullshit,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You had to think about it because of Dana. She wanted a commitment from you.”

  “And, we broke up because I wasn’t willing to give her the kind of commitment she needed,” I pointed out. “It was for the best.”

  “She’s married, you know.”

  I glanced up at John in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “I ran into her a few weeks ago,” he said.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “You never mentioned it.”

  “Because I didn’t know if you wanted to hear about her,” John said. “She was in town for a few days visiting her parents and I ran into her at the grocery store. She’s been married almost a year now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” he said. “Is that it?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “You’re a surgeon, John,” I reminded him. “Not a shrink.”

  “Do you not care that she’s married?”

  “No,” I said, putting down the knife I was using for the butter. “I don’t care. I forfeited my right to care the moment I ended things with her. Listen, John: if you want to meet a girl, by all means, just go for it. Get out there and meet some women. Ask Sam to take you to one of his clubs. Just leave me out of it.”

  I could feel my brother’s eyes on me, but I avoided him and continued with breakfast.

  “Mom leaving really screwed us all up, didn’t it?” John said quietly after a moment.

  I ignored him and threw two pieces of egg-soaked bread onto the largest frying pan we owned. A few minutes later, breakfast was ready, and I set down a huge plate of French toast between John and myself.

  “Smells good,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said politely.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t upset me,” I said, in a tone that was more heated than it needed to be. “I just…don’t like talking about Mom.”

  “Aren’t you curious about her at all?” John asked in amazement. “Don’t you want to understand why she left?”

  “No,” I said. “She left. That’s all I really need to know.”

  He nodded after a moment. “I guess I was just thinking about Alan, and how much happier he is now that Jessica’s in his life. He told me that he was scared of having a serious relationship, too, because he was scared of getting hurt.

  “I guess that got me thinking. It would be a shame to miss out on something great just because we were all scared of marrying someone like our mother.”

  “Luckily, I don’t believe in that Freudian bullshit,” I said. “I just like being alone. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.”

  “Okay,” John nodded, letting the subject drop.

  We ate our breakfast in silence. As much as I tried to prevent the thoughts, John had opened up the floodgates. I kept drifting over to images of my mother. I kept seeing her electric, hazel eyes, eyes that John, Sam, and I had all inherited. I kept seeing her soft, brown hair and the way she used to push it back behind her ears to keep it from her face. I kept seeing the little gestures that I had grown up with.

  I remembered that she used to tuck me into bed and run her hands through my hair. I remembered that she used to hum under her breath when she made breakfast. I remembered that she used dance by herself when she folded the laundry. I didn’t want to remember any of those things, but they stuck in my head like thorns and refused to be budged.

  It was simpler back then. I didn’t have anyone to worry about or take care of, including myself. I didn’t have to think about the future or plan for anything. I just went through life knowing I had a mother who would take care of everything for me. It was short-lived, but while it had lasted, I had been free. I had been free of responsibility and duty and obligation.

  Now, that was all my life consisted of. I couldn’t remember the last time I had met anyone new or done anything remotely fun.

  “If we started now, we could have the foundation finished by evening,” John said, making an attempt at switching gears and changing subjects.

  “Sure,” I nodded. “And maybe afterwards we could go over and introduce ourselves to the new neighbor.”

  I could feel John’s eyes on me, but all he said was, “Sure.”

  Chapter Six

  Madison

  “Okay, Madison,” I told myself. “You can do this. Be charming, confident, and funny, and you might have a chance of landing this job.”

  I had decided to leave Polo at the house, mainly because I didn’t want create the impression that I was a crazy dog owner who refused to go anywhere without her pet. I desperately wanted to get this job, and I knew that first impressions counted.

  With that in mind, I had opted for jeans, a white t-shirt, and a red blazer. I left twisted my hair into a messy side braid and put on a touch of rouge, mascara, and gloss to finish the look.

  I drove through Fort Collins, keeping my eyes open for landmarks. It was strange driving around a new town. Nothing was familiar, and it was overwhelming.

  It didn’t help that Kameron’s message from the night before still lingered at the back of my head. I had spent a restless night tossing and turning in my sleeping bag because of it.

  “Stop it,” I told myself firmly. “Worrying is not going to help. Stick to the plan and you’ll be okay.”

  It took me a half hour to locate Whitney’s Beauty Salon, nestled between a bakery and an IT store. I parked and sat in the SUV for nearly ten minutes, trying to get a hold of my nerves. When I felt a little less tense, I took a deep breath and headed inside.

  There was one person behind the desk. She was a petite young woman with dark eyes and dark hair. She glanced up as I entered and gave me a warm smile.

  “Welcome to Whitney’s,” she greeted, assuming I was a client. “What can I help you with today?”

  “Hi,” I smiled. “I’m actually here to speak to someone about the job vacancy. I heard you were hiring.”

  “Oh, sure,” the girl nodded. “You’ll need to speak to Whitney. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll let her know you’re here. Can I have your name please?”

  “Madison,” I replied.

  She nodded and walked through a door at the back of the small salon. Minutes later, she re-emerged with a slender woman whose jet-black hair held streaks of bright purple.

  “Hello,” she said brightly as she approached me. “I’m Whitney, the owner. Lola here tells me your name is Madison?”

  “That’s right,” I nodded, as I rose from my seat. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “And, you,” Whitney nodded. Then she leaned forward and hugged me without warning, taking me completely by surprise. I wondered if everyone in Fort Collins was just that friendly or if that behavior was exclusive only to Whitney.

  “You’re pretty,” she said, looking at my face as though she was appraising me. “And you have great hair.”

  “Umm…thanks,” I laughed, taken off guard.

  “It’s the first impression, you know; when a person walks into a hair salon, they want to see that the hairdressers have decent hair. That’s what I’ve always looked for.”

  I smiled, warming to Whitney’s vibrant personality immediately. “Come on,” she said, gesturing me to follow her. “Step into my office.”

  Her office turned out to be a tiny room in the back with whitewashed walls and glamour shots of famous supermodels with outrageous hairstyles. She
sat behind her little white desk and gave me a bright smile.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Whitney started. “Do you have experience with hair styling?”

  I took a little internal breath. “I worked in a salon for four years, and it was one of the best jobs I ever had. I loved meeting new people, and I loved experimenting with new hairstyles. And, I loved the laidback atmosphere; it just puts you in a good mood.”

  “I agree,” she nodded. “That’s why I decided to start one.”

  “Your hair looks amazing by the way,” I complimented. “That’s a tough style to pull off.”

  “Thank you,” she said, inclining her head to me. “I thought it suited me. Now, can I ask what made you interested in hair styling?”

  “To be honest, at the time I just fell into it,” I admitted. “I was nineteen and in desperate need of a job. I was trying to put myself through college and needed the money. I tried a bunch of different places, but no one was hiring.

  “Then, I stumbled on this tiny salon smack dab in the middle of nowhere and it had a sign in the window that said they were hiring.

  “I went in and asked about the job. I had a quick interview with the owner, and he told me that he’d hire me as a cleaner. So basically, I spent the next few weeks sweeping up everyone’s hair from the floor.”

  Whitney cringed. “I started that way, too,” she said. “I certainly don’t miss it.”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I was just grateful to find a job with half-decent pay. I was good at cleaning in any case, and I had a knack with people.”

  “How did you start cutting hair?”

  “It happened by accident,” I admitted. “I was forced to open the salon one morning, and I was the only one there when one of the regulars walked in. Her name was Harriet Koons, and she was this eccentric, middle-aged woman with a wicked sense of humor. I told her that Jess was running late because of some accident on the freeway, and she’d have to wait about an hour.”

  “Let me guess…she wanted you to cut her hair?” Whitney asked.

  “Yup,” I nodded. “She had watched me observing Jess and Jerry when they cut hair and figured she didn’t care enough about her appearance to be bothered if I did a terrible job.”