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Daria exhales through her nose as she swallows her bite of the sandwich. “I know parents make mistakes. Sometimes big ones—hell, I have prime examples of those,” she says with a hollow chuckle. “But I’ve told him, over and over again, to be careful with what he gives her to eat. And I shouldn’t even have to remind him—he’s her dad. He shouldknowit already.” Her eyes redden as she looks at her food, tears gathering in those blue eyes, and I can see her hands begin to tremble. “She could havedied, Caden,” she says, her voice broken.
I think of Sean and that kind of loss, and the taste of my food turns to ash as Daria props her elbows on the table and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes. I pull Daria towards me, arms wrapping around her shaking frame, my hand on the side of her head to bring her to my chest. “She got to the hospital in time,” I remind her soothingly. “She’s okay. She’s here with—”Us. “—you. Everything’s okay now, honey.”
I want to strangle Logan’s neck. Yeah, the guy looked terrified and guilty at the hospital, as he should have, but Elaine wouldn’t have been lying in that hospital bed with an IV drip if he hadn’t been so damn careless. Daria is right—parents do make mistakes. And I’m not a parent, but this one seems unforgivable. The one thing Logan did right was decide to walk away; I could see it in Daria’s eyes at the hospital, when he mentioned getting the paperwork of signing his rights over, that under her anger and fear, she was perfectly okay with that decision. All she cares about is Elaine, and she has her.
Daria sniffles, shaking her head as she pulls away. She wipes at her face and lets out a long breath, lifting her gaze to meet mine. Her throat works as she says, “Thank you for being here.”
Cupping the back of her head, I press a kiss to her forehead and say, “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”
* * *
I wake up in the morning to a weight resting on my torso. It becomes more and more obvious as I slowly trudge towards consciousness, and when my eyebrows sleepily pull together and I open my eyes, I don’t entirely expect a toddler to be sitting on top of me.
But there she is. Elaine sits on my torso, small hands on my chest as she leans toward me, looking down at me with big, beautiful blue eyes that are a copy of her mother’s. I can feel Daria next to me, still asleep, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I look up at Elaine. “Morning, kid.”
“Hi,” Elaine returns, smiling toothily. She looks far better today than she did yesterday, and the relief I feel is immense and overwhelming. Her cheeks are their usual rosy color, blue eyes bright. I’m acutely aware that this is the first time Elaine has seen me in Daria’s bed, and I’m not exactly sure how to handle that. But the way Elaine is looking at me with childlike delight, I don’t think it’s something the kid will bring up. And that suspicion is confirmed when Elaine asks, “Can you make me chocolate chip pancakes?”
That pulls a grin out of me. “Of course, I can,” I say. “Are you going to help me?”
I think of the last time we baked together, when Daria was sick, and Elaine’s grin widens. “Yeah,” she says before putting a finger to her lips to signal being quiet. “But Mama’s sleeping. So be quiet.”
I nod, and Elaine giggles as I wrap my arms around her to hold her to me as I carefully get up from the bed. She naturally sits on my hip, arms around my neck, and I bend down to press a kiss to Daria’s head as she sleeps. She needs it. She had been worried all night about Elaine, understandably so.
In my pajama pants and a shirt, I carry Elaine to the kitchen, my gaze sliding over the easel that is set up in the living room by the windows. The painting Daria is working on is covered, hiding it from sight, as it has been for the last few days. My curiosity itches, because she hasn’t really covered up her works in progress before, but she does with this one. But I don’t intrude, so I enter the kitchen with Elaine, set her on the counter, and begin taking the ingredients out to make us chocolate chip pancakes.
When I’ve mixed the batter a little, I have Elaine sprinkle in the chocolate chips and help her mix it more. As she does, she says, “Daddy never makes me pancakes.”
My teeth clamp together at the mention of Logan, and the sad tone Elaine speaks in that I never want to hear from her. “He just makes me eat cereal. Not even the good cereal,” she adds with a pout as she keeps mixing.
Pushing aside the aggravation that rises at Logan, I pull out a smile that comes easily for Elaine and tickle the bottom of her foot. She giggles and squirms as I tell her, “Well, you know you can always eat pancakes here. Your mom and I will make them for you.”
And, yeah, I’m adding myself to that because damn straight I’ll make this little girl pancakes if she asks me again.
Elaine nods, her attention on the bowl as she says, “You’re a cooler Daddy.”
The air stills in my lungs at her words, every single muscle freezing as I gape down at her. But Elaine keeps working the bowl, unaware that those four words skyrocketed my pulse into another fucking dimension. I know little kids say lots of things without really understanding the significance behind them, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s what Elaine sees me as. If she sees me as. . . As a dad.
The thought alone is overwhelming in a kind of way I have never experienced before, and it feelsgood. To be able to be that kind of figure for Elaine, now that she has breathed life into those words. . . I desperately want them to be true.
I cling onto that thought as we make the pancakes, making enough to feed all three of us and then some. Once they’re all done, I put the stack on a plate, adding another plate to the tray, along with two mugs of coffee. After placing the bottle of syrup on the tray, I help Elaine down from the counter before picking up the tray and the two of us head back to Daria’s room.
The timing turns out to be perfect, because as soon as we enter, Daria is stirring awake, rubbing her face, and sitting up, her eyes immediately going to Elaine who exclaims, “Mama!” before launching herself onto the bed.
Daria lets out a startled laugh, hugging her daughter close. “Hi, baby. What are you two up to?” she asks just as her gaze goes to me, and I see the way her expression softens at the tray of breakfast I carry in.
“We made pancakes,” Elaine grins, moving to sit next to Daria as I come and sit on the edge of the bed, carefully placing the tray in front of Daria.
I shoot her a lazy grin. “Bon appetite,” I say with a flourish, pulling a laugh from her. The sound only widens my grin, as does the absence of the shadows in her eyes. She looks well rested, better than yesterday. Even with sleepy eyes and blonde hair a mess, Daria is still easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The fact that I get to be here, right now, with her and her daughter. . . It’s fucking everything.
“Wow, you guys!” Daria exclaims with a gasp, widening her eyes at Elaine. “This looks awesome! Thank you, baby,” she says, pressing a kiss to Elaine’s head. She turns to me and leans forward, careful not to jostle the tray. Her smile softens as she murmurs, “Thanks, Superstar.”
I grin and, getting the message, close the gap between us and press a soft kiss to her lips. We pull away when we hear Elaine giggle, turning to see her grinning at us with childlike delight that tightens my chest.
The three of us dig into our breakfast, and as I eat my pancakes and drink my coffee—not as good as the way Daria makes it—a spell of contentment washes over me as I stare at the two girls in front of me. Watching them, I realize a truth I already know: I want this to be my morning, every morning. To wake up with Daria and Elaine, to have breakfast with them. To start all of my days with these two girls. To come home to them after practice or a game.
I love Daria and I love Elaine. I don’t want to be anywhere else.
On the bedside, Daria’s phone buzzes, and I watch her read whatever text she got while sipping my coffee. A short, breathless chuckle escapes her before she turns the phone so I can look at the screen. It’s a text from Bianca.
