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One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
Here at Padme's Library I feature all genres but followers have probably noticed that 95% of the posts and 99% of my reviews fall under the LGBT genres, so for this year's Pride Month I am showcasing 20 of my favorite M/M single dad reads in no particular order. There are Dads, Uncles, Guardians, but they are all dad figures doing it on their own. The single dads fall under a variety of genres and tropes with a perfect blend of romance, drama, healing, and heart, creating unforgettable reads.
One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
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Back Check by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:
Boston Rebels #2
Meeting Joachim could save his daughter’s life, but it may well cost Isaac his heart.
It’s been one hell of a year for Joachim Löfgren. After a long summer in rehab, he’s been moved to a new town, one far away from the warm Florida sun he so adores, to bolster a struggling Boston defense since the departure of their beloved team captain. He hasn’t even unpacked his skates properly when fate lands another blow, and he’s told that he is dad to a gravely ill child he never knew existed. It’s an easy decision for the burly defenseman to help and he opens up his new home to his child and her guardian Isaac. He’s instantly enchanted with the preschooler as well as her uncle and decides that his life will only be complete if his daughter is part of it. Filing for custody is the only option he feels he has, but this throws his budding relationship with Isaac into utter chaos. The two men soon find themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom as they both fight for the life they feel is best for Sophia.
Despite grieving for the loss of his sister, Isaac doesn’t hesitate to take on the responsibility for his newborn niece Sophia, creating a brand new family of two built on love and laughter. He has a steady income painting pet portraits during the day, but it’s the subversive and satirical cartoons he draws at night that silence his thoughts in the dark. They don’t have much as a family, but he is Sophia’s dad now, and nothing and no one will ever come between them. When a routine pediatric checkup shows that Sophia is ill, it forces Isaac to confront every one of his fears. Finding a matching donor is her only hope, and Isaac begins the journey to find Sophia’s mysterious father. There are no names or dates in his sister’s battered journal, and all Isaac knows is that he’s looking for a hockey player who was nothing more than a one-night stand. Little does he know that finding Joachim could destroy everything.
First of all, the black cover in the authors' hockey universe where the book covers are generally light colored helps to set the tone of heartbreak that starts the story off. Just goes to show you that cover colors can sometimes do way more than the character representation on said cover to highlight a story's emotions. Brilliant work, Meredith Russell on another great cover design!
Second, part of me wants to be upset with Scott & Locey for making me tear up in a crowded hospital cafeteria but the truth is they represented what teared me up so beautifully that I can't be anything but pleased. This isn't a spoiler because we know that Isaac is caring for his niece because his sister died so I'll touch on it. To be honest, the part that made me tear up is not a lengthy scene but still close to my heart. My mom has been in the hospital for over 100 days now and I've been at her side the entire time so that's why I was in a crowded cafeteria when I was reading Back Check. When I was born my mom had pre-eclampsia and was in a coma for 4 days but survived and when I read it in a book it always makes me grateful for how lucky our family was that Mom survived but it also makes me sad for the character that doesn't. The scene is short and only a few pages if that but the authors wrote the emotions so spot-on that I had to start poking at my eyes a bit so I wouldn't go from a few tears to full on blubbering.
As for Joachim and Isaac. My great grandfather was an alcoholic who took his own life a year before my mother was born but it left a lasting impression on the family so whenever I see someone, in fiction or reality, take the path of recovery I will always be rooting for them and it's no different with Joachim. I'll admit, there are a few scenes where I'd like to take a frying pan to his head to knock a little sense in but I can say the same about Isaac. Communication is key and bad communication or rush-to-judgement can definitely be a ginormous wet blanket on a blossoming relationship. But then where would the fun be if there wasn't some tension that makes us readers want to bash their heads together?😉😉
At times I would have liked to seen more of Sophia because she's just so darn cute and adorable and I want to protect her from all the evils of the world but then I thought about it and considering the characters' journey, I think Back Check is a very well balanced story and the authors definitely knew what they were doing.
Anyone wondering about series order for reading, I can't imagine reading any series other than the original release order but truth is, each book has a beginning and end because of the different characters at the center. However, there are a few mentions of previous couples that I think make friendships and teammates flow better but it isn't a must that they be read as written. You won't be lost by any means but I do warn you, you see just enough of the previous characters that you'll be enticed to go back and discover their journeys.
Shawn wasn't looking for a job as a manny, but a friend needed a favor. Now Shawn finds himself taking care of little Charlie and developing feelings for Charlie's dad, Dale. Charlie had it tough until Dale adopted him and needs help coming out of his shell. Dale does too. Though he seems strict and aloof, Dale has a warm heart. Shawn can't resist him, but he thinks Dale is out of his league. Shawn just might win him over, but can Dale convince him that what they have is real?
Original Review November 2025:
As it has been often this year, my review is going to be shorter than I typically write, time just doesn't seem to be on my side. Thanksgiving Manny is not the first time I have read this author, though it has been a couple of years since I last did. This is a lovely holiday tale that is fun but also heartwarming, it will definitely fill you with all the kinds of joy that holiday stories should be. There tends to be a very limited number of books set during Thanksgiving so when I find one I tend to bookmark it but this one I did not take the time to bookmark it and jumped head first. So glad I did, a complete joy from beginning to end.
Whether you read Thanksgiving Manny this holiday season or you wait till the heat of July so you can experience the goodness throughout the year, either way this is definitely one you should keep in mind because you just can't help but smile.
Always You by RJ Scott
Summary:Guardian Hall #1
In the frostbitten heart of Chicago, a scarred and solitary soldier finds a second chance at love with the man who broke his heart.
Twenty years at war have left Sergeant Jasper "Jazz" Brookes battered, scarred, and haunted. His marriage is wrecked, his daughter barely speaks to him, and the world he fought for has moved on without him. Homeless by choice, Jazz manages until the brutal Chicago winter forces him to seek help from a shelter he doesn’t want to need.
The weathered building in Humboldt Park offers veterans a place to rebuild, but Jazz doesn’t expect to find Alex Richardson there—his first love, the boy who chose money over him, the one he left behind. Seeing Alex again cracks open old wounds and stirs feelings Jazz buried long ago.
For Alex, the sight of Jazz reminds him of everything he’s tried to forget. But neither man has moved on. As they grapple with their past and confront the scars they’ve carried for years, they’re forced to decide if the connection between them is strong enough to survive the pain.
This time, it’s all or nothing.
Original Review February 2025:
A new book AND a new series from RJ Scott? Yes, please. Always You, the first entry in the author's new series, Guardian Hall is amazing. I won't say it has a dark element but it definitely has heartwrenching and heartbreaking elements on multiple points. I won't list the points so as not spoil anything but just know this story, these characters will definitely squeeze you through the emotional wringer.
Alex Richardson made a bad choice long ago thinking he'd have a chance to explain it or perhaps manage it the way he planned, needless to say things did not go as the young man planned. Jazz Brookes was left aching after Alex's choice but tried to make the best life possible, unfortunately things also did not go as he planned. Both men had hit their own rock bottom, we learn and see more of Jazz's collapsed state but we learn some of Alex's as well through conversation and internal monologue. Now some might like to have seen more of Alex's but personally I like a little off-page storytelling because there comes a point where it's just too much. Subtlety and readers imagination can be extremely powerful.
When dealing with PTSD in fiction I find there is too often two ways an author goes: short & brief to minimize the angst or highly detailed heavy on medical wordage so you feel like you're studying a medical school book. I'm all for reality in fiction when it comes to health but sometimes less can truly be more but not at all can disconnect a reader from the characters, so balance is key. RJ Scott has found that balance in Always You. As I said above, both characters are dealing with hurt and healing but Jazz is the primary focus on the healing front IMO and we see the hurt, the comfort, and the fallout/side effects but they don't overpower the story and the romance.
To put it bluntly and paraphrase Goldilocks: RJ Scott got it "just right" with Always You. You'll smile, you'll cry, you'll laugh, basically you'll be "ooohing" and "awwwing" all over the place.
Summary:
Single Dads #6
A blazing connection between single dads from opposite sides of the tracks is fraught with secrets and lies, and a happily ever after is impossible, unless they take a chance on love.
Saved a long time ago by a man who saw a diamond in the rough, Logan is a single dad and the owner of Redcars Automotive, a haven for those in need. With custody of his daughter under scrutiny, his life is upended when a journalist looking for a story slips into his life without him realizing. Logan doesn’t want Gray more than once, but when sharing the secrets of his past won’t get the journalist to leave, what else can he do?
After blaming himself for missing signs that his son was ill, Gray feels Ben is safer with his ex-wife and her new pediatrician husband. With a heart heavy with guilt, and his documentary company failing to find a story, he’s searching for some spark in his life to fix everything. When a series of arson attempts draws him to Los Angeles, he meets the secretive, scarred, and tattooed Logan, who makes him an offer that Gray knows he should refuse.
This opposites-attract love story features two single dads reaching a crossroads in life, angst, secrets, arson, intimidation, and a found family so tightly connected that nothing can break it apart.
Original Review May 2023:
I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is nothing sexier than a man who cares for kids, who lives up to the dad moniker. In the Pride, the latest entry in RJ Scott's Single Dads series, we see not one but two dads and more than one gentle-hearted soul who lends uncle-level support. So there is just all kinds of positive fatherly yumminess to be enjoyed.
Too often(or at least in my reading experience) in fiction we find divided parents that just can't find common ground to provide their kids with stability in joint custodies. Now I know that happens in reality so why shouldn't it happen in fiction? But in my reading recollections it seems like the author does that for drama purposes only and that's okay because we have to have some conflict but because it happens more than I'd like to see, when you have an author who goes the opposite direction and have amicable splits that can still enjoy each other's companies I feel a need to highlight it.
This is why I mention the above point: RJ Scott has done that beautifully. So fluently actually that for a few minutes you almost forget Gray and his ex aren't simply BFFs. Maybe I'm just not reading the right books but this just isn't seen enough for me so a huge Kudos! to RJ Scott for this factor. Now that's not to say Logan and his ex don't have the potential to be on the same level but her husband . . . well lets just say he puts off some not so super friendly vibes.
Watching both men with their perspective offspring is fun and heartwarming, perhaps neither child has as much page-time as previous entries but they own every scene they appear in. Delightful. Simply delightful.
There is a bit more of a mystery element to this Single Dads entry than others and I'll admit I had an inkling where it was headed but not quite how or the full extent behind the danger. Within or around the danger lies, Redcars Automotives, Logan's business that through classic car repair and rebuilts, help certain people get a second chance in life. It's due to Redcars and what they offer that Logan is leery of Gray's journalistic intrusion(or at least that is how Gray sees it). Will the danger be resolved? Will Gray prove to Logan he isn't out to destroy the stability Redcars provides? I think you know the answers . . . read for yourself and as always with RJ Scott's work, you won't be disappointed.
Pride is a journey of healing, discovery, and finding your place in the world through love, friendship, family, and second chances. Some use the label "found family" when it comes to family-not-by-marriage-or-blood, personally I just like "family", whichever label you find fits best, there is no denying family is important to everyone in this story and that makes the goodness of Pride all the more longlasting.
I may be repeating myself but the statement I made about the men and their kids also says it best when it comes to my overall reading experience with Pride: Delightful. Simply delightful.
One last note: I briefly talked about the second chances given at Logan's Redcars Automotive, it seems the author will be bringing to us a Single Dads spinoff centered around the classic car repair and rebuild business January 2024 starting with Logan's righthand man, Enzo. I for one can't wait!
Be My Monster by Davidson King
Summary:Be Mine #1
Born without the ability to feel pain or fear, Pennsylvania has lived his life believing he’s a monster and a freak. Because most people either keep their distance or are cruel, Penn has spent the last few years wandering from town to town, never putting down roots, never letting anyone know who he really is. Then one night he steps out of the shadows and into the light to save children from a burning house, not knowing he’s saving a mob boss’s kids. That split-second decision changes everything for Penn.
Gideon is a dangerous and powerful man trying to keep his territory profitable and safe, and it’s been peaceful for the last couple of years. Though raising twins as a widower is hard, at least he has family to help him. Family is everything to Gideon, so when someone tries to take them away from him, the once quiet streets turn into chaos. Determined to find his family’s savior, Gideon discovers so much more. His heart, which has felt like it’s barely beat since his wife died, comes to life again when he looks into Penn’s eyes for the first time…the man who risked everything to save his family.
With a war on the horizon, Gideon and Penn have to navigate staying alive, figuring out if there’s a future for them, and destroying the real monsters trying to dismantle everything Gideon’s built.
Original Review March Book of the Month 2026:
Davidson King has once again proven she is the Queen of Mayhem. Be My Monster is danger personified and lets face it, despite what Gideon calls himself, it's a mafia setting, or at least maifa-ish😉. Now, there are several mafia-style books out there so you might be wondering what makes King's stories stand out? Honestly, it's the heart of the characters. If you live in that life, I think its safe to say you aren't reading this review so I think it's equally safe for me to say none of us can speak from personal experience and doubt any of us will ever face that kind of danger in our lifetime and she creates these characters we'll never meet in our daily lives and yet, you feel as if you could. Her characters are a mixture of OTT-can't-possibly-be-real and family-is-everything-could-be-my-brother-from-another-mother and it's that bat-crap crazy which makes King's mayhem stand above the rest.
I'm not going to talk specifics about the danger the author has created within the pages of Be My Monster so as not to spoil anything but know that it doesn't slow down at all, fast-paced, adrenaline-pumping, knee-bouncing grit that hooks you quick and doesn't let go. When I swiped the last page, I was not prepared to say goodbye.
How can one not love Penn? He is just so darn lovely, I want to wrap him in bubblewrap and never let him go. I think in general most people are inherently good and want to do the right thing with little to no recognition, or at least I'm that way. I would help others, as Penn does when coming across a burning home, and though my reasons behind it may differ, I'd be happy to slip away with my identity unnoticed as I'm definitely on the introverted side. This plays a huge part in what connected me to the character(I'll mention a little more on connecting to Penn further down) and added to the heart I stated above.
As for Gideon, despite his penchant for provoked violence, and "provoked" is very important here and also adds to what I mentioned in the beginning of this review, I think he is also very freakn' lovely. Family seems to control his every action, or reaction in some cases, and I can certainly relate to that aspect of his character. Don't get me wrong, he is no pushover and he has no qualms about letting his monster side out when it needs exercising but he is not fueled by power for the sake of power.
Throw these two guys together and the result is explosive, a well balanced journey. I just learned this morning there are plans for further Penn/Gideon stories and I'm ready to reserve my seat to hitch a ride whenever they let the author in on more of their tales.
As for the supporting cast, well the kids are super uber adorable. Kids can be tricky to write, too often they either come off as spoiled brats who need a hard timeout or sugary sweet they should be living in the dentist's waiting room. Olivia, Owen, and Mateo are definitely the kind of kids you wished you saw more of in stores and restaurants, energetic but respectful. Little Olivia is a spitfire and I have a feeling she'd be the sure fire fit to take over Gideon's position if it really was a mafia household, which we all know it's not😉😉.
I can't mention this next part without a little personal backstory so #sorrynotsorry. I have no experience with the very rare no fear & no pain gene mutation, FAAH-OUT, Penn lives with, I do however have extensive experience with peripheral neuropathy, which is not "no pain" and certainly not "no fear" but it does come with similar warnings. Both of my parents deal/dealt with neuropathy(my mother who passed away last year lived with it for 20+ and my dad only the past couple) where the limbs, legs and hands, are numb so even though there is technically no pain there is more accurately "no feeling" or complete numbness. Most recently my dad, for example, was testing the softness of the pasta I was cooking for him and his fingers came out wet. Luckily I had turned the temp down so there was no lasting damage but he never felt the near boiling temp or even the wetness. We all wish we didn't feel pain, it sounds like a very good thing actually but what most of us don't think about is pain is how our bodies tell us something is wrong so having no feeling of pain is in fact a very bad thing. I mention this, probably wordier than needed to be, because I want to commend and thank the author for getting this danger behind no pain concept spot on. I also want to talk about a scene towards the end, Penn has a memory flashback of sitting at Tenny's bedside telling her he wished he could take her pain away and Tenny responding "I wouldn't let you", it's as if the author was inside my head because I can't begin to guess how many times I said that to my mother over the years with her chronic pair and that was always her response as well, “I wouldn’t let you, Heather”. I mention this because, yes, that simple line made the tears fall uncontrollably at the memories it brought to mind, it also speaks to the realism behind the characters and helped me connect to them. So thank you, Davidson King for a great story but more importantly, the research and respect you put into the "little details" that connect readers and characters.
Back Check by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Chapter One
Isaac
The box arrived on a Tuesday.
Coincidentally, the same day I received the worst news in a phone call from the oncologist, and right about the moment I lost the last of my hope that we would ever find a donor to match Sophie.
“The HLA markers came back at six or less in all the potential donors,” Dr. Carmichael said in her quiet, supportive tone. “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”
“Then we use one of the people that match six? At this point, surely that’s all we can do?” We needed a donor, but we couldn’t find one. Without a donor, Sophie couldn’t have the chemo. Without the chemo, she’d die. It was a simple chain of events, but we were stuck on part one.
Sophie fussed in my arms, wriggled, and butted my shoulder as she tried to fight sleep. We’d been up all night, watching kids shows and singing nursery rhymes. My eyes scratched with exhaustion and my throat was sore from a hundred iterations of “Wheels on the Bus.”
“I wish it was. Having the best possible match means less risk of Sophie’s body rejecting the new stem cells or her new immune cells reacting against her other body cells. It would be disingenuous of me to suggest that taking a chance on a mismatched transplant would be right for Sophie at the present time.”
“But we’ve run out of options. Tell me what else we can do.”
“We’ll keep searching.”
“I read a transplant from a relative whose tissue was a half-match to Sophie. What about me?”
“A haploidentical transplant you mean? I’m sorry, you’re not a match for that,” she reminded me gently. “And I’m guessing you still haven’t tracked down her biological father?”
I’d tried. I went to the bar where my sister had worked, which was staffed by people who lasted a few months and drifted away and were mostly from the University of Tampa Campus, covering peak times of the year. They remembered my sister, recalled that Ashley was vivacious, a little wild, beautiful, funny, but not one of them knew anything below the surface. She hadn’t left any kind of footprint at the college or the bar or the hundreds of places in between that could help me track down Sophie’s sperm donor. The fact I couldn’t control this situation was driving me insane, and the baby daddy situation was yet another thing I’d never gotten out of my sister, and never would, as she’d died the day Sophie was born.
Despite becoming an uncle, then a single parent, in one terrifying twenty-four-hour period, I got through it and came out the other side, grieving, but wholly focused on Sophie and what she needed. I didn’t even think twice about putting everything on hold for the tiny scrap of a thing who searched for her momma, but was left with me. That had been two years ago. Sophie had just passed her second birthday, and I had the photos to prove that she was a physical presence in my life—a beautiful smiling angel with dark hazel eyes and fine blonde hair that was nothing like her mom’s or mine. I couldn’t bear to think that these might be the last photos I’d ever have of her with a cake.
We’d tried everything, every database, every resource, and I knew Doc Carmichael was the best oncologist for Sophie. Every cent I had went to Sophie’s care, but I felt helpless because I couldn’t do anything. I was out of money and losing hope. I wished I could heal her just with the force of my love, but miracles like that didn’t happen.
Sophie murmured against my neck. She was running a temperature, but not a normal one from teething or a mild fever that new parents expect. This was from a poison inside my daughter’s blood, and it was slowly gripping her and pulling her away from me, minute by agonizing minute. Some days, when I looked into her eyes, I saw nothing but a bright future for her, with all the possibilities of what she could be someday, there for her to take. Then the shadows would fall in my own eyes and all I could see was pain and loss. Now, I don’t know if I can live without her. I’d lost everyone close to me—my parents to Hurricane Wilma, my grandparents who’d faded from old age, and then Ashley herself.
It was just Sophie and me now.
And I was losing her too.
“I wouldn’t even know how to narrow it down,” I said in defeat. “Aside from erecting a sign on every corner and asking if some random guy knew my sister, I have no way of knowing anything at all.”
Dr. Carmichael made a noise that sounded as if she was sucking her teeth. She never once mentioned that my sister’s wild days had left us backed into a corner—she was nothing but supportive—but even I wanted to bury my face in my hands and scream at Ashley’s life choices. If we knew the sperm donor then we’d be able to move onto an alternative solution, but we didn’t, and Sophie was dying.
“As for good news, her last results were encouraging…”
I didn’t even listen. I’d heard the hope in her voice before about good results that implied Sophie would make it through this, when I knew in black and white terms that she wouldn’t.
Neither would I.
“… so, I’ll see you for your appointment on Friday and stay strong, Isaac. Give Sophie a kiss for me.”
She wrapped up the conversation, with the kiss line, and I wondered if it was something that all pediatric oncologists learned in college. Send them a kiss, connect the parent to the child after delivering bad news, always sound positive.
“I will, thank you, doctor.”
The call ended at the same moment the doorbell rang, leaving me no time to dwell in the isolation of my hallway when someone needed me. Albeit the postman, who was probably dropping off a parcel meant for one of my neighbors, which happened often, as I was the only one in the vicinity who worked from home.
“One for you, Mr. Miller,” the postal worker announced with a grin and handed me a battered box wound with enough tape to start a shop. He scanned the parcel and asked me to sign, then I shut the door and rattled the box to work out what someone had sent. It certainly wasn’t a professional wrapping job, so I didn’t imagine it was merch from any of my clients.
I carried it and Sophie through to the kitchen. Sophie was now sleeping on my shoulder, her tiny hands twisted in my shirt, and thankfully, she seemed cooler than earlier. I placed her into the rocker, which was locked into a permanent position in the breakfast nook, then gave the parcel another shake.
Graphic designer killed in exploding parcel incident.
Sophie murmured in her sleep, her eyes opening briefly, as she searched the room for me.
“Dadda,” she whined, arching against the belt that held her secure, and then fisted her hands when I didn’t lift her out fast enough. I’d gone to her immediately, all thoughts of parcels and bombs and life just gone in that instant she needed me. I bet any nanny worth their salt would tell me I shouldn’t carry her with me, but this was Sophie and my time with her might be limited. I wanted every snuggle and moment of love I could get. She pushed one hand into my hair and stared at me with an expression that meant this could go one of two ways. She could start to cry because she was exhausted, in pain, or just generally crabby, or she could melt in my arms and cling to me.
“Hey, baby girl,” I whispered against her neck. She smelled so good, and she loved me and needed me so much. The grief welled up from me so fast it took my breath away.
“Dadda,” she murmured again and then closed her eyes and snuggled in for more love. My heart filled with love, but the sorrow in my chest grew stronger daily, and it was making it harder to keep it there. I’d worked my way through the steps of grief. Hell, denial had lasted an hour before I was on the internet googling everything from cutting-edge drugs to mystical solutions. I would do anything for Sophie, but I felt hopeless and lost because I couldn’t be the dad she needed right now.
One-handed, I attempted to open the box, hacking through the tape in a messy uncoordinated way until the top was shredded and I was finally able to pin back the tabs. There was an envelope at the top, and opening that was an exercise in frustration, but at last I was able to pull out the note. It was short and to the point, and from a name I recognized. Jillian McAfee, an old roommate of Ashley’s at UT—who majored in chemistry or something equally intelligent and had been as quiet as Ashley was vivacious. Last I saw her was just after Sophie was diagnosed when I’d been looking for clues as to the identity of Sophie’s baby daddy. Jillian summed up Ashley as someone who flitted from person to person and didn’t have a steady partner, adding that Ashley was confident and sassy and always smiling. Still, she couldn’t give me a clue as to the identity of the sperm donor.
“This is from a lady who knew your momma,” I told a sleeping Sophie.
Hi, you might not remember me, but I roomed with Ashley for a while. These are some of her things that I’d mixed in with mine when she didn’t come back for the final semester. Hope all’s good with you. Love Jillian.
As notes went it wasn’t earthshattering, but I was excited to see some of Ashley’s things that I could put away for when Sophie was older. If there was a later. I rubbed at the abrupt pain in my chest, forced away the sorrow, and focused on the positives. We would find a way to get a match. Somehow.
At the top were a couple of sparkly leotards, seeing them brought back so many memories of Ashley dressing up in things like this and giving our grandparents impromptu dance recitals. They hadn’t happened much after we lost them, seemed as if nothing nice happened after that, but hell, I wasn’t going to think about that right now.
“Come on, Soph, let’s take this into the garden room.” I carried coffee out there first, then returned for the box. Sophie never woke for one second. When I finally got to sit in the comfy chair that was my happy place, Sophie tucked into my neck, I pulled the box onto the small side table and picked out the next item. It was a calculator, an old Casio, that I couldn’t believe for one second my sister had ever used. Neither of us were gifted with mathematical brains, she a dancer and me an artist, but on the back, scratched into the plastic, was her name. I missed her so much, for all that happened when we were growing up, for all the obstacles in our way, for her leaving too soon. I missed her like a limb.
A stuffed toy followed next, a giraffe wearing an orange T-shirt, and attached to the T-shirt was a key ring from the bar she worked at—Branson’s Beach Pub. There were some postcards of London, a place she always wanted to visit, and a photo of Mom, Dad, me, and her from way back when we were just youngsters without a care in the world. We looked so innocent, me ten and her eight, the year before a tropical storm became something more, and Hurricane Wilma took Mom and Dad without stopping.
There was something else wedged in at the bottom, a textbook or something, but when I levered it out, I realized it was stuck because it had a lock on it, like one of those old-fashioned secret diaries, although there was no sign of the key. I stared at it for the longest time, torn between opening it and then struck by the fact there might be a name in there that would help find a connection to Sophie. Was it an actual journal? I went to fetch a knife then thought better of carrying Sophie at the same time and placed her back in her chair. Just give me a few moments, sweet girl.
I had the lock broken in no more than two twists of the knife, then placed it carefully on the counter. Sophie seemed content to sleep where she was, and with a prayer to the goddesses of luck and hope, I opened the journal to page one.
It was a diary of sorts, dated, but there were random notes scattered in the margins, a reminder for a haircut, a shift list for the bar, a list of possible nail polish colors, and a lecture schedule that was pasted on page five. A bobby pin marked that page, and it was oddly bright with a smiling ladybird against the subtle cream paper. My hope shifted to despair when I didn’t immediately find the words baby daddy with an equal sign and then a name.
But when I got further in, the posts were more of a diary. There were entries for deadlines for work, even a note about a three-hundred-dollar tip and what she was going to spend it on.
Then I saw the first note of interest, dated Christmas Eve 2017. I hadn’t seen her at all that Christmas, or even much at all the entire year. She’d been at college, getting on with her life. We had at least exchanged texts, but they never went much past the “are you okay, yes I am,” kind of exchange. Too many wasted days.
“Met HG tonight, dark eyes, muscles, sexy man, swoon.”
Well, that didn’t narrow the pool, but it was the only mention so far of this nebulous man and the initials HG. That could be Harry, Henry, anything.
I went through the next few entries. HG appeared a couple of times, and she seemed interested in him.
Was HG Sophie’s father? The timing was right. Christmas 2017. There were smaller notes, a clipping of a red low-cut dress, and then there in black and white was the first clue I had.
29th HG puck drop 7. Will call ticket. Reminder NYE 8-3, nails = scarlet lake.
I flicked back to her schedule, and yep, she was working New Year’s 2017 from eight p.m. to three on New Year’s Day, so that was one detail I could rule out. Puck drop, I guess that is hockey? I’m not the world’s best expert at hockey, or sports in general, but the one thing I did know is that pucks were found in hockey. Was she meeting someone at the hockey game? Was HG a hockey fan? That narrowed it down a bit. Maybe I needed to reach out to the local NHL team or to one of the smaller teams? I didn’t know enough, but I had initials and that was a start. Then I saw the words Hockey Guy, and my heart sank. HG was just short for Hockey Guy? Had she even known the man’s name? How could she conceive a baby and not know the sperm donor’s name? A flush of anger vanished as soon as I glanced at Sophie because no connection that made her could be wrong.
I scanned the rest of the journal, broken up once by Sophie waking up grumpy and hungry, but by the time midnight rolled around I knew without a doubt that Ashley had met and hooked up with a hockey fan she called Hockey Guy, or HG for short, because it was the only thing that made sense.
Which is why for the opening game of the preseason, against Tampa, I left Sophie with June, a neighbour and retired nurse, who had babysat for me in the past. Dressed head to toe in neon orange, I headed to the Tampa Arena with three huge signs I’d drawn, determined to get the attention of every single hockey fan as they went into the place.
Sophie needed help so there I stood half-naked with face paint, looking like a carrot. I couldn’t get a ticket to the game, but if queuing fans read the signs and went to get themselves tested with the hospital to see if they were a match to Sophie, then it was a win. Maybe, somewhere, within the twenty-thousand people at the arena, HG might be there, and I was going to find him.
Because it really was Sophie’s last chance.
And I refused to let someone else die on my watch.
Thanksgiving Manny by Trina Solet
Chapter 1
Shawn was supposed to already have a job, but the company where he accepted a position was bought out and almost everybody got fired. The job he was offered didn't exist any more.
Shawn was back to looking for work and making sure he didn't spend money he didn't have. That was why he met up with Heather but not for lunch. It was a little later in the afternoon when they went window shopping instead. The day was sunny but still pretty cold. The street was lined with trees that all had big orange leaves. Heather grabbed one off a branch.
"That's a good one," she said then she eyed Shawn. "I would have treated you to lunch, you know. Especially since I'm about to ask you for a favor. And this favor might solve your unemployment issue."
"Sounds intriguing," Shawn said though he was going to say confusing. "But I see a Help Wanted sign. You might have competition."
"No. Don't look at that," Heather said and waved the big, orange leaf in his face.
"OK, OK. I'm listening. Give me your pitch," he told her.
"I need you to save me. I told you how my brother adopted recently. When he did, I promised him I would help out, take on major babysitting duties, but now I want to go to Puerto Rico with Valencio. He's going to stay with his family for the holidays and he invited me. I'm dying to go."
"So you are offering me a babysitting job?" Shawn asked.
"More like a nanny job. Dale is really busy with his real estate work. He needs a lot of help, more even than I could give him," Heather said.
"I have some experience babysitting my cousin's kids. I actually lived with them for a while so I could help when the kids were really little," Shawn said. He was seriously considering this. His money was running out. He could still come up with rent but his roommate was getting nervous about how long his money would last. Shawn was too.
"This might be live-in too. Dale has the room," Heather said.
"That might work, I guess. So this is an offer to interview for the nanny job?" Shawn said.
"Actually, we can do a trial run. I'm picking up Charlie from school. That's my nephew. You and I can take him to the park together. Dale is meeting us so you can meet both father and son. Then I'll spring this idea on Dale," Heather said.
"He doesn't know?"
"I didn't want to tell him that I was planning to ditch him, not until I had a replacement," Heather said. "Dale is kind of a reluctant dad. He's still getting used to having a kid."
"Reluctant?"
"Yeah. He's always been emotionally closed off and I don't blame him," she said with a sigh. "Dale and I had different moms. His mom died when he was still little. When our dad died, we got separated. I stayed with my mom, and Dale went to live with our grandmother. We spent summers together at Grandma Eliza's though. After Dale went to college, our grandmother became a foster mom. She had a bunch of foster kids. Charlie was her last one. Grandma was planning to adopt him but she got cancer. Dale decided to adopt Charlie himself. It was for her sake so she would know he was taken care of. That was when I promised to help out because Dale had misgivings about taking care of a kid."
"I see. OK," Shawn said feeling like he understood things a little better. "We can test the waters, see how it goes. I'm just worried my childcare experience isn't going to impress." "I believe in you," Heather said and hugged him.
Shawn waited with Heather outside the elementary school but he hung back since this kid didn't know him. A little blond boy split off from all the other kids coming out of the school and ran straight for Heather. "Are we gonna go to the park?" he asked.
"Yes, we are. With this guy," she said and put her arm around Shawn to draw him closer.
"That's not Valencio," the kid said.
"Oh, no! I picked up the wrong guy," Heather joked.
For a second the kid's eyes went wide like he believed her. Then he laughed. "No you didn't. This guy is bigger."
"Oof, I'm glad Valencio isn't here to hear that," Heather said.
"What? He hasn't noticed I'm taller than him?" Shawn asked her.
Heather just rolled her eyes at him then she finally did the introductions. "This big guy is Shawn. And this little guy is Charlie."
"Nice to meet you, Charlie," Shawn said. "Did you have a good day at school."
"I did," he said but he was a little bit shy with Shawn. As they started walking toward the park, he talked to Heather though. "I met this new kid and he has the same name as Vic."
"What's his name?" Shawn asked with a grin.
"Vic!" Charlie said.
"Who's Vic?" Heather asked. "I mean the other Vic."
"One of my foster brothers. I had lots of foster brothers and foster sisters," Charlie said.
"He was in different foster homes before Grandma," Heather said. The mention of her grandmother made Charlie look sad, and Heather rubbed his shoulder. "I miss her too."
Charlie had gone quiet so Shawn asked him, "What grade are you in?"
"I'm in first grade. That's real school," Charlie said with a proud smile.
"It is. Very impressive," Shawn told him.
A little later they arrived at the park. "Let's see what food carts are out here. That will be your after school snack," Heather said.
"Hot dogs," Charlie said and looked around hopefully.
Shawn didn't see any hot dog vendors, but he did see this tall guy in an elegant coat. He was pacing, glancing at his phone and looking very hot. He wasn't Shawn's type at all. He was too well put together, plus Shawn wasn't there to stare at hot guys.
"Dale isn't late," Charlie said suddenly and pointed at the guy in the coat.
"No way. That's your brother," Shawn said to Heather.
"Don't get your hopes up. He's so uptight and only into rich guys," Heather said.
"I'm not interested, I'm just surprised," Shawn said a little defensively.
They went up to Dale and he put away his phone. He frowned at Shawn then looked at Heather questioningly.
"I was going to text you, but you're already here," Heather said explaining nothing. She was getting flustered, and Charlie had gone quiet and he only greeted Dale with a quiet "hi".
Shawn stepped up. "I'm Shawn Marler. I'm interested in a job as a nanny," he said to Dale.
He wasn't about to get rattled by this guy with dark hair and gray eyes who looked even hotter close up. Dale was back to giving Heather a questioning glare while she looked seriously guilty.
"Why don't Charlie and I get him a hot dog so you two can talk," Shawn said. He had finally spotted a hot dog vendor.
Now Charlie saw the same thing and he got excited. "Can we?" he asked. He was looking at both Heather and Dale.
"That would be fine," Dale said stiffly. As Shawn took Charlie to get his precious hot dog, he heard Dale asking Heather, "And why exactly do I need a nanny?"
Oh this was a great start. Shawn felt his chances of getting this job plummeting, but this wasn't the kind of job he was looking for anyway. Except something about how hesitant Charlie was with his dad made Shawn feel like he needed to take this job on the slim chance it was actually offered to him.
Always You by RJ Scott
Chapter One
JAZZ
Standing across the street, I held the coffee cup close, its warmth providing a brief reprieve from the biting Chicago wind. The old building in Humboldt Park loomed ahead— a weary, weathered structure. Its brickwork was faded and chipped, with windows gleaming on the first floor, but above that, grimy and dark, the windowsills and surrounds needed repairs everywhere. Around the house, the neighborhood stretched out in a patchwork of neglect and survival. Graffiti-covered walls displayed various tags, while trash blew and collected on the snowy sidewalks.
Someone bumped into me, jolting me from my reverie. “Sorry,” I muttered, but the girl glanced back, her nose wrinkling in disdain, before she hurried away, disappearing into the flurry of thickening snow that swirled around streetlamps and piled up in dirty mounds. She might’ve been reacting to the way I looked— homeless, piles of rags, unwanted, and scary. Or maybe the way I smelled— given I hadn’t washed in days— not since leaving the hospital where the cops had dropped me off. My appearance must have been unsettling— hands cracked from the cold, hair unkempt, clothes a mismatched ensemble from some thrift shop clinging to my skinny body, a backpack with all I owned slung over my shoulder. She and other people— the ordinary people of this world— were why I didn’t stay inside the café. I knew no one would want to sit next to me, so I used loose change, ignored the comments, and hurried outside to take my position as a ghost, haunting the fringes of a world that had moved on without me.
Cars inched along the road, their tires crunching over the fresh layer of snow, and I watched them and their drivers, so worried they’d slip and knock their vehicles as if a few scratches mattered. What were they all doing out here, anyway? Didn’t they all have homes to go to, with people who cared about them?
I sipped the dark coffee, its bitterness awful compared to the sugar-laden or salty drinks I’d grown used to in the desert. That arid, endless expanse of sand and heat felt a world away. Here, the air was heavy with the smell of cold— that crisp, almost metallic scent that comes with snow. It mingled with distant whiffs of exhaust fumes and an urban winter's faint, underlying decay.
The desert was silent and had vast open spaces until it was torn apart by explosions and drenched in screams, but here, the city was a constant hum of life, even in its most rundown corners. The sound of distant traffic, the muffled conversations of passersby, the occasional siren in the distance— it was all so alien and tight and close— too much.
I took another sip— my hand shaking, the coffee scalding my tongue— and stared at the building that was supposed to be my refuge. Fear gripped me— not just of the four walls waiting to enclose me, but of what lay beyond them.
I wanted to return to the heat, friends, and having a reason and purpose every day. So, I should head south to Texas, the tip of Florida, the islands, or the ocean. It may not be the desert, but the heat in my bones would be enough to thaw me out, right?
But then, I wouldn’t be near Harper, and whatever my ex-wife, Ava, thought of me now, I deserved to be near my daughter. If only to check in on her from a distance.
She was in Chicago, living her normal teenage life.
I was in Chicago, trying to stay alive any way I knew how.
And maybe one day, I’d talk to her.
One day, when my head wasn’t so messed up and I didn’t smell like five-day-old garbage.
I drew in a lungful of icy air and stepped off the curb, intent on closing the distance between me and the building as the world seemed to slow down. A silver Toyota lost its battle with the slick, snow-covered street, fishtailing wildly. It skidded past me, missing me by mere inches. My heart didn’t race. No adrenaline-fueled shock coursed through me. Instead, there was an eerie calm, a detachment, and I heard music blaring although the car windows were closed. The driver, face twisted in frustration, shot me an angry gesture before steering the car back on track and disappearing around the next corner.
I stood on the road, the cold seeping through my worn shoes, watching the taillights fade into the distance. The lack of fear, the absence of reaction, was unsettling. Once, a moment like that would have sparked a surge of adrenaline, a rush of instincts perfected in far more dangerous situations. But now, there was nothing— just a hollow emptiness, a numbness that had become a constant companion since returning stateside.
“Hey, you’re in the middle of the road, man. You okay?” someone asked, snapping me out of the fugue state I had going on.
I waved a hand as if I were telling him it was okay, then, with one glance left and right, I crossed to the sidewalk and ended up outside the door of Guardian Hall, Private Residence. There was a discreet plate with a button to push, and I stared at it.
Guardian Hall?
I needed to press the buzzer.
I reached for it.
But I didn’t press it.
I couldn’t.
I stared some more, my feet unmoving, my backpack digging into my shoulders, the snow swirling harder around me.
Then, the door opened.
I couldn’t see into the shadows, and until the person stepped into the light, I wasn’t sure it would be him, but I recognized those dark eyes, that ruffled dark hair, and how he dressed was a throwback to twenty years ago. He looked older, wiser, maybe, but, like me he was only a few weeks from his thirty-eighth birthday, so he would never again be the boy I remembered. He was silent and watchful in the way he stared at me.
“Do you want to come in?” he said with a kind, understanding smile.
He didn’t sneer, wrinkle his nose, or judge me; instead, he invited me inside.
“Alex,” I murmured.
He grinned. “That’s me, for my sins.” Then, he held out a hand. “Alex Richardson, manager of Guardian Hall.”
“I know,” I said, and his smile faltered a little, and he seemed puzzled for a moment, probably imagining that I was familiar somehow.
“It’s okay to come in. We don’t ask for names or—”
“Jazz,” I blurted and coughed, remnants of the freaking viral shit that had landed me in the hospital.
He looked confused; then, his hand dropped, his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. Was he still going to welcome me in after sending me away twenty years ago? Was this the moment he slammed the door in my face again after telling me I was nothing to him? After a moment’s pause, he reached for me, gripped my wet-through coat, and dragged me into the house, closing the door behind me, then setting me back so he could check me out.
He was lost for words.
And I didn’t have a single damn thing to say.
Pride by RJ Scott
Chapter 1
Last week
After seeing every hour in the night, I’d banked no more than thirty minutes of decent sleep, every muscle ached, and my head hurt like a mother. The last thing I wanted today was to have to deal with lawyers, but there was too much at stake for me to fuck this up. I was early for the ten a.m. meeting—nervous as a racing driver with an engine fire—so I found a coffee shop within viewing distance of the office building that was home to Newman, Granda, and Lewis on the eighth floor. In downtown LA, it was impossible to walk twenty yards without tripping over the A-board of some artisan caffeine distributor claiming they served the best coffee in the city, and this one came with views of the 777 Tower as it soared to the sky.
Everything here made me feel small. I researched everything I could, and I fought for the right to be in my daughter’s life, and I hated feeling small.
God, I need caffeine.
“Logan? Coffee for Logan?” the barista called my name.
I stepped out from where I’d been hiding behind the unit displaying an artistically arranged set of mugs in what Millie’s Coffee Emporium called the Hollywood collection. Given we were miles from anything like the celebrity homes tourist trail in the hills, I thought Millie’s marketing was misguided, but who was I to comment. I might live and work in LA, but Echo Park was a long way from Hollywood. Instead of tourists, Millie’s was full of businesspeople who discussed everything from selling to buying in loud voices, and I’d yet to spot a single tourist; so, there was me, sticking out like a sore thumb.
I found a quiet corner with a view of the glass tower where the meeting would be held, and sipped my coffee, wishing for a distraction and damn thankful when my cell vibrated with a text.
Everything okay?
It was from Tudor Barrera, former boss, friend, pseudo dad, who would be waiting for me to tell him the meeting went well, as it usually did, but he was jumping the gun asking me too early.
Too early yet. Just got coffee.
I saw the dots dancing, and wondered what the comment would be.
Give ’em hell.
I snorted a laugh and sent back a simple LOL, but as I typed, I noticed a stubborn speck of oil down the side of my thumb, which had remained despite my best efforts to clean my hands. A mechanic was never truly clean of the sweat of honest work, of the oil and scent of leather and exhaust, although I picked at the spot as I finished my coffee just to see if I could clean it off, then pulled out the letter I’d received to read it one more time.
It was a non-specific, generic, letter-headed missive to attend a meeting regarding Cassidy’s welfare—something we’d done before, and nothing unusual. I had my daughter every other weekend, a precious forty-eight hours from the end of the school day on Friday to Sunday afternoon, but maybe Izzy wanted more time with her new husband and his family? Maybe after today, I could have Cassidy—the six-year-old, precocious, smiling, sunshine, center of my world—for more time.
I couldn’t avoid this thing any longer and headed out to the sixty-story glass building that housed the offices of Newman, Granda, and Lewis. After a warm welcome from the receptionist, I accepted another coffee with an undisguised enthusiasm that made her smile.
“Please take a seat in the family room.” She opened the door to a space off the main corridor, and her polite expression never slipped once, even if she had seen, as I guessed, the rough that I couldn’t hide. Then again, this was LA. I bet she’d seen some things, from actors and rock stars to sports heroes. Maybe she thought I had celebrity money and had chosen to wear an old suit and even older shoes, or maybe she’d just been trained to be welcoming.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile, which I was sure was little more than a grimace.
“You’re welcome. Mr. Granda will be starting the meeting shortly, and I will come to find you.”
My chest was tight, and I didn’t want to be here where I didn’t belong. I was thirty-one years old, responsible, owning and running a company. Hell, I even had a 401k. Still, I tugged down the sleeves of my shirt on instinct, and winced when I realized what I’d done.
Protection mode activated.
“Thank you, again,” I managed.
“Do you need anything?”
“Not to be here?” I quipped.
She offered me a soft smile that was probably meant to be reassuring.
I don’t feel reassured.
She pulled the door closed, and then it was just me with coffee, pacing the six-by-six room with its plush sofa and conspicuous lack of windows. I didn’t like small spaces at the best of times, or the feeling of being trapped, so I opened the door a little and hoped to God this would be over soon so I could get back to the garage.
I’d tried calling Izzy last night to suggest we didn’t need to meet so often—time was money. Only, it was a very polite Parker, aka her new husband, who’d answered the phone even thought I don’t like the guy, he was so damned reasonable that my piss and vinegar attitude had melted, and I found myself thanking him for taking the call, unsure how he’d encouraged me to reach that decision. I hated that he’d somehow gaslit me into feeling bad for wanting to talk to the mother of my daughter, but I couldn’t focus on that now. Did all rich people go somewhere to learn these let’s-be-reasonable techniques, or was I just out of my freaking depth? Probably the latter.
I was Izzy’s dad. I made smiley pancakes, and built Lego, and played tea parties, and loved her with every breath in my body. I may have had a complicated past, detailed in the tattoos etched on my skin, but I could teach Cassidy things Izzy never could. I knew how to stand up for myself, I knew how to strip and rebuild a beautiful lady of a ’66 Thunderbird until she purred like a kitten, or more likely, growled like a tiger. I knew the things Cassidy loved.
“I’m okay,” I muttered to the room.
“Talking to yourself, Logan?” Izzy said from the doorway.
I spun to face her as she slipped inside and shut us in. I felt trapped, but she hadn’t closed the door on purpose because she didn’t know I was claustrophobic. Hell, she didn’t know a tenth of the things about me that’d make her stop and think before shutting us into this small room. She floated in on a cloud of perfume, her ivory skin flawless, every hair in place, and jewelry that would keep the garage afloat for years around her neck, in her earlobes, and weighing down her hands. I’d never have gone out of my way to go with a high-class girl like her, but she’d gone out of hers to find a bad boy. I couldn’t even regret that night, or the joyride in a stolen car, or the arrest, or everything after that… because out of all of it came Cassidy.
And she was every good part of me. She was everything.
“Izzy,” I acknowledged.
“Isabel,” she corrected, and fiddled with the handle of her purse. “Parker suggested that I talk to you alone before we reconsider the custody arrangement—”
“Which was made official with a court order two years ago,” I interrupted. “So, if we’re here to discuss me having Cassidy for more time, then I can agree to that without spending money on lawyers.” Money that I don’t have.
“Logan, stop.” She held up a hand, and I saw the French-polished nails—she used to wear her nails longer, painted them scarlet, but this wasn’t the Izzy I’d known oh so briefly, this was the new, improved Isabel, who wanted to slot back into the world she’d once tried to escape with her walk on the wild side. “It’s not that.”
“So, if you don’t need me to take her for more time, then what are we doing here?”
“Parker has been offered a long-term role within his family’s bank in Europe. Switzerland, to be exact.” She used words, but the rushing sound in my ears meant I couldn’t string them together in any order. Panic gripped my chest. I couldn’t breathe. Switzerland? That meant…
They want to take Cassidy.
“No,” I managed. “No.”
“Think of the opportunities—”
“No.”
“Please be reasonable—”
“You’re not taking our daughter to goddamned Switzerland.”
She winced at the harsh words, but I wasn’t going to be manipulated into thinking I was wrong in my reaction. How in God’s name would I see her? Would she fly back? Would I go there? How could I go there? Izzy was still speaking in that low, wheedling tone that reminded me of Parker, as if she had the right to stand there and rip my life apart.
“It might only be for two or three years, and we think it would be best—”
“No.”
Izzy’s lips thinned, her brown eyes flashing with temper, and that was the first glimpse of the old Izzy I’d seen in a long time. She’d been such a firebrand back in the day, a party girl, out for fun, and I’d witnessed the real temper in her, and I could handle that Izzy, the one who let emotions rule her head.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then placed her purse on the sofa, taking that time to get her thoughts straight. I could see the temper ebb and then disappear—ice replaced the heat—and my heart skipped a beat.
“Parker has suggested that Cassidy spend an entire four weeks in the summer with you and it makes sense because you’ll have quality time with her instead of four days or so every month. He knows the costs of flying may well be out of your reach, but he said he’ll cover the cost of a reasonable amount of flights.” She tilted her chin.
Fuck that. I could be just as stubborn.
“And I counter propose that Cassidy remain with me every other weekend, as per the legal agreement we reached, because there’s no way in hell you’re taking her to Switzerland.”
“You have to be reasonable.”
“‘Reasonable’ was me agreeing to only having her every other weekend because it was best for her to be with her mom. Her mom, Izzy! Not your new husband, who talks as if he knows what’s best for everyone just because he has money!”
She pursed her lips, and I could imagine her brain working out what valid point she had to make this a deal I’d agree to. “What about the garage?”
“What about it?” I owned it. It was profitable. Respected.
“Every time she comes home, she’s filthy with oil and her hair is a tangled mess. Do you really think the garage is a suitable place for her to spend time?”
Jesus. How did I defend that? I ran a place where curses were punctuation, where I worked from six in the morning till eight at night, sometimes even later. Objectively, not all my staff could be considered as good, wholesome people to be around a kid. Enzo had a record, Robbie wasn’t using his real name and I knew little about his background, not to mention Rio and Jamie, both of whom had only just gotten out of prison. We were a rough and ready crew, covered in oil, stinking of gas and exhaust, and yeah, there was nothing clean about my work or my life. But Cassidy loved spending time at Redcars Automotive—she thrived on spending time there—and everyone loved her right back.
“She’s happy. She loves the cars, and the guys, and they love her. You know that, so don’t start with that.”
“Parker said you’d be like this,” she snapped.
I saw red. Fuck Parker.
“So, in your plans, I miss her November birthday, and next year a seven-year-old turns up at my place, and we spend precious weeks just getting to know each other again, and then you swoop in to take her away again. Right?”
“Logan—”
“But then she turns eight, and nine, and soon she’s a teenager, and I’m just some random guy she has to spend time with every summer. Every year, my relationship with her is eroded by absence. It’s not happening.”
“Logan, please—”
“I know my rights; we have an agreement, and you’re not taking my daughter overseas.”
Izzy stiffened at what she likely perceived as a threat, but I wasn’t threatening her. I respected her as the mother of my child. Hell, I owed her for even telling me I was a father when she didn’t have to, but I was ready to fight to be a part of my daughter’s life.
“Logan… listen to me.” She stepped closer and placed a hand flat on my chest, and I got an up-close look at her face, her brown eyes bright with emotion. This wasn’t the Izzy I had lusted after, this wasn’t the Izzy from my past, this was some painted doll who stood there and demanded things of me that I could never agree to. “Don’t make this about what you lose,” she encouraged. “Make this about all the opportunities Cassidy will get in life.”
The fuck? “She needs her dad, and if you think I’m going to stand by and—”
“Maybe I used to think it was a good idea for you to be part of her life, but now…”
“What’s changed, Izzy? I thought we were doing okay.” I pleaded with her, but she glanced behind herself at the door, and seemed confused for a moment. What in the hell was going on? Was Izzy okay? She was pale, and the unforgiving light in the ceiling highlighted the anxiety in her expression. “Are you okay? Can I help with—”
“You’re a criminal,” Izzy snapped, and the temperature in the room fell a few degrees.
My sudden swell of sympathy at her confusion vanished in an instant. “I was,” I said. “You knew that when you wanted the bad boy.”
She went scarlet and couldn’t meet my gaze. “You stole cars, you have a criminal record—”
“Yeah, but when you got caught coming along for the ride, you had a daddy who could pay off the cops.”
“Your face scares Cassidy!” she pointed at the scar running from my eye to my lip.
I tapped it, and she winced. “This? Cassidy doesn’t care about my fucking scar,” I snapped.
She spluttered. “And you curse!”
“Never in front of Cass, so fuck you.”
We were toe to toe, and finally, everything heated up, her eyes brightened with emotion, and she took a step back. “And you spent time on the streets, doing God knows what.” She whispered as if she couldn’t bring herself to shout at me, knowing she was pulling on threads that should be left untouched.
“Surviving.” I knew I sounded tired. “Trying to stay alive. That’s what I was doing on the street, not that that meant much to you, but then, not all of us had Mommy and Daddy to run back to.” I knew the barb hit home when she winced, and that wasn’t me anymore. I didn’t want to stand here and hurt her; I just wanted her to realize that I was Cassidy’s daddy. I inhaled, then shook my head. “This isn’t you talking. This is Parker. I’m not doing this with you, and I will fight you every step of the way.”
“With what money? Parker said—”
“Parker said what? That I can’t afford a lawyer to fight this? That he’s won because of that. Fuck, I don’t need a lawyer anymore, I know my rights. We did the court thing. I got partial custody, end of story.”
She straightened the jacket of her scarlet suit, then picked up her purse. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”
I held her arm, and she let out a pained noise, and even though I hadn’t been holding that hard, I let go. “If the Izzy I remember is still in there, then she knows I’m a good dad. Please find that Izzy, and don’t try to take Cassidy away from me. I don’t want to have to go to court. I won’t let you do that to me and Cass.”
“Are you threatening me?” she snapped.
“What? No. Of course, not. I’m freaking pleading with you.”
She paused with her fingers on the handle, but she didn’t turn to face me. “I’m sorry, Logan, but Parker’s family is not willing to back down on sending us there.”
“I won’t lose Cassidy. I will fight this,” I said and left no room for discussion.
The only indication she’d heard was the stiffening of her shoulders. “Parker will use everything he has to make sure you lose,” she murmured, then she glanced back at me, her lips trembling, real tears brightening her eyes. “I’m sorry. You can’t fight him on this, you should just accept what happens.”
“‘Him’?” I softened at her tears. I was a sucker for tears. “What about you?”
For a moment, I thought we’d connected, and then she blinked away the emotion and turned back to the door. “You can’t stop him.”
“Then you stop him.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She met my question with a tilt of her chin, and I thought I might get honesty from her. “I won’t,” she said, then left the room.
I wanted to leave—turn around and walk out of the high-rise and ignore this meeting, but if I did it was something Izzy and her new husband could use against me.
My heart ached; I felt sick; and there was no air in this room. I was in a world I didn’t understand, but I refused to fall back on my destructive, self-doubting behavior, and be who they expected me to be.
Shoulders back, I stalked past the receptionist to the exit.
“Sir?” she asked.
“I’m leaving!” I snapped at her, then stopped and turned back. “Sorry, that was rude. I can’t… I just… can’t…”
“It’s okay, sir, I’ll let them know.” She gave me an apologetic half smile—didn’t stare at me, my clothes, my tattoos, or my scar—then nodded as I left.
I’m Cassidy’s daddy. Not Parker with his money and his lawyers—me.
And they can’t change that.
However hard they try.
Be My Monster by Davidson King
PROLOGUE
Past
“This is not a typical situation, Tenny. His parents clearly know people and have the money to make this happen so easily for them.”
“I don’t understand, sir. Why would they put their five-year-old son up for adoption? Has he done something? Have they?”
I sat on the bed, my back to them as I stared out the window. My focus was on the pond across the way and the group of ducklings swimming in circles around their parents. Did they love their ducklings?
“The file I was given says very little, Tenny. It does say he isn’t dangerous, just…different. They couldn’t deal with him.” That last part was said under the older man’s breath.
I’d glanced at the two adults as they’d come in. One was older like my grandpa before he died. The other was a real pretty Black lady with braids and a friendly expression. She was older than Mommy but not by much.
“And you want me to talk with him?”
“Please, Tenny. You have a way about you.”
She sighed. I was used to that sound—Mommy and Daddy did that anytime I did something I wasn’t supposed to do.
Footsteps approached, and I dropped my gaze to the floor. A pair of Mary Janes came into view, but I didn’t look up.
“Hey there, Mitchell. My name is Tennessee. It’s real nice to meet you.” She held out her hand. Daddy always said that was a polite way to greet people, so I took her hand and shook it.
“May I sit down?” She motioned to the spot beside me, and I shrugged. I didn’t care.
She was quiet for a bit, and then she finally spoke. “This feels like an unfair situation, doesn’t it, Mitchell?”
Slowly, I turned my head to peer up at her. Honey-brown eyes glimmered, and a small smile played on light-pink painted lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I bet you’re feeling all sorts of ways, am I right?” I nodded and she hummed. “I have no doubt about that. I can’t imagine all that’s buzzing around that head of yours, but you know what, Mitchell?”
“What?”
“I’d like to find out. I know you don’t believe this, or me, and likely all trust for everything has been thrown out the window, but I want you to know I’m here for you, and I’ll wait as long as I have to for you to believe me.”
I didn’t believe her. I didn’t believe anyone. Mommy and Daddy would tell me they loved me; then I’d hear them tell people I was a monster, a freak. I didn’t understand why. I was sure Tennessee would find out soon enough.
I looked out the window once again. The ducks were gone, and even though Tennessee sat beside me, I felt alone.
“Go on now. Lift your shirt and let me see your back—you know the routine.” Tennessee spun me, forcing me to laugh. I lifted my shirt as she’d ordered, and she hummed. “Good, good. Okay, go wash those filthy hands and help me snap these green beans.”
“Okay, Tenny.” I rushed up the stairs. I’d lived at Sunshine House for five years, and in all that time Tennessee had been right beside me.
She was determined to get inside my head, and she asked a lot of questions. I didn’t know why my parents stopped loving me or why they thought I was a monster. It had taken time for her to break the mold with me, but eventually she did, and she’d always reiterated to me that I wasn’t a monster but that I was special.
She never gave up on me and dragged me to more doctors than I’d ever cared to see again. It wasn’t until I was eight years old that we’d gotten some answers about why I was so weird.
“He has a gene mutation called FAAH-OUT. It’s extremely rare and was quite hard to determine” a doctor had diagnosed, and immediately I’d thought I was one of the X-Men, and how cool was that?
Then came the serious talk. We’d gotten back to Sunshine House, and Tennessee told me to join her at the kitchen table.
“I didn’t really notice it all before. I knew there was something unique about you, Mitchell. You don’t get scared about anything. Thunder, loud noises—heck, that bonfire last summer got crazy, and you didn’t even flinch. Last year you fell from that tree house, broke your arm. You didn’t cry, promised it didn’t hurt. You even healed faster than the doctor thought you would. Now I understand why.”
Apparently, this gene mutation allowed me to feel virtually no pain, and no fear, and I healed faster than others. This mutation was so rare that there were only a few cases worldwide…like seriously, only a few.
Tennessee explained things that I should be wary of—like fire, things that could potentially harm me. And because I felt no pain, she made sure I checked myself over every day, twice a day, and any time I did something that could hurt me.
She told me all the time that I wasn’t a monster or a freak. Mostly, I believed her. But the kids in school thought I was weird. I guess my mutation showed or something, I dunno.
I was sitting at the table, helping Tennessee with dinner, when I got up the nerve to ask her a question that had been poking around my brain.
“Hey, Tenny?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Remember that time you told me all the people in your family were named after states?”
She smiled. “I did say something like that. Not everyone, though. My brothers Dakota and Montana, yes, and then me, Tennessee. All because my daddy’s name was Washington. But my mama, her name was Charlotte.”
“I like that. Um…I was wondering…if it’s okay with you, and if you say no, I understand.”
She dropped her green beans onto the towel and took my hand. “Whatever it is, Mitchell, you go on and say it. You know there’s nothing you can’t ask me.”
“Ok, maybe once I’m eighteen, and I’m an adult, I can change my name.”
She cocked her head. “You want to get rid of your name, Mitchell?”
I nodded. “My parents named me that, and they didn’t want me. I hate hearing my name.”
She pursed her lips and smirked. “What name were you thinkin’?”
She wasn’t saying no yet, but as soon as she heard the name and why, would she reject it, not wanting me to be part of her family traditions?
“I was thinking Pennsylvania? Penn for short, like people call you Tenny.”
“You want to…” She covered her mouth with her hand and I braced for rejection, but it didn’t come. A single tear fell down her cheek. “Why do you want that name, dear boy?”
I took a deep breath. “I want to be your family, Tenny, and it makes me feel like I am every time I think of my name as Pennsylvania.”
She wiped her cheek and beamed. “When you turn eighteen, if you still feel that way, I’ll help you change your name. I’d be honored…Penn.”
She never called me Mitchell again. Only Penn—or if I was in trouble, Pennsylvania. And two days after my eighteenth birthday, she kept her word. Soon enough, Mitchell was officially dead and Pennsylvania was born.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
RJ Scott
Trina Solet
Back Check by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Thanksgiving Manny by Trina Solet
Always You by Rj Scott
Pride by RJ Scott
Be My Monster by Davidson King
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