Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

So, naturally, Maxim had a moment of complete assholishness toward his brother after the game that even their sister, Mia, couldn’t dissolve entirely.

“I know where to place blame, and we both know if I’d nailed either of those two goals, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“We lost one game. We won Friday,” I reminded him.

“Whatever.”

“But your dad wasn’t there to see you hat trick on Friday, so now you think it doesn’t matter.” I shook my head.

Silence filled the car for a few long miles until we pulled into Sweet Water, the tiny town just outside Charleston where our housing development was.

“I hope he stays the fuck away for the rest of the season,” Maxim finally muttered, looking out the window.

“You and me both.” I turned into our neighborhood, slowing down considerably. “But just in case he doesn’t, you have to find a way to ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say.” The muscle of his jaw ticked.

I pulled into my driveway and hit the garage door opener, my chest already swelling with sweet anticipation of seeing my girls. “Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess it’s easy to say when I’ve never had a dad to watch me.” I shrugged.

“Shit.” He flinched. “I’m fucking sorry.”

I killed the engine. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t kill my dad, and I didn’t make yours a dick.”

“Point taken.” We got out, retrieved our suitcases from the trunk and went our separate ways—Maxim to his house across the street, and me inside my house.

The scent of cinnamon and Christmas hit my nose the second I opened the door. I had no idea what Fiona used to make our house smell like some incredible slice of Santa’s village, but I loved it. It smelled like a house was supposed to during the holidays, and nothing like the chaotic bouquet of burned leftovers and days-late baths my aunt’s house had, regardless of the time of year.

“Girls, I’m home!” I shouted, lifting my suitcase so I didn’t drag it along the hardwood.

Fiona had given me a look once, and that was all it had taken for me to get the message that she was a little particular about the hardwood. Personally, I loved it, because it meant she was staking a claim on the house, which was technically mine, but I already thought of as ours.

“Daddy’s home!” Fiona exclaimed as she came around the corner with Skye on her hip, both girls smiling wide.

“There you are,” I said softly as I cradled Skye to my chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and breathing in her sweet scent. “Hey, Skye.”

Skye gave me a toothy, drooly grin and immediately grabbed my beard with the fists of pure determination.

“Yeah, I missed you, too.” I untangled my face from my laughing daughter, and wrapped my empty arm around Fiona, tugging her close and kissing her quickly.

Now I was home.

How the hell had I survived so many years coming home to an empty house? Or empty hook-ups? This was everything.

And she loved me.

I pulled a Grinch and my heart grew two sizes just thinking about it. Fiona loved me. She’d told me a week ago, and it had been the best present ever. I didn’t even need anything under that tree. I had her.

“I missed you,” she whispered, kissing me softly as Skye tugged at my collar.

“I missed you, too.”

Skye let out a jaw-cracking yawn. I checked the clock. “Bed time for this one.”

Fiona nodded. “I was keeping her up to say hi, but she’s way past bed time.” She wiped away the drool from Skye’s chin. “She’s teething something awful.”

“How about I put this one to bed,” I leaned down to Fiona’s ear. “And then I take you to bed.”

Fiona grinned. “That’s a deal I’ll take any day. I’ll put away some laundry, and then maybe get out of my sweatshirt.” She crinkled her nose. “I meant to change before you got home.”

“You look perfect to me.” Sweats or a cocktail dress, it didn’t matter. I knew what she looked like—felt like under all those layers—and I couldn’t give a shit what she wore. She was gorgeous.

We parted ways and I read Skye a short, cardboard book as she finished her last bottle, gliding back and forth in the rocker. Her little bow mouth pursed when she was finished and looked up at me with sleepy blue eyes.

Her mouth was one feature she didn’t get from me. Her nose? She was stuck with mine, unfortunately, and those eyebrows? Me, too. Her eyes and her mouth were her mother’s…wherever she was.

The DNA genealogy site said it could take up to six weeks to get her results back, and we were only at four, but there was part of me that didn’t want the results back. Did that make me a shitty human? Maybe. But perhaps Skye was better off right now, in this moment where she had just me and Fiona in her life. Maybe we were all better off not knowing.