Possessive Daddy Next Door

Mikey laughs, but it’s nervous. “What do you mean—”

Vince knees Mikey in the leg, right in the gunshot wound. The man screams in pain as Vince shoves him to the ground. Vince kicks him again in the chest, cutting off his screams of pain, turning them into gasps for air.

I watch this and do nothing. It’s a little unnecessary, but fuck it. The guy deserves what he gets.

“You fucking failed,” Vince snarls at Mikey. “You failed and you don’t deserve to come back home. If they didn’t bargain for your life, you’d be a dead fucking man right now, you shit.” Vince spits on him then straightens and looks over at me. “Sorry for the display. But you know how it is. Gotta teach them.”

I nod but don’t respond.

“Anyway, our deal is done. We’ll leave you alone, and you get this little cockroach. You never come north again, and we get into the Lofthouse good graces. Plus, some cash to sweeten the deal.” Vince laughs and walks to the bag. He grabs a stack of hundreds and throws it to me. “Here you go. Just a sign of good faith.”

Gage grumbles but Vince pushes him back to the car. The men get in. The doors shut. The cars back up, turn around, and drive off.

Leaving Mikey and a bundle of cash on the ground.

Delia jumps out of the truck behind me. She comes running over. “What happened?” she asks.

I look back at her with a grin. “They took it.”

She grins back. “Really?”

“Really.” I walk over and pick up the cash. “Left me a tip, too. Stupid gangsters.” I throw it to her.

“We can’t use this, right?”

“Right. If we spend marked money, it’ll mess things up.”

She laughs. “God, that’s so evil. They have no clue, right?”

“Right. We’ll see if anything comes of it, but hey, can’t hurt.” I walk over to Mikey and slip a pair of zip-tie cuffs from my back pocket. I pull his wrists back and slap them on, pinning him to the ground.

“And you, my man,” I whisper to him, “are going to jail now. If I had my way, we’d execute you right here in this parking lot, but you’re lucky the woman I love has a soft spot for human filth like you.”

He groans in pain. I leave him there and pull out my phone. I call Patricks.

“It’s done,” I say. “Went smooth.”

“Got the guy?” he asks.

“Yep. Send the locals. We aren’t going to wait around, but make the call.”

“Roger that.” He hesitates. “You’re both okay?”

“We’re both okay,” I say.

“Good. I’ll make the call.”

I hang up and slip my phone away. I walk over and put an arm around Delia. She looks up at me and is so perfect, so fucking radiant. I kiss her hard. “I love you,” I say.

“I love you too.”

I lead her back to the truck. She climbs inside and I shut the door behind her before going around and getting behind the wheel. We sit there for a moment, staring at the asshole on the ground.

“Will the cops get here?” she asks.

I shrug. “He can’t get away. Not with those cuffs on and that injury.”

“I almost feel bad for him.”

I snort. “I don’t.” I put the truck into gear and pull away. We make it down the driveway and a short distance down the road before the first cop car comes screaming past us with his lights on.

I hold Delia’s hand the whole time. She looks at me with a smile on her lips. I love that girl so much it hurts. I don’t know what I would be without her.

Probably dead. And my baby daughter wouldn’t have a father.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

She smiles and it lights up the whole truck cab. “Good. I’m not, either.”

So we hold hands and drive home together, finally at peace.23DeliaTwo Years LaterI step out the back door in my cute open-toe shoes and pick up the watering can. I walk along the back, watering the flowers, a smile on my face.

I never pictured myself watering flowers and actually enjoying it. Back before I met Max, I had a houseplant once that I somehow managed to kill in a single day. Seriously, a single day. I don’t know how I managed it but by the time I woke up the next morning, it had withered and died.

But this little garden’s blooming. It’s not perfect, but it’s all mine. I smile and put a hand on my swollen belly. “You might like gardening one day,” I say to my unborn baby girl. “Or maybe not, that’s okay too. You might like football, or princess castles, or getting dirty and running around in the mud. Whatever you like, I’m going to love you.”

I feel a little silly, talking to nothing, but part of me thinks my baby can hear me. I don’t think she understands me, exactly, but maybe she can feel the love in my words.