He’d take the win and be happy he hadn’t had to put a beatdown on some poor boy who was stupid enough to think he could waltz through Brandon’s front door and slide a hand down Emma’s pants.
Not to mention he had Jeff and Stuart as backups.
“Have bail prepared in case I smack the Goober,” she darkly snarked.
“Prison orange isn’t your color, sweetheart.” That finally earned him a smirk. “Hey, at least I can still make you laugh.”
She walked over and hugged him. “I love you, Dad. I do love Mom, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her or Pat. Especially Pat. Life’s too short for me to force myself to spend time with her.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
She cocked her head as she looked at him. “Not really, no. She chose Pat over me. If she hadn’t sided with him so many times, especially in the Goober’s favor while walking all over me, maybe I’d feel different. There’s a double-standard. She’s more worried about losing Pat, or about what Pat thinks, or what Pat’s parents think, than she is about what’s best for me. That’s on her.”
“What if you hadn’t liked Jeff and Stuart?”
“I love both of them. I think they’re great.”
“But what if you hadn’t? Or, what if you hadn’t wanted me to date both of them. Would it be fair to ask me not to be with them?”
“That’s different.”
“Not really.”
She settled onto the bed. “It’s totally different. Not liking Pat has everything to do with the fact that he’s a jerk. Or him making me redo washing the dishes three times one night. More than once.”
She held up three fingers. “Three, Dad. I think in the years since you left Mom, you might have made me rewash three dishes total. Or he tells me to make my bed when my bed was made, and I go in and find he’s yanked all the sheets and stuff off and told me it wasn’t done right.”
Brandon clamped down on his anger, wondering if Tracey had played him during their phone conversation. “What else has he done?”
“It’s not just what he’s done, it’s what Mom hasn’t done. She hasn’t stood up for me. Can I be mouthy? Yeah, I’ll own that. But that was only because I got tired of being accused of doing stuff I didn’t do, or he punished me arbitrarily. I don’t even think the Goober can spell arbitrarily, much less knows what it means.”
He couldn’t help it—it slipped out. “I’m not sure Pat does, either.”
She held a hand out. “Thank you. That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“Is it possible your mom doesn’t know about all of that?”
“No! Because twice during dish rewashing episodes, she was standing right there and didn’t say anything. Another time, she walked down the hall when he was ripping me a new one for how my bed was made. She knows exactly what he’s done, and this isn’t stuff that used to happen before she married him, either.”
She shook her head. “If Mom was strict on me, okay, fine, I can deal with that if she’s consistent, like you are. But she’s not, and she’d let Pat go changing things just to suit him. He keeps moving the goalpost just to screw with me. Early on, I once did what you’d suggested about making the bed. I asked him, okay, show me how you want it done. He did. I did it exactly that way, and he still dinged me for it. Yet the Goober can just pull his blanket up and say, done, and he skates. Double standard.”
Brandon had heard hints of stuff like this going on, but he’d gone out of his way to walk a fine line between righteous indignation and trying to suggest ways for Emma to get along with her stepfather, plus trying to stay out of parenting Emma while she was in their home.
This, however, was far worse than he’d thought.
He sat on the end of the bed. “If you don’t want to go this weekend, I’ll call your mom and tell her. Everything you just told me, and tell her if she doesn’t like it, she can take me to court.”
Emma wouldn’t look at him, at first. He let the silence lie between them while she worked it out in her head.
“I just want,” she quietly said, “for her to stand up for me for a change, instead of standing up for Pat. I get it, she’s insecure. She’s scared of losing him and going through another massive change in her life. That doesn’t mean she should sacrifice me or my emotional health for her own comfort.”
“That wasn’t an answer, sweetheart.”
“I’ll go. But don’t be shocked if I’m back tonight.” A playful smile filled her face. “Keep your phone ringer on. If I do bail tonight, I’ll call before I come home to warn you guys.”
Emma had always been wise beyond her years.
“Honest question—do you really like Jeff and Stuart?”
“Yes, because they’re great. I love them, seriously. They are my step-dads. I tell people they’re my step-dads, and I just call Pat Pat. They’re not like Pat. And they defer to you. You’re in charge, you’re the final authority. They don’t try to step in and pretend to be my parents, but I know I can count on them as if they were. I don’t expect them to be my best friends or anything, but…”
She seemed to need another moment to think about how to phrase it. “I can count on them,” she repeated. “I know that if I was ever in a situation where you weren’t there, I could call either one of them, before I even called Mom, and they’d be there and have my back for me. Like Jeff and my tire. Or even big things.”
She scooted closer to him. “I’ve never been able to count on Pat. Ever. After Mom married him, I even tried to ask him for help with my homework, to try to do something with him, and he blew me off. But if the Goober needs help wiping his ass? Oh, Pat’s all up in that to help him and kiss Goober’s ass. Trying to score brownie points with him.”
Another long, quiet moment. “I think he’s trying to get full custody of Goober so he doesn’t have to pay his ex child support anymore. I heard him talking to Mom about it.”
“I thought he did have full custody?”
“No, Goober’s been going to his mom’s house a couple of days a week. Pat hasn’t dragged her back into court yet, and apparently she threatens him if he doesn’t pay.”
Wow. He pondered his response and made a mental note to chew Tracey out for them having those kinds of conversations around Emma. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all of that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s another reason I love living with you. It’s drama-free here. My stomach doesn’t tighten in the bad way anymore when I’m coming home like it used to when I was going to Mom’s. You’re in charge, what you say goes, and I never hear Jeff and Stu trying to change your mind about stuff when it comes to me. I know that whatever your rules are, they will stick to those and not try to make new ones, or move the goalposts.”
Brandon hoped his face hadn’t turned red. It sure felt like he was blushing.
She’d hit way too close to the truth. They’d explained to her the men’s use of “Sir” as them just being polite and respectful, although he suspected Emma hadn’t totally bought that excuse.
“We have a…dynamic that works for us,” he said. “They defer to me. Part of them moving in was them agreeing that I’m your father, and this is my house, and they’re subject to the rules of my house the same way you are. And that while I hoped they’d come to love you as a daughter, you are my daughter, and what I say is law.”
She snorted. “Sure, Dad.” She stood to finish packing.
“What?”
“Nothing.” But she wore an evil smile.
“No, what? Say it.”
She leveled a gaze at him. “I might be a kid, but I’m not a child.”
“What?”
“Do you really want me to say it?”
“Say what?”
She rolled her eyes and went back to packing. “Duh. You own them. They’re like a couple of puppies, and you’re the pack Alpha.”
Oh, shit.
His face felt supernova hot now. He tried to think of a comeback to that, something that wouldn’t violate his
personal credo to never lie to her, while remaining age-appropriate for the situation.
“You don’t have to say anything, Dad. It’s okay. I think it’s cute. Mostly because you look happier than I’ve seen you look in years. You were never this happy with Mom.”
Her expression turned sad. “That’s another thing I hate about all of this. Pat doesn’t make her happy. He doesn’t even make her feel secure. He was a…a life vest. She grabbed it and put it on, but she’s still bobbing around in the ocean and floundering. She might not be drowning, but she’s dang sure not ‘safe.’”
* * * *
Jeff hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but with Emma’s door standing wide open, and him in the kitchen, he’d been able to hear every word.
He wondered if Brandon’s face was as red as he knew his own was.
Puppies to the pack Alpha was the perfect way to explain the dynamic they had in a vanilla-friendly way.
He was still digesting the fact that Emma loved him and Stuart like step-dads.
He’d never had that kind of relationship with a kid before. Not even as an uncle, since Iris didn’t have kids.
I have a kid. I have a daughter.
Oh, shit, I have a daughter!
Accepting that Brandon was a package deal was a no-brainer to Jeff. He wouldn’t have respected the man—and probably wouldn’t still be with him—had Brandon not put Emma first in his life.
That was one of the things Jeff loved about him, what a good father he was.
Jeff desperately didn’t want to screw up things between him and Emma, either. Because when he examined his feelings for her, he loved her like a daughter, even though he hadn’t really thought about it before now.
He finally realized he still stood there, holding the mug of water in his hand. He put it in the microwave to nuke it. He wanted to make himself another mug of ginger tea, since the one he’d drunk when he got home helped him feel a little better. Ever since Monday, it felt like he was trying to come down with a bug, so he’d upped his vitamin C intake and was hopefully going to get ahead of it before it turned into a full-blown cold or something.
I probably picked up something from the trip, or from someone at work.
He hated flying. Every time he did, he ended up with a cold or the flu or some other bug a week or so later.
Looks like my bad luck’s still holding there.
When Emma and Brandon emerged from her room, she left her overnight bag on the couch and walked into the kitchen, where she gave Jeff a hug.
“Will you hug Stuart for me?”
“Sure, kiddo. When will you be home?”
“Probably early tomorrow evening. Before dinner.”
“Want to grill burgers tomorrow night?”
She stepped away, a smile on her face. “Sure, that sounds great.”
“Make sure to check your tires.”
“I will.” She frowned. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been out of it the past couple of days.”
He shrugged. “Tired and achy. I think I picked up something on the trip and it’s just now starting to hit me.”
She poked him in the stomach. “Vitamin C.”
He shot her a salute. “Already doing that, ma’am.”
Behind her, Jeff thought Brandon was going to wet himself trying to stifle his snort of amusement.
Emma, however, nodded. “Good.” She hugged him again. “Take care of yourself. Can’t have any of my dads getting sick.”
“I will.”
Brandon walked her out. Jeff was still staring after them when the microwave went off. As he pulled the mug out and dunked the teabag, he let it start to sink in that he was now a “dad.”
Chapter Thirteen
Late Saturday morning, Brandon was enjoying lounging on the lanai, naked, watching Stuart and Jeff taking care of the pool.
Naked, natch.
They’d started the morning with spankings, followed by vigorous fucking, breakfast, and now—chores.
Jimmy Buffett blasted from the Bluetooth speaker connected to Brandon’s phone. All he needed to complete that picture-perfect afternoon would be a pitcher of margaritas and a pot of peel-and-eat shrimp.
Mmm, shrimp.
That wasn’t a half-bad idea. Maybe he should make a run to the grocery store and buy them a few pounds of shrimp for dinner to go with the burgers.
He was giving serious thought to doing just that when his phone rang. When he saw it was Emma calling, he answered before remembering that the speaker was hooked to his phone, and had a built-in mic.
Both Jeff and Stuart straightened, watching and now listening when she started speaking immediately. “Dad? Are you there?”
“Yeah, honey. What’s up?”
“Dad, Mom and Pat won’t let me leave.” In the background, he heard muffled yelling.
“What do you mean they won’t let you leave?”
“I mean Pat parked behind my car and won’t move it. Corey and Pat’s parents are going to be here this afternoon, and I told them I was leaving. Before I could get back outside with my stuff, Pat had moved his car and blocked me in. He said I’m not going anywhere. Then he tried to grab my phone. I ran and locked myself in the bedroom.”
Jeff and Stuart dropped the scrubber and dip net and bolted for the house. Brandon was now up and moving, too, and figured out how to disconnect the Bluetooth speaker.
“We’re on our way, sweetheart.”
“Do you want me to call 911?”
“Has he laid a hand on you?”
“Not yet. I blocked my bedroom door with a chair. He keeps pounding on it and yelling but I think he’s too stupid to know how to jimmy the lock from the outside.”
“We’ll be right there. Stay on the phone with me.”
By the time he made it to his bedroom, Jeff and Stuart were already emerging from their respective rooms, half-dressed and frantically pulling on clothes, phones, keys, and wallets in their hands.
Brandon wasn’t far behind them. “What did your mom do while this was happening?” He piled into his car after handing Stuart the keys to drive, and Jeff climbed into the back seat.
“She just stood there and didn’t say anything, like she usually does—OH MY GOD, SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU ASSHOLE!”
Brandon was glad he was on the phone with her and not right next to her when she screamed that or he would have been even deafer.
“Honey, are you ready to leave when we get there?”
“You better believe I am.”
Brandon didn’t want to call the police, but if forced to, he would. He knew Tracey didn’t need additional grief in her life and hoped to solve this without calling the cops.
While it wasn’t the first option on his list, it still made the top two.
They pulled up in front of the house and Brandon directed Stuart to park on the street, not in the driveway. He didn’t want to give Pat any additional ammunition.
When he raced up the front walk, Tracey opened the door. “She’s not going home with you, Brandon. She doesn’t want to.” Her face looked beet red, her tell for a lie.
All the goodwill he’d had for her that week vanished. “Bullshit, Tracey. I’m on the phone with her right now. Do I need to have her hang up and call 911 for you kidnapping her?”
Her eyes widened. “I am not kidnapping my own daughter!”
“I have signed paperwork from you agreeing that she’s living with me full-time. You have thirty seconds to let her out and move Pat’s car, or I will have a yard full of deputies here.”
“You can take the car, but you’re not taking her.”
From inside the house, Brandon now heard Pat screaming at Emma to hang up her cell phone, echoed through his own phone.
He looked at Stuart. “Call 911. Now.” He spoke into the phone. “Honey? Hang up and start videotaping this.”
“Oh, I’m already videotaping all of this, Dad. I have Grace’s old cell phone. She loaned it to me, just in case. I’ve got everything on video from when he m
oved his car and started yelling at me.”
“Good girl.”
He was aware of Jeff walking back down to the street while Stuart was on the phone with the 911 dispatcher.
Brandon looked at Tracey, whose face had grown so red he wasn’t sure she might not be close to stroking out.
“You can still bring this to a peaceful conclusion,” he told her, dropping into Dom tone with her. “Go get Pat’s keys and move his car. Now. That car is in my name, and you have no right to hold Emma here.”
“You can take your car, but Emma stays. We’re going to t-take you to c-court and get custody back.” She didn’t even look like she believed it.
A suspicion hit him, from the way she looked, to the tone of her voice, and how she kept nervously glancing back, as if looking for Pat. Now he was honestly more worried about her well-being than he was Emma’s at that exact moment.
“She’s sixteen, Tracey. This is not the battle you want to fight. Do you have any idea how hard I had to pressure her to come visit you this weekend? I practically had to order her. Now I owe my daughter an apology, because I told her that one day she’d thank me for making her try to rebuild a relationship with you.”
Tracey started crying, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Please, Brandon, just go! He’s already mad! I’ll try to sneak her out of here when he’s in the bathroom or something.”
He stepped forward and held the phone against his chest so Emma couldn’t hear this part. “Did Pat hit you?” he whispered, protective fury washing through him. He might not agree with how she’d lived her life, but she was still his daughter’s mother.
More tears, but she shook her head. “Just…please!” she whispered. “I’m trying to calm him down, but he won’t listen!”
“If you’re in danger, you can come with us.” In the distance, he heard sirens approaching.