She hopped right into bed.
Chuckling, I crossed the room and sank down to my knees next to her. I helped her adjust the covers, and those shoulders lifted up to her cheeks. She released a timid giggle, her expression shifting back to the way she was watching me through the mirror.
One arm snaked out, and she tentatively ran the pads of tiny fingertips along the ink scrawled over my left forearm, my hard and scarred and tainted a stark contradiction to the purity of this kid, snowy flesh up against all my dark.
Her voice was a whisper. “I wanna have butterflies painted all over my arms just like Momma has on her side.”
Instantly, I was picturing this little girl grown. Eighteen or more. As beautiful as her mom. Tattoos swirling in bright, distinct patterns down her arms. Another flash with skin unmarred.
A piece inside me broke at the same time as it lifted.
Would I get to be around for that? To witness who this incredible kid became?
“Just like you, Baz.” She said it in that sweet voice, mouth pulling at every direction, her smile so fucking overpowering I was nothing but a puddle in the middle of her floor. “I want lots and lots.”
A rough chuckle rumbled from me, and I tugged at one of those unruly curls. “What do you think your mommy would think about that?”
“Momma likes yours.”
Another chuckle, this one deeper. She sure as hell seemed to.
“Can I get one right now?”
“Uh…no.” I tried to contain my amusement. “You have to wait until you’re big. Like your mom.”
“What if I asked her pretty please?”
“Pretty sure that’d still be a big huge no.” Didn’t need to get into the fact it wasn’t even an option.
“How about if you were my daddy? Would you let me?”
I fucking froze, my mouth going dry.
I swallowed around the rock at the base of my throat when I finally caught up.
Had seen those wheels turning in her head, kid as clever as they came as she hedged a subject we’d been skating along for weeks.
God, I was treading on thin ice. Walking a fine line.
Knew I was about five seconds from a fall.
I cautioned my response. “If I were your daddy, then I’d tell you no, too, because little girls aren’t allowed to get tattoos. And then when you got big, I’d encourage you to do whatever makes you happy, as long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else. As long as it’s good, just like you.”
Cheeks going red, she grinned wide, gripping the covers and holding them at her chin. “I think I would like that.”
“What would you like?”
“If you were my daddy.”
My heart lurched. And I tripped.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Going under.
Sinking deeper.
I felt the presence behind me. The billow of her storm. A fierce squall of energy pressed into the room. Drawn, I looked over my shoulder. Our eyes met, a thousand words passing in a glance. A vision of a future I’d spend my life working to deserve.
Shea lifted her chin, giving me the go. Passing on her unconditional support and belief. In me. The answer I gave was entirely my choice.
But there was no missing the intensity behind her consent. The vehement zeal she protected her daughter with.
If I was in, then I was all in.
This wasn’t a fucking game and there would be no turning back.
Slowly, I swiveled my attention back to the little girl who’d changed everything.
Kallie just grinned more, like it was the most natural thing in the world and she hadn’t just shifted the axis of mine.
But that was the thing. It was natural. Meant to be. Because even though the words hadn’t been said, we’d been heading this direction all along.
When I’d started my pursuit, this was the road I was getting led down, even though at the time I’d no clue of the destination.
Because Shea didn’t have time for distractions or diversions.
Both of them deserved it all. Something solid. Permanent.