Living with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 4)

by Whitley Cox

  Aaron didn’t look up at her, but a strong, sexy muscle along his jaw ticked. “You can go.” He finally lifted his gaze to hers. “Not that you need my permission.”

  Now it was Isobel’s turn to hide her eyes. She brushed her hand in front of her mouth to mask her smile. He was cute when he was trying to be a feminist.

  There was hope for this one yet.

  “Thanks. I’m not leaving until later tonight. So I can put Sophie down if you like?”

  He nodded. “Do what you can until the guys arrive, then take the rest of the night off.” He booped Sophie on the nose and smiled down at her. Isobel’s insides liquefied and her heart constricted.

  “You’re really figuring this dad gig out, huh?” Colton said, wandering over to the couch. “Looks good on you.” He tossed his head back and whooped out a laugh. “Never thought I’d say those words. That fatherhood looked good on you.” He shook his head. “And now Cahill is married with one on the way. Who’s next?”

  Aaron lifted an eyebrow at his friend.

  Isobel watched the exchange.

  Colton shook his dark, close-cropped head. “Don’t look at me. No way, man. Never. I’m a lone wolf. A bachelor. Ain’t no dirty diapers or wedding bells in my future—not ever.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “Never say never, dude. Rob says he’s never been happier.”

  “Yeah, well, it helps that he married a fucking billionaire heiress,” Colton scoffed, rolling his eyes.

  Aaron pursed his lips together. “I don’t think he cares about any of that shit. I wouldn’t.”

  Isobel wondered if they even knew she was still in the room. The way they were talking about their friend Rob and his wealthy wife but also the candid and optimistic way Aaron was speaking showed a new side of him she’d never seen before. And she liked it.

  Isobel cleared her throat. “Does six work for dinner?” Thankfully, she’d taken out more than enough meat with the intention of leftovers for tomorrow. Aaron could eat a lot, and she assumed his handsome friend with the dark amber eyes could also put it away when he wanted to.

  Aaron grunted, not bothering to look up at her. “Six works.”

  She turned away, her heart hurting a little at how cold he still was toward her. Would it ever change? Did he even like her?

  “Iz?”

  She turned back around to find him looking straight at her. “Thank you. For everything.” His smile was small but genuine, and it made all the butterflies in her belly take flight at the exact same time.

  She teetered back and forth on her feet, smiled back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome.” Then she headed down the hallway with an added spring in her step, only to stop on the threshold of her bedroom door. She shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she had a hard time stopping herself.

  “She’s cute,” Colton said, dropping his voice down several octaves. “Crazy cute. Must be hard remaining professional around that.”

  She strained her ears until her whole brain hurt trying to listen for Aaron’s answer, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Did he know her door wasn’t closed?

  Probably.

  The man was a retired something or other. He probably had specially trained ears. Could hear a worm beneath the soil like a robin.

  “So why are you here?” It was Aaron’s voice, and although low, it was clear. So either he hadn’t responded to Colton’s earlier question, or he’d mouthed his response, figuring she was eavesdropping. Damn, he was smart.

  “Rob’s old lady is sick as a dog with morning sickness. Wark’s on a mission, same with Blaze and Ash.”

  “So they sent you to check up on me? Make sure I don’t go off the deep end?” She heard the gentle patting sound of Aaron now burping Sophie. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not going to off myself like Brandon. I’m fine.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  “Dude, your sister fucking died. In a mass shooting no less. And she left you her newborn baby to raise. That would fuck with anybody’s mind, let alone someone who’s been through the shit you’ve been through. Have you found anybody to talk to? A therapist? Gone to the veterans’ center for help?”

  “When the fuck would I have time for that? I work all goddamn day, then I’m home in the evenings with Sophie. I need her to know I’m here for her. That she has at least one person who won’t abandon her.”

  Isobel clutched her chest and leaned back against the doorjamb as a tear slipped down her cheek. He was hurting so badly, and there wasn’t anything she could do to help him.

  “You’re not your parents, man. You’re not, and you never will be. Sophie didn’t end up in the system like you and Dina because she has you. You know what being an orphan is like, and I know you’re not going to take your own life and abandon her, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.”

  Aaron and his sister had been in foster care? What happened to their parents? How long had they been without a family who loved them? And now that Dina was gone, did Aaron have anyone?

  A growl she’d come to know well rumbled down the hallway. “I’m doing the best I fucking can right now. Now back off. If you’ve come to get me to spill my guts and cry on your shoulder, then you can get back in your fucking rental car and get lost. I don’t need a babysitter. I told you that.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll back off … for now. But the best way to get through this shit is to talk about it.”

  “Yeah? Who the fuck told you that? You watching Dr. Phil or something?”

  “Rob. Actually. And Admiral Cahill. Been out to see the fam on the farm a fair bit. Admiral’s been taking me to the veterans’ center there in Texas. It’s helped a lot. Particularly to process the shit that went down in Colombia.”

  The squeak of Aaron’s La-Z-Boy recliner followed by a gruff grunt and booted footsteps had her retreating into her room, but she didn’t shut the door.

  “You can sleep on the couch,” Aaron said. “I’m going to go change Soph.” His heavy steps grew louder the closer he got. Hastily, she closed her door, leaving it open just a crack.

  “You can’t run from your past,” Colton called back. “Otherwise it’ll haunt your future forever.”

  Aaron walked past Isobel’s door grumbling, “Stupid chatty motherfucker. On his goddamn period wanting to talk about feelings and shit.” Isobel held her breath until she knew he was in Sophie’s room. Then she heard, “All right, Super Sophie, let’s change your little bum. I felt all kinds of thunder rumbling. Did you give me any lightning? Oh, whoa! Gross, baby. Gross.”

  Isobel smiled and held in a laugh as another tear slipped down her cheek. He was hurting, he was haunted, and yet when that baby needed him most, he rallied, plastered on a smile and gave her what she needed. He gave her everything.

  Even if it took everything out of him to do it.

  13

  By seven thirty the house was full.

  Aaron hated it.

  Crowds had never been his thing, even before the Navy, even before his tours in the Middle East and South America.

  And although The Single Dads of Seattle weren’t necessarily a crowd, his house wasn’t anywhere near as big as Liam’s, and it felt tight.

  Colton was busy playing bartender, mixing drinks and whetting whistles while Liam bounced Sophie in his arms and Isobel was off in her bedroom getting ready. Once the doorbell had started to ring—didn’t these men know better than to ring a doorbell in a house with a baby?—she’d made herself scarce, taking off down the hall to get ready.

  He’d been wondering for a while how much of his and Colton’s conversation earlier she’d heard. Particularly that part about whether or not he was able to keep things professional. Colton’s grin had been huge when Aaron gave him the stink eye and mouthed the words “So fucking hard.” God forbid Isobel hear him say that. He’d probably be scouring the want ads for a new nanny before sunrise.

  Things between them had been good. Or at least he thought they were good.
Painfully platonic was how he best described it.

  Professional, polite and perfectly plain.

  Which was the absolute opposite of what he really wanted.

  But if he wanted to keep her, he had to hide his urges, hide his attraction and keep his distance. And over the weeks, an arm’s length was beginning to seem like not enough. He could still smell her at an arm’s length, and she smelled fucking fantastic.

  He’d been pissed off with her at first for booking him a room at that Rage Room place. How dare she? But then he thought about it, and wasn’t that the whole point? Wasn’t he meant to be angry? The angrier you were, the more crap you demolished.

  More bang for your buck.

  And once he got going, he really got going.

  He’d smashed shit in that room up good. Channeled all his fury, all his hate and pain about Dina, about Colombia and the Velasquez family into the aluminum baseball bat and went ape-shit on the room. It hadn’t taken him long to destroy the place. Maybe ten minutes—if that. Then the next ten minutes were spent working on his tactical breathing. Hold air in the lungs for four seconds. Exhale for four seconds, emptying all the air from the lungs. Keep the lungs empty for four seconds and repeat.

  It was how they reduced stress and re-centered themselves in the field. How he and his brothers coped with the never-ending shit storm that rained down on them.

  He hadn’t realized how much anger and pain he had bottled up inside of him until he started to let it out, until he picked up the bat and swung it into the ugly yellow lamp on the bookcase.

  That first swing, the sound of the lamp smashing and the bookshelf cracking, had reawakened something inside him. A beast. The beast. The same beast that had come forth in Colombia. He’d morphed into a killing machine then, avenging those he loved, and he morphed into that same killing machine again in the rage room. Seeing that ugly lamp disintegrate into nothing more than shards of jagged ceramic in front of his very eyes had given him joy.

  Bloodlust.

  And he needed more.

  He’d roared, yes, actually roared after that and began to swing and smash and hammer the bat down on everything and anything breakable—which was all of it. And he didn’t stop until there were tears in his eyes, sweat on his brow and nothing but chips and splinters at his feet.

  A shattered world because of a shattered heart.

  When there was nothing left to destroy, he dropped the bat in a deafening clatter, fell to his knees, head in his hands, and wept. Wept for Dina. Wept for Valentina and Miguel. José and Rosita. For Sophie, who would never know her mother. For his buddy Brandon, who’d taken his own life because he couldn’t cope with the real world after he left the battlefield. He didn’t stop until his chest heaved and his knees ached.

  But even then, he didn’t stand up.

  He kept his head down and began to breathe.

  Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

  Only once he could count the beats of his pulse with the ticking of his watch did he stand up, wipe his eyes and step out of the room.

  Then he drove to the grocery store, bought the biggest bouquet of flowers they had and headed home. He knew Isobel would probably be disappointed that he hadn’t waited for her—and it gutted him to think he’d hurt her—but he needed a bit more time to compose himself and regroup before he saw her. He didn’t want her to see his red eyes or blotchy skin. She had the uncanny ability to see right through him, and he knew that if she walked into The Rage Room and saw him as he left his session, she’d know he’d done more than just smash shit to smithereens.

  He didn’t want her to see the beast.

  To see his bloodlust or the aftermath of his ire.

  Because the rage room had done more than just provide him with an outlet to channel his fury, it had allowed him to revisit all the recent pain in his life. His losses—and there were many—opening up old wounds that hadn’t quite scarred over but were at least no longer fresh. Now they were fresh again, at the forefront of his mind, and he needed time to let them scab over before he saw her. Before she looked at him with those eyes, that smile that made the whole world a better, brighter place.

  They’d shared dinner that night, and although they didn’t talk much, he enjoyed sitting with her. Watching her mouth move and her long throat swallow.

  He’d never considered himself a throat guy. But for some reason, he really loved Isobel’s throat. It was long and sexy as hell. He loved to watch her swallow food as he secretly envisioned her swallowing other things.

  Was there such thing as a throat fetish?

  Thankfully, she didn’t press him for conversation, which he appreciated. She seemed to know that he wasn’t much of a talker and that after his session in the rage room, he really wasn’t interested in talking.

  The rest of the week had been nice. Once his scabs healed over and he was able to go minutes and then eventually hours without thinking about Brandon or the Velasquez family, he felt better. He slept better. He’d even cracked a joke at work, which had all the guys on the jobsite pausing to look at him like he was from outer space.

  He had to wonder, though, was it really the rage room that helped him? Or was it Isobel? Just her presence alone calmed him, grounded him, reassured him that he didn’t have to go this alone.

  He’d always have triggers that brought back the horrific memories of Brandon, Dina and the Velasquezes. The rage room had just been a big trigger. But being with Isobel each morning and each night was its own kind of therapy. Watching her with his niece, seeing her dote on Sophie as if she were her own daughter, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt since the day he got Dina away from her last foster home and became her legal guardian.

  And now Isobel was heading out on the town to go flirt and drink and dance. He hated the idea of her being ogled and petted by gropey frat guys as they slurred their words and spilled their drinks all over her. She deserved so much more than that.

  You mean you?

  Fuck no. Aaron was unworthy of her. It was him who didn’t deserve her.

  But, as she had so passionately educated him on the ways of the modern feminist, she did not need his permission to go out. He was her boss, not her keeper. So even though he didn’t like the idea of her going out, he had no say in the matter.

  And that just pissed him the fuck off.

  “Nice place,” a low, calm voice said, drawing him from his thoughts. Aaron turned around to see Atlas, a big, tall blond man with gray eyes, looking around the dining room. “You do this yourself?”

  Aaron nodded. “Bought the place but then gutted it and renovated it.”

  Atlas nodded. “Cool.”

  He was a man of very few words, but then again, so was Aaron. The two got along well. Atlas didn’t bother making any more small talk and instead just nodded and wandered over to the bar.

  Liam had brought over his poker chips and card table, as Aaron’s small two-seater kitchen table hadn’t even worked for him, Colton and Isobel to eat at. They’d dined in the living room.

  Aaron was busy opening bags of potato chips and pretzels when a high-pitched whistle had all the conversations in the house pausing. He lifted his head to see Isobel, looking hotter than he’d ever seen her before, clickety-clacking her heels down the hallway.

  She was in some weird bright red jumpsuit thing with a low-cut neck. Did chicks call them rompers? Whatever the fuck it was called, it hugged all her curves, showing off those sexy hips and luscious ass, but it was also modest and feminine in the way the fabric billowed and flowed. Aaron knew nothing about fashion, but he knew what he liked, and he liked that look on Isobel. He liked it a lot.

  And apparently, so did the other men in the house.

  Heat raced through his veins from the look Zak was giving her. Like she was a ripe red raspberry on the bush and he couldn’t wait to pluck her and taste her.

  Fuck Zak.

  “Looking good, Miss Jones,” Zak said, sidling up next to her as Is
obel accepted a vodka soda from Colton. “Heading out on the town tonight?”

  Isobel was all smiles. “Sure am. A friend just got a promotion, so she wants to go celebrate. And I need to dance. Haven’t danced in far too long.”

  Zak’s eyes raked her from tip to toe, his smile growing just a touch wider when they landed on her chest. “Well, you shouldn’t have any problems finding a dance partner. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you. But I usually prefer to just dance with my friends. The club scene can be such a meat market. Not really the kind of guys I’m interested in meeting, you know?”

  Zak nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. Not looking to date, myself, so I stay away from those places altogether. But if you asked me to dance, I would probably make an exception.”

  Aaron wanted to snap his neck.

  “We miss you at the gym. Was it something we did?” Zak took a step closer to Isobel when Mark tucked in next to the counter and grabbed a drink from Colton. Zak did not step away again when Mark left.

  Zak was a dick.

  “Nothing you did.” She chuckled. “I just don’t have time for the gym right now. I’ve been tossing Sophie in the jogging stroller and going for a run most mornings after Aaron’s headed to work. I’m getting my workouts that way while the weather is still decent.” She took a long sip of her vodka soda, the line of her throat bobbing as she swallowed. She finished her drink and put the glass down on the counter, nodding at Colton when he asked if she’d like another.

  “Well, when you’re ready to come back, let us know. I’ll hook you up with a discount in the childcare center too if you need it.”

  She batted her long lashes at him and flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, laughing. “Thanks, Zak. Always a plus to have friends in high places.”

  Was she flirting with him?

  Did Isobel have a thing for Zak?

  The motherfucking space station could probably see that Zak had a thing for Isobel, but was it mutual?

  Had they ever acted on it?

  Had they slept together?