Christmas with the Single Dad (The Single Dads of Seattle Book 5)

by Whitley Cox

  “Hmm?” Zak groaned.

  “So that’s the plan then, right? You’ll come get us, and then we’ll go see Aurora. Apologize and say that everyone makes mistakes, including you,” Aiden said, his voice sounding a lot more chipper than a moment ago but still with that fatherly bite to it at the end.

  Zak swung his legs over the side of the bed and scratched his balls with his free hand, holding the phone out in the other one. He needed a shower. He needed coffee. He needed Aurora.

  “Okay, Dad. We’ll see you soon,” Aiden said into the phone. “Then we’ll go see Aurora.”

  “Wear something nice, Dad,” Tia called. “We need to win her back. We should go get her flowers too. So she really knows you’re sorry.”

  Zak stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.

  Win her back.

  He needed to go win her back.

  He was ready.

  He pulled on his chin—well not quite ready. Shower, Tylenol, breakfast, coffee, then win her back.

  “Dad?” Aiden asked.

  “Hmm?” Zak groaned again.

  “We forgive you for breaking up with Aurora. Everybody makes mistakes.”

  Zak slowly blinked a few times at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes widening. He planted his hands on the bathroom counter and took a long, hard look at the man who gazed back at him.

  A man who made mistakes.

  A man who asked for forgiveness when he made those mistakes.

  A man who forgave others when they made mistakes.

  When had he become such a stickler to the rules? Unwilling to bend and compromise. Unwilling to forgive.

  When Loni started fucking half the neighborhood?

  But Aurora wasn’t Loni.

  Aurora wasn’t Loni.

  He knew that now without question. Aurora was the antithesis to Loni. She was kind and sweet, honest and compassionate. He doubted the woman had a mean bone in her body—well, unless she was dealing with Shadley Taylor, but he wouldn’t even call that mean so much as just a real strong spine.

  “That’s right, Dad. Everybody makes mistakes,” Tia said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “You can say we’re right, Dad,” Aiden said. “Because you know that we are.”

  “He’s just being stubborn,” Tia murmured.

  Zak blinked at his phone, then let out a long sigh. “You’re right. You both are. Everybody makes mistakes.”

  “Including you,” Tia added.

  “Including me.”

  Both kids made phew noises on the other side of the phone.

  “Didn’t think we were going to get through to him for a moment there,” Aiden muttered.

  “Me either,” Tia whispered.

  Zak rolled his eyes. God, how he loved his kids.

  “Are those Craig’s footsteps upstairs?” Aiden asked, his voice an even lower hush.

  “I think so.” Tia grumbled. “He sounds like an elephant.”

  “Ah, crap. Okay, Dad, we gotta go. But we’ll see you soon, and then we’ll go get Aurora back.” Then the phone went dead, and Zak was left staring at himself in the mirror, seeing for the first time in a very long time a man who had sunk to a low he was ashamed of, who had lied, who had made a mistake and who now needed to own his faults, ask for forgiveness and win back the woman who made him believe that he could indeed be happy again. Not only for the sake of his kids, but for the sake of his family.

  For the sake of his heart.

  Because he was only lying to himself—yet again—if he claimed that Aurora hadn’t taken a huge piece of his heart the moment she walked into his life. She filled up the hollow in his chest left by Loni and her deception.

  And now he had to go get that piece back, go win back the woman who made him feel whole again. Who made him wish for a partner, a person, a love he could come home to and share his life with.

  She wasn’t Loni. She was Aurora, and she’d made a mistake.

  Now, he only hoped she’d forgive him for his.

  “We’ll figure it out, Mom, don’t worry,” Aurora said, wiping away a tear as she spoke with her parents over the phone.

  After arriving home on Christmas, she was barely able to make it inside her sorry excuse for an apartment before she crumpled to the floor behind the door in a heap of tears. Only when she was severely dehydrated and in desperate need to use the bathroom did she pry her broken-hearted butt from the floor and schlep her way into her home.

  She could have sworn her dead cactus was laughing at her.

  She didn’t bother to eat—she wasn’t hungry. But she did unwrap the parcel from her parents to find a beautifully hand-knitted scarf and hat. Her mother was such an accomplished knitter, could do it without even looking. Aurora always wanted to learn how to knit. Needing to feel love, even if through the phone from thousands of miles away, she called her parents immediately and spoke with them for hours. They’d since spoken on the phone every day, and it felt really good. It eased the aching hollow in her heart that threatened to consume her whole every time she thought about Zak and the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d spoken to her.

  She hadn’t deserved his ire, but she also knew why he’d been so mad in the first place. She should have known. The man was jaded. The man was hurt. The man hated liars.

  And Aurora had lied.

  They were small lies in comparison to his ex’s, but they were lies nonetheless, and Zak had a strict no-lies policy. Which she’d violated.

  Since leaving the warm family environment at Zak’s, she’d been overcome with a sense of loss and loneliness, particularly since she’d only left her house once, and that was to the corner store to get food. But of course, the corner store prices were double that of her regular grocery store, so she only bought the basics and had been living on cereal and milk for breakfast and lunch for the last week. Dinners were ninety-nine-cent Lean Cuisines she’d found in the back of her freezer. She forgot she’d bought about ten of them when they went on clearance.

  Once you scraped off the freezer-burned parts, they were palatable.

  So any time she wasn’t working on cases emailed to her by the senior associates, she was on the phone with her parents. Her heart grew just a touch lighter, because it was back in New Hampshire, with people who loved her for who she was—lies, mistakes and all.

  “I think we’re going to have to sell the house,” her mother said, emotion choking her words. “Your father’s medical bills are just piling up too quickly.”

  Aurora clenched her jaw tight. “Just wait, okay? I’m due for a raise soon, and that should help.”

  Her mother let out a rattled breath. “I hate that you’re having to take care of us. That’s the not the way it’s supposed to go. Parents take care of their children, not the other way around.”

  “And then children take care of their parents. Yes, that is the way it’s supposed to go. It’s okay, Mom. We’ll sort it out.”

  “Maybe if we moved out west, got a place with you. I could work. We could share the responsibility of caring for your dad.”

  That was actually a fairly decent plan. She would love to have her parents closer. To have family and a support system.

  “What does Dad think of that?” she asked.

  “He misses you,” she said. “We both do. Sure, this is our home, but it’s empty now. We want to be where our daughter is.” Aurora’s mother didn’t have to say it to know that she was thinking about Brecken. With him gone, all they had left was Aurora, and they didn’t want to spend their last remaining years away from her.

  Aurora didn’t want to be away from them either.

  “Let’s look into that possibility more, Mom. I like that idea.”

  “You’d be okay living with your parents again?” she asked, a tense chuckle in her voice. “We wouldn’t cramp your style?”

  “What style? I work eighty-plus hours a week. I have no time for style.”

  Her mother’s laugh was filled with hope and, in turn, filled Aurora wit
h hope. The first bit of hope she’d felt since she walked out of Zak’s home and into the cold and unforgiving winter wind that made icicles skitter down her back. “I’ll talk to your dad about it, and then we can take the idea to his doctors. They’d need to sign off on him leaving as well.”

  “Right, that makes sense.” Noise outside drew Aurora’s attention. Lots of clunking and beeping. She stood up from her spot on the couch, walked over to the window and pulled back the drapes. She had to squint through the blurry plastic she’d put up over the single-pane windows to trap some of the heat. Otherwise, her electricity bill would be through the roof, trying to heat the place. Not that she turned the thermostat on much—she just put on another pair of socks and a sweater. Slept in her winter coat if she needed to.

  But it was easy enough to see what was going on, even through the plastic, and what she saw made her nearly drop the phone.

  It was her car.

  It was being offloaded onto the side of the road by a big, red tow truck.

  “Mom, I’ll have to call you back,” she said quickly into the phone, rushing to her front door and sliding into her winter boots.

  “Everything okay?” her mom asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you back.” Then she hung up, grabbed her coat off the hanger and threw it on, slipping her phone into her pocket. She raced down the hallway of her apartment building and nearly fell down the single flight of stairs.

  Bursting through the front lobby doors, she didn’t have time to shiver from the intense gust of icy wind that hit her face and chest. She waved her arms to get the attention of the tow-truck driver. “Sir, sir, I can’t pay for this. I’m sorry, but I can’t pay for this.”

  This wasn’t normally how tow-truck companies worked, was it? She thought they were called by the owner of the parking lot and the car was impounded until the owner of the car could pay to get it released.

  Was Zak the owner of the parking lot?

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but I think there’s been some mistake,” she said, coming to stand in front of the man who was currently working to unhook her car from his tow hitch.

  “This your car?” he asked, not stopping what he was doing.

  She zipped up her coat. “It is, but I can’t pay for your services.”

  “Don’t have to. It’s been covered. All fixed, new winter tires. Your baby is running like a dream now. I towed it here because it’s just me working tonight and I wouldn’t have had a ride home.”

  Aurora’s bottom lip dropped open. What?

  All fixed. New winter tires. Running like a dream.

  But who?

  Just then, a truck she recognized pulled up along the curb behind her car.

  A man she recognized and had cried millions of tears over the past week sat behind the steering wheel, his eyes sad.

  He’d barely shut off the truck before the two back doors of the cab flew open and two smiling, gorgeous redheaded children ran toward her.

  Tia and Aiden launched themselves at her, causing them all to fall back into a big snowdrift.

  The kids giggled.

  “We’ve missed you,” Tia said, reaching into the neck of her coat and pulling out her friendship necklace, holding it up to show Aurora. “I haven’t taken mine off.”

  Aurora reached into the neck of her coat and pulled out hers as well. “I haven’t taken off mine either.” She turned to Aiden. “And I found the perfect frame for your painting. It’s already on my wall. Right in my living room so I can see it every day.”

  Aiden beamed.

  “We came to say we’re sorry,” Tia said. “Well, more like Dad needs to say he’s sorry. He needs to gravol—I just learned that word from Grammy—and Dad needs to do it.”

  “It’s grovel,” Aiden corrected.

  Tia scrunched up her face, relaxed it, then shrugged. “Well, whatever. Dad needs to do both, gravol and grovel. We just came here because we wanted to see you.”

  Aurora squeezed both kids tight. God, she loved these two.

  The truck door shut behind them, and Aurora lifted her head, watching Zak as he slowly made his way around the front of the truck to stand in front of them.

  Aurora stood up, leaving the children in the snow behind her. She blinked back tears. “I’m sorry I lied.”

  He swallowed as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his booted heels. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

  “Dad, you need to grovel,” Tia interrupted. “Grammy says on your knees. You need to crawl toward her on your knees to let her know you messed up. That’s what Grammy said you should do to get Aurora back.”

  Aurora’s chin and bottom lip jiggled.

  Zak rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

  “On your knees, Dad,” Tia repeated, she and Aiden still sitting in the snow behind Aurora.

  With his chest shaking, Zak did just that. On his knees, in only jeans, he sank into the snow and shuffled toward Aurora, taking her hand. He was smiling, but his eyes held so much more than amusement. They held sincerity; they held hurt … they held hope. “Aurora … Rory, I’m really sorry for how I reacted. It was uncalled for, and it was cruel. I never should have said the things I did or let you leave. It was a painful fall from my high horse, but one I needed to make in order to see how much richer our lives were in the few short days we got to know you.”

  Aurora let out a shaky breath, her eyes stinging when the chilly wind hit fresh tears.

  Zak went on, taking her other hand as well and squeezing them both in his, keeping her warm. “We all make mistakes, including me.”

  “You make a lot, Dad,” Tia said behind him. “But this was a big one.”

  “Thank, T,” Zak ground out. “I’m beginning to regret bringing them,” he said under his breath.

  “I’m not.” Aurora chuckled, her heart finally beginning to feel light again.

  Zak’s face sobered. “You are not her. You are not my ex, and I shouldn’t have lumped you in with her like that. Her lies and your omissions could not be more polar opposite. Emmett and Liam told me the rest of your story … ” His mouth dipped into a frown. “I hope you don’t mind?”

  She shrugged. “It’s my story. I should have just owned it instead of try and run from it. Try and hide it.”

  “I want to help you,” he said. “Help your parents.”

  She was about to shake her head and say that she wasn’t a charity case when Tia sprang up from their spot in the snow. “Dad, you forgot the flowers!” She raced back to the truck, heaved open the door and climbed in. Moments later she returned with a big bouquet of what looked like dark purple lilies and bright pink roses in her arms. She handed them to Aurora. “Dad picked this out.”

  Aurora smiled as she released Zak’s hands and accepted the bouquet, bringing it to her nose. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She glanced at her car. “And thank you for getting it fixed and for the new winter tires. You really shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

  Zak shook his head. “No, it’s not. I owe you for how I treated you, for how I behaved. Helping you with your car is the least I could do. It’s a start.”

  “My butt’s wet,” Aiden said, standing up.

  “Mine too,” Tia agreed. “Can we go into your house?”

  Still on his knees in the freezing snow, Zak rested his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. She was now the same height as her father. “Aurora might not want us in her home, honey.”

  Tia gave her dad a confused look. “Why not?”

  “Because she hasn’t taken Dad back yet,” Aiden said, brushing snow off his pants.

  “Well, why not?” Tia asked. “What’s the problem? We brought her flowers. Dad apologized. He got her car fixed. What more is there to do? Is he not groveling enough? What does groveling look like? Should be on his stomach? Grammy said on his knees.”

  “Maybe they need to kiss?” Aiden asked, making a grossed-out face.

  Zak’s lips twitched, and a small sm
ile crooked up at the corner of his mouth. He released his daughter’s shoulder and reached for Aurora’s hands again. She tucked the flowers into the crook of her arm and let him take her hands, loving his warmth and finally getting to touch him again. It’d only been a week, but it had felt like a lifetime.

  “Tell me what I can do to make this right,” he said, his dark blue eyes beseeching and earnest. “I’ll strip down naked and roll around in the snow until I’m blue if it means you’ll give me another chance.”

  “Gross,” Tia muttered.

  Aurora laughed through her nose.

  Zak rolled his eyes again at his daughter before focusing them back on Aurora. “I’m really, truly sorry, Rory. I was an idiot. A self-righteous jackass. Blinded by my need for perfection and order, unable to see the mistake I was making, because in my head, I don’t make mistakes. But I do. I make a lot of them, according to my kids. And treating you the way I did, letting you leave, was the biggest mistake of them all. I overreacted, and I’m so incredibly sorry.”

  “Like way overreacted,” Tia said, rolling her eyes.

  Zak shot his daughter a look. “Thanks, T.”

  She grinned at him.

  “We’d love it if you came back to the house and spent New Year’s Eve with us. As a family. We’re going to have nachos, watch movies and drink sparkling apple juice when the clock strikes twelve.”

  “We never get juice, so it’s a big deal,” Tia added, her eyes going wide.

  Zak’s eyes twinkled. “It’s a pretty big deal.” He cleared his throat and squeezed her hands. “I’ve refunded your gym membership.”

  She jerked free from his grasp and took a step back. Her fingers tightened around the bouquet, which had now fallen to her side. “What? Why?”

  He took an awkward knee-shuffle step forward, his eyes pleading with her to give him back her hand. “Because I told you I want to help you. I had no idea you were a lifetime member. That’s an insane amount of money. Whatever possessed you to—”

  She lifted her eyebrows, hoping he caught her drift and she didn’t have to spell it out.

  His own eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. “Oh!”

  “Call it a guilty pleasure—the only one I allowed myself.” More like an obsession, but we’re not going to argue semantics.