Dad Bod (Under Construction Book 1)

by Silla Webb

  Copyright 2020 © Dad Bod by Silla Webb and Kaden Layne

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Dad Bod is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  Cover Model: Getty Images/iStock Photo

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  MASQUE OF THE RED PEN PUBLISHING

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  MEET SILLA

  MEET KADEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DEDICATION

  To all the girls who ever felt they weren’t good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough—you are enough, and you deserve the world. Beauty is so much more than the way you look. There is a Madden Davenport out there for you somewhere—go get his ass.

  To all the men who exude a confident exterior despite your misgivings and flaws. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and finding a woman who loves you for your heart and soul is more important than rock-hard abs and that V we brag about in fiction. Rock that Dad Bod, darlin’. A little softness is nice for cuddlin’ anyway.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MADDEN

  “Daddy!”

  I hear my daughter’s voice, though it sounds distant … as if she’s far away. But she was just right next to me.

  “Dad! Get up! Pwease, Daddy! Get up! You’re scaring me!”

  Belle sounds shielded, and although I can make out the words, the desperate pleading and terror in her tone, I can’t physically move. Even a task as simple as opening my eyes is impossible. I’ve been trying since she first screeched my name from what sounded like a distance.

  “Help! Somebody, pwease! Help!! Daddy, can you hear me? Get up!”

  Damnit, am I dreaming? No … am I having a nightmare? The pitch of Belle’s tone makes me wince, an overwhelming spectrum of sound that pierces my eardrum and makes my chest tighten with panic.

  No… That isn’t quite right.

  Panic, yes. But something is wrong … very fuckin’ wrong. My chest… I heave a breath as I clutch my t-shirt tight within my grasp, trying to cradle my rapidly beating heart. The pain intensifies, a dull numbness spreading down my chest and left arm as cold sweat beads across my forehead. The pressure increases with each pounding thump, and the staccato rhythm of air expelling from my lungs causes my stomach to roil in nausea and fear.

  This can’t … fuck, I can’t die. Not here. Not now. I feel Belle curl against my side, and I struggle to move my arm around her shoulders, to comfort her if only momentarily, but the sharp, stabbing pains has me paralyzed in place. The harder I fight to move, to open my eyes just to see my daughter’s face one last time, the weaker I become. I feel the earth beneath me swallowing me up whole, and I whisper a sacred prayer to the big man upstairs to please… Please don’t take me from my little girl. She cries silently against my chest, and each raspy sob she sheds stabs at my already dying heart even more.

  “Belle, move out of the way, darlin’.” I hear my best friend, Carter, instruct my daughter. “Mad, open your fuckin’ eyes, man. You’re scarin’ the shit outta Belle.” Carter touches my neck then smacks my cheek. What the fuck? Sure, asshat. I’m havin’ a damn heart attack. Smackin’ my face sure as shit will bring me out of it. When I do come out of this, this fucker has one hell of a smack comin'. “Fuck! Belle, go get Auntie!”

  “What the fuck happened to him?” Maverick asks. Are both of my friends fuckin’ idiots? Never mind, stupid question.

  “Mav, call 911,” Carter orders.

  “Don’t you die on me, you taint sucker. You got a kid to raise,” Carter whispers as he tilts my head and presses my chin downward. I feel his palms compress against my chest … one, two, three, four, five. I count in my conscience as he counts aloud. “Motherfuck!” Air puffs my inner cheeks like the marshmallow man on steroids, but the pain in my chest doesn’t ease. I fight for breath that is my own, but the harder I struggle for life, the further away I seem to fall.

  “Daddy!” Belle squeals as she charges forward, and I barely have time to brace myself for her impact as she launches into the air, torpedo style, ready for me to catch her. I stumble backward then right myself as I lean down and lift my sweet girl into my arms, hoping the attorneys and courtroom audience are oblivious to my ass nearly meeting the floor. Damn, she’s growing so quickly. I was just awarded sole custody of Belle. I don’t need to give them any ammunition to revoke that right before the ink dries on the damn documents. I tuck Belle closer to my chest and inhale the smell of strawberry shampoo. I’ve missed this. She nuzzles against my beard and wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing tight. I hurry from the courtroom on unsteady legs, my breathing hectic, my chest tight. Fuckin’ nerves. So glad this shit is over. All I want to do is go home, just me and my Belle.

  “Madden, you’re going to be okay.” Carter’s voice is loud, but he still seems far away, although I can feel his hands punching at my chest. Surely this fucker isn’t trying to give me CPR. Damn, I sure as fuck hope one of the hot moms is giving me mouth to mouth. God only knows where Carter’s mouth was last …

  “Madden, can you hear me?”

  I wish I could scream: If I fuckin’ could, don’t you think I’d respond? “I hear the ambulance now, man. Just hang tight. Laney has Belle. She doesn’t need to see your pussy ass die at her fuckin’ birthday party.” He punches again—one, two, three, four, five. Fuck … those lips are too damn rough to be a MILFs. Big Booty Judy? I’ll kill the fucker or haunt his ass one. “I need for you to squeeze my hand. Let me know you’re still with me. Come on, man.”

  Fuckin’ drama queen. I’m the one laying lifeless in the grass of my backyard, dying in front of my five-year-old daughter and all her friends. Yet, he doesn’t hear me bitchin’ and moanin’ my last rights. Though I’m sure I would be if I could vocalize every thought and fear coursing through my mind. Fuck… I hope I don’t piss myself in front of the hot moms. I’ll never get laid again. I will forever be known as the “hefty heart attack dad.”

  “Everyone, please clear out of the way!” Strange voices echo around me.

>   Suddenly I feel crowded, a dimness of overcast shielding the sun like an eclipse cloaking the sky in darkness. This is it. My breath is stolen now, and the realization that my final moments are near causes my chest to constrict again, the piercing knife twisting deeper.

  My heart fights against every thrust of a heavy fist. Words swirl around me as I feel my body lift from the ground, which I can only guess is at the hands of the friggin’ Hulk. Commotion in every direction. Air swooshes across my lips, cheeks, and nose. The jolt of being moved sends sharp pains through my chest and arm, and I clutch my heart as an illuminated glow brightens over my e…

  “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

  Belle squeals from the bathroom, a hint of terror laced in her voice. I rush from the bedroom with her pajamas clutched tight in my fist. I only left her alone long enough to get her robe and pajamas. I shove the bathroom door open, and my sock is instantly soaked in warm water and sudsy bubbles. “What the fuck!”

  “Daddy, that’s a wordy dirty!”

  “Belly baby, what did you get into!?” Bubbles run over the side of the tub and onto the floor, the faucet somehow running. “And did you turn on the water, Belle?”

  “I wanted bubbles, Daddy!” she shrieks as she tosses a handful of bubbles into the air.

  Floating in the water along with her are those damned bathtub markers that I have encountered in a not so pleasant way while soaking after a hard day on the job site, and her bottle of body wash. Jesus. This girl is gonna be the death of me. But how can you get frustrated by such cuteness? I quickly grab some towels to clean up the mess on the floor and twist the faucet off.

  Belle swims through the bubbles without a care in the world, splashing water against the walls and floor as she twists and turns like a dolphin at sea. As I drop the armload of drenched towels in the basket, water splashes against the back of my shirt, and Belle bursts into a fit of giggles.

  “Mr. Davenport, can you respond? What is your pain level?”

  The muscle in my chest determined to kill me pricks and twists, but I can’t move my hands to comfort the pain. It pisses me off that she is asking my pain level; this pain doesn't even register on the scale. The sirens blare, droning out all sounds surrounding me nearly as deafening as Belle’s melodic laughter.

  Fuck… Where is my daughter?

  I fight to force my mouth open, but I can’t form the words.

  I tell my fingers to move, to grip anything within reach. Anything to hold on to life. But I feel numb, weightless, lifeless. I will my eyes to open, and the brightness surrounding me surges the panic and pain in my chest. Am I dead? Should I not go toward the light? Shit … I actually made it to Heaven?

  “No, and no… Unless Candler is your idea of heaven, you’re out of luck. But I’m glad to finally see you're awake.”

  My eyes flicker about the small space and see the short middle-aged woman standing next to the bed. She's focusing between the computer and the few monitors overhead.

  “I'm Janie, the ER nurse. I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but we're stabilizing your situation. Just try to stay calm.”

  “W-w-water?”

  “Just a sip. We’re still waiting for your tests to come back.” She places a straw between my lips, and the small sip does little for my thirst.

  “Belle, my little girl…”

  “You have a host of family and friends in the waiting area, including one very persistent behemoth of a man who keeps pacing the floor and frustrating every nurse, doctor, orderly and volunteer even as they pass. Last I saw, he had a precious sleeping beauty curled against his chest. I'd say your daughter is safe.”

  I exhale a sigh of relief for the second time in mere seconds. “Fuck! It feels like a damn elephant is squashing my chest!”

  Nurse Janie cuts her eyes at me, her brow raised high in her hairline. “Well, considering you've just had a heart attack, that is very common, but bless your heart if you cut a shine like that again. I’d expect more from a gentleman, Mr. Davenport.”

  “Heart attack?” Wait, did she really just scold me for cussing while she politely informed me that my heart leashed an attack on itself?

  “Yes, and absolutely yes. I realize you’re in a great deal of pain, but you shouldn't get yourself worked up. And you do realize you’re actually talking out loud, right?” She chuckles to herself as she inserts a syringe into the IV and smashes the plunger.

  “This will help you rest.”

  *~*

  “Mr. Davenport?” A coolness pats my forearm, and I struggle to open my eyes. The room is dark and hazy. I blink slowly, trying to clear the swirling dizziness as I search for the voice. “Mr. Davenport, I’m Dr. Shepherd, your cardiologist, and this is my nurse, Cybil. How are you feeling this morning?” The room is covered in brightness as a short woman, Cybil I presume, pulls the blinds open then smiles to herself. Something about a nurse named Cybil is creepy; wonder how many personalities this chick has? Wonder which one came to work today.

  The man standing next to me presses a button and inclines the bed, and I scoot up to get comfortable. “You look better this morning. How did you rest?” he asks, placing the stethoscope against my chest.

  “Like the dead,” I joke, my voice weak and raspy. The doctor looks up at me over his glasses and smirks, moving the stethoscope further down my chest. “What the hell happened to me anyway?”

  “You passed the fuck out like a little bitch,” Carter booms as he strides into the room holding Belle’s hand. Laney, Carter’s wife, swats at him angrily as she scolds him under her breath.

  “Daddy!”

  “Belly! Come here, baby girl!”

  Dr. Shepherd thrusts his hand out, stopping Belle from pouncing up on the bed. “Just a minute, Mr. Davenport. Let me finish examining you, please.”

  Belle freezes mid-step and pulls her lip between her teeth. “Is my daddy gonna be otay?”

  “We’ll make sure of it, sunshine,” Cybil replies. “Come around on this side and you can help me take Daddy’s vitals while Dr. Shepherd examines him, okay?”

  Belle nods and moves around the bed, not daring to take her eyes off me.

  “Mr. Davenport, our initial assessment led us to believe you had a heart attack. Do you have family history of heart disease or other medical conditions?”

  I try to say the words, but the lump in my throat prevents me from speaking. I pinch my eyes closed and drag in a heavy breath. “His dad … he lost him about eight months ago,” Carter responds.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, son. Fortunately, you didn’t have a heart attack. We’ve run numerous cardiology tests—all look to be fine, with the exception of high blood pressure. Have you ever experienced anxiety attacks before?”

  Anxiety? High blood pressure?

  I cock my brow, confused. “I don’t think so.”

  “What specifically were you doing when you had this episode?”

  I shake my head to try to clear the fog. “I-I d-don’t remember much. It’s was Belle’s birthday party. Kids everywhere.” My heart pounds against my chest as a tingling sensation crawls from the tips of my toes and up my back, and a beeping shrill punctuates throughout the air.

  “Calm down, Mr. Davenport. You’re having another anxiety attack it seems. Your heart’s racing, and you look distressed. Try to take some deep breaths, in and out very slowly,” Dr. Shepherd coaxes. I pull in a breath, but it’s short and shaky.

  Belle’s little fingers wrap around my hand and squeezes. “It’s otay, Daddy.” There’s a hidden fear behind her weak smile. I take another breath and push it out slowly, just like Doc said. My chest is still tight, but the weight is lifting, my breathing becoming somewhat easier.

  “You’ll learn how to control the episodes over time, but the best advice I can offer you is to stay calm and breathe. Aside from losing your father in recent months, has anything else happened that would cause stress?”

  Fuckin’ hell—life.

  “After Dad died, I took
over his construction business. Being the single father of a preschooler, working long hours—that’s just the tip of it.”

  “Again, I’m sorry for your loss, but you’re still young, and your daughter needs you, Mr. Davenport. I’m rather concerned with your health overall. I pulled your medical records in hopes of finding past EKGs, ECGs, or stress tests to help link this episode to any heart-related illness, but I’ve concluded this might have been the first episode of this magnitude?”

  I could tell him about the chest pains and shortness of breath, but it would only urge him to run more tests, costing me more money and time that I don’t have.

  “I guess so.”

  “So, no previous symptoms?”

  “Don’t fuckin’ lie, Madden. Think of Belle,” Carter scolds, pointing his finger at me. “He can’t walk a flight of stairs without nearly passing out. And if he’s surrounded by people, he gets flustered and red in the face like he can’t breathe. That shit can’t be normal, right?”

  “No, sir, it’s not normal at all, but it is common in men who are overweight and have high blood pressure,” Dr. Shepherd replies to Carter then turns to me. “When I was going through your chart, I noticed you’ve gained a substantial amount of weight in the last few years. The first step to getting you healthy is losing the weight. I suggest a low sodium diet, cut out any pop or sugary drinks, and begin a workout regimen.”

  I nod, speechless. Humiliated. What can I say? My doctor just politely called me a fat ass, and he isn’t wrong.

  “That’s a great idea, man. We can do it together.” I cock my brow at my best friend, knowing he’s trying to be supportive. I feel fuckin’ worthless, laying here in this bed hooked up to machines and tubes. I nearly died at my daughter’s birthday party. That would have forever scarred my little girl if I hadn’t come out on the right side of the dirt.

  “We’ll keep you overnight again just to monitor you, but you do need to get out of the bed and get your bearings, walk the hallways, maybe after you shower,” Dr. Shepherd suggests, cutting his eyes to Nurse Cybil, sending her a nod to indicate she can remove these shit tubes and devices when I’m ready to move. The doctor not only thinks I’m fat, but also that I stink; good to know, Doc.