Daddy's Girl: A Daddy Issues Novel

by Rebel Wild

  “Did I wake you?” He asks as he turns his hand palm up to hold mine.

  “I can’t sleep. I’m so tired, but I just can’t sleep.”

  “Come on,” he says. Still holding my hand, he leads me to his bedroom and puts me in his bed. “Here, take this,” he says, putting a small white pill in my hand. I put it in my mouth as he hands me a glass of water.

  “It’s a sedative my mother suggested,” he explains. “It should help you sleep.”

  I lay my head on his pillow. He hands me my rabbit and I smile embarrassed, but I gladly take him. I hope he plans to stay with me and I’m happy when he gets into bed beside me and pulls me close.

  “Sir?” I call to him.

  “Hmm?”

  “I know how you can help me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, I thought I needed you to be a Dom, but I think just… regular you… would be better for me, right now, at least. I just want you to be like you were back at Carmel-by-the-Sea and like you are when we’re having dinner or working together in the library.”

  I can’t deal with the stress of my dad along with the submission and him being a Dom. It’s all too much right now.

  “Whatever you need, Sydney. Sleep now.”

  When I feel his arm snake around me, my body relaxes enough to let the pill work and I fall asleep.

  Three Days Later

  “Where the hell are you going with this?” I ask my quack therapist as I sit across from him at his desk.

  “I think the question’s clear,” he says. “How did it make you feel when you were punishing Sydney?”

  “I didn’t pause to analyze my feelings at the time.” I snipe at him.

  “Then, by all means, let’s do so now.”

  He pisses me the fuck off sometimes.

  “I felt high.”

  “High?” He says, unable to hide the surprise in my answer.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Like you’d finally gotten your fix?” He asks and I nod.

  “But that was short-lived.”

  “Yes,” he says, reading through his notes. “She ran from you and barred you from her room for a moment.” I sigh, wanting to know why we have to keep rehashing this shit. He’s been at it for three damn days. “And you haven’t been in the playroom since?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Her father died.”

  “Yes, that is a shame, but it has little to do with her contractual obligation to you. Unless it’s null and void now that he’s dead. How does that work now, by the way? His passing puts a big monkey wrench in your little deal. Does she give back the money? You certainly can’t give back her virginity.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “I’m just reading from your playbook,” he says. “However it goes, she’s still there, and you still have needs.”

  “Part of my needs is taking care of my submissive.”

  “I’m sure she’s not the first of your subs to have experienced a tragedy, but that had little to do with you going into the playroom and having your way with them.”

  “Those subs were older, more seasoned. They used it to help cope with the tragedy. It’s the opposite now. Sydney’s in no frame of mind for the playroom.”

  “She or you?”

  “What the hell are you getting at?” I ask him again.

  “Just that it seems you’re having trouble processing what happened, more so than Sydney is. From what you’ve told me, she understands her part in what happened as well as your reaction to her goading you to punish her. I must say she knows you well. She knew exactly what it took to set you off.”

  He pauses to write something down in his notes.

  “I shouldn’t have let it happen that way.”

  “I thought she was topping at the time?”

  “She was, but she was upset. I shouldn’t have lost control the way I did.”

  “So, for that one moment, you are going to continue to hold yourself in purgatory, even though the one who you supposedly wronged doesn’t see it as an offense?”

  “I see it as an offense. I am her Dom.”

  “She is your submissive, and as such it is her job to safeword if she needs to, is it not?”

  “You know why she didn’t safeword. Stop making it sound so simple and stop fucking blaming her.”

  “I’m not blaming her. I just think the blame should be evenly distributed, but once again you insist on absolving her and heaping the blame on to yourself. You are making it much too complex. Any other sub—”

  “She’s not any other sub,” I say in frustration. “Why do you insist on comparing her?”

  “Because you refuse to acknowledge what she is. You say she’s not like the others, but you refuse to define exactly what that means. You won’t go beyond the superficial surface of what you feel for her.”

  “I feel nothing for her.”

  He drops his pen dramatically on his desk. For the last three days, we’ve been going over this and for the past three days, I refuse to bend. He sits leaning with his index finger on his temple in thought. I believe he has reached his limit with me. He gets up and goes to his bookshelf.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him as he sits with his feet cocked up on the side of his desk, thumbing through what looks like a dictionary.

  “I’m looking up the word feelings to give you a clear definition.”

  “I already know what feelings are.”

  “Yet you refuse to acknowledge you have them,” he says, snapping the book closed and sitting up again. “It baffles me that an intelligent man such as yourself takes pride in reading his jurors, yet can’t admit to personal feelings when they are clearly and evidently being paddled on the ass.”

  “Sydney is not personal. My submissives are business.”

  “Sydney isn’t like your other submissives,” he throws my words back at me. “But if you want her to be, I suggest you stop coddling her and get back to the playroom.”

  “Coddling? She is devastated right now. It’s only been three damn days. I’m not going to drag her back to the playroom.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… I…”

  “Then find a new submissive,” he tells me when I can’t come up with an answer. “One that can better fulfill the terms of the contract.”

  “No.”

  “Why? It’s just business. Contracts fall apart all the time.”

  “I want to make sure she’s all right before we end things. I just can’t abandon her like she doesn’t matter…”

  Goddamn it, son of a bitch, I can’t believe I just said that.

  “I hate to break it to you, Tristan, but you’ve just shown feelings for her.”

  “Fuck you,” I say getting up.

  He shakes his head at me as I head for the door. He’s satisfied at proving his point after three damn days.

  “Tristan,” he calls after me. “Lie to me but stop lying to yourself.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I make up my mind to stop seeing Maloney as I drive home. Rarely do I leave his office feeling better than when I came in ever since what happened with Sydney was put on the table to dissect. Admitting feelings won’t change a damn thing. I’m going to end our contract. I’m determined to let her go live the life she deserves.

  Maybe if I was younger or if she was older, maybe if I didn’t have so many problems, we could have something deeper, but right now, it just couldn’t work. I should never have started this shit in the first place. The one time I give in to temptation and it screws me over, literally, as Sydney would say. She needs something better than the bullshit I can offer her. Her father’s dead now, so the only thing standing in her way is me, but not for much longer. I’ll give her up, no matter how much it kills
me.

  His funeral service is in a few days. Mom helped her make all the arrangements. As hard as it was for Sydney to decide on the service, I think she did a wonderful job. We took a drive over to her apartment yesterday to look through some of her dad’s personal effects. It felt strange being in the space she shared with him. The place was well lived in.

  “I don’t know what to do with his stuff,” she said, as we looked around the apartment.

  There was a set of golf clubs in the corner. I had no idea he played. There was a weird type of fish mounted on the wall and a few hunting trophies in a display case. Not surprising he’d get off on killing shit.

  “Leave it be for now,” I told her. “Unless you want it gone.”

  Pictures of Sydney in various stages of her life were on the walls. The earliest is with a woman who I can only assume is her mother, Heidi, and the later ones are of just the two of them next to a lake, holding up freshly caught fish, or candid shots of them playing around with the camera. The only professional photos are the photos Sydney took every year at school. She took one of the many pictures of him with his arms folded at his chest down off the wall.

  “He thought the pose made him look tough,” she explained. “He called it the prosecutor pose.” She laughed.

  “It scares the shit out of people,” I told her, hoping it would make her smile. She did one better and laughed. I liked hearing a genuine laugh coming from her.

  Once her dad’s buried and everything is all said and done, I hope she’ll have many more reasons to laugh. The car jerks forward from me hitting the gas too hard when I think about someone else making her laugh. My territorial nature arises in me and I have to swallow hard to keep it from erupting. How am I going to be able to stomach her giving what has only been mine to another man? Who in their right mind would leave paradise after being blessed with entry through its gates?

  “A damn fool, that’s who.” I say to my reflection in the rearview mirror. Disgusted at my own damn self, I focus on the road. “A goddamn fool.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Some detective came by yesterday to give me Daddy’s belongings. It wasn’t much. Just the money I’d put on his books that he hadn’t spent a penny of and my graduation picture he kept on his wall. I also learned about the man who killed him. He’s already doing life with no parole, so there isn’t much they can do to him. That didn’t stop him from singing like a canary when he was offered a transfer to another state. He confessed that Detective Dalton orchestrated the whole thing to stop Daddy from taking a deal that would have gotten him out in a few years if he gave him up.

  Mr. Garrett was right about Daddy being his partner. He’d throw cases for whoever paid him and they’d use the money for gambling, racketeering, and a whole lot of other things I had no clue he was involved in. I don’t even know how to process it all. How can this be the same man I’ve worshipped my whole life?

  I know he did horrible things, but I just can’t hate him. He was my daddy. He gave me everything I ever wanted, more love than I knew what to do with, and now he’s gone. I just don’t know what to do with myself right now. I can barely make it through a day without crying. Mom says that I’m still in shock and that it’s all been too much for me. She won’t give me a straight answer when I ask her if she knew what Daddy was into. She just wants me to focus on the happy memories. Maybe she’s right.

  Four Days Later

  Joe’s been picking up my mail more often. There are tons of condolence cards and letters from his friends from where he went to school, back in New York. I didn’t even know he stayed in touch with anyone from back then. In the announcement I put on his social media page, I asked for flowers to go directly to the funeral home in preparation for his service. I asked my friends to do the same. They’ve been calling and checking up on me, making sure I’m okay, asking me if I need anything. No one’s been there for me like Mr. Garrett, especially on those nights when I can’t sleep and I end up in his bed.

  I start with the best of intentions. I go to my room, change, and get comfortable in bed, but before too long, I’m creeping down the stairs. I was apprehensive the first night I did it. I didn’t know if I’d be welcomed, but when I got to his door, I was surprised he’d left it cracked open. He’s done that every night since and every night when I get into bed with him, he sighs contently in his sleep, turns over, and wraps me in his arms.

  Sleep always comes quickly when I’m in his arms and his bed. I don’t really know what to make of that, and I’m in no position to figure it out. I’m just trying to get through to the next minute. What happens after that is anyone’s guess. Tonight, it’s different. Tonight, I have to force myself to sleep because in the morning I have to find the strength to say goodbye to my daddy.

  The overcast we woke up to this morning has certainly set the mood for what I’m sure is about to be one of the worst days in Sydney’s life, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to make it easier for her. Memories of my dad’s funeral bubble up from the cesspool of my mind where I thought I’d drowned them. Mom’s crying keeps ringing in my ears and the smell of those damn chrysanthemums that surrounded his casket is clogging my nose. To this day, I fucking hate those damn flowers, but today isn’t about my sick bastard of a father. Today is about helping her.

  “Sydney,” I call to her, quietly opening her bedroom door. “The limo just pulled up.”

  Her simple, black dress falls into place as she stands. Her hair’s in a neat bun behind her head and her makeup is minimal. She’s stunning.

  She grabs that beat-up old rabbit that’s now free of his handkerchiefs. I wonder why she’s bringing him when she usually hides him away, but now is not the time to ask questions. I hope that having him gives her enough comfort to get through the day. She makes it outside and stops.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, looking at the long black limo.

  The death ride is what Joe calls it. Something about seeing it makes reality sink in.

  “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” I tell her.

  I take her hand, but I don’t guide her. I wait for her to move. Her soft fingers lace with mine and I hear her take a deep breath before she gets in. She doesn’t say another word the whole ride over to the cemetery. Roger wasn’t much of a churchman, so he only wanted a graveside service. She wipes a tear from her cheek when we pull up and see all the flowers surrounding his casket.

  “You’re not alone, Sydney,” I gently remind her and she just nods her head.

  Her mother called her late last night and again an hour before we came here making sure she was okay. She wanted to fly out for the service, but Sydney asked her not to.

  “She’d just make it worse,” is the only explanation she gave me.

  I overheard her part of the conversation and I concluded that Heidi wants her to come to stay with her in Montreal when this is over. I was half-ecstatic and half-miserable when she agreed. The selfish bastard that I am has to admit that I’ll miss knowing she’s at least somewhere in the same city. The girl has been running enticingly naked marathons in my head since she was fifteen. It’s going to be hell letting that go, but I will fucking do it or die trying.

  The graveside service is small. His old friends came through for him and showed up, as well as a few of our colleagues. As for Sydney, Matt and Leslie, are here in support of her as are Mom, Joe, and Bree. Unlike the man, the service is simple. There isn’t a lot of fanfare and praise, just a celebration of his life and a fond farewell.

  Sydney delivers his eulogy. She speaks of her childhood and the wonderful memories she has of her father until there isn’t a dry eye around. He would be proud of her. She stands strong, giving a warm smile to everyone who passes her offering condolences. She hugs Mom, Bree, and her friends goodbye and soon, it’s just the two of us standing at his grave watching as they lower him down. She waits until the tai
llights of the last car’s out of sight before she dissolves in tears, clutching on to her rabbit, staring down at the closed lid of her father’s casket.

  “Sydney,” I say, alarmed by her holding her rabbit over the grave, ready to drop him in with her dad.

  “I shouldn’t keep it,” she tells me through her tears. “He gave it to me out of love, but now he hates me and I shouldn’t keep it.”

  “Sydney,” I whisper to her. “Don’t.”

  I gently take the rabbit from her hands and pull her into me. Her legs give out underneath her so I pick her up, holding her in my arms as she clings to me. She nestles her face into me, using my neck to cover her eyes. I can feel her tears on my skin.

  “Everything is different,” she says. “Everything I thought I knew is just so different. He hates me, and I don’t even know if it should matter. I don’t even know if he’s the man I thought he was.”

  “He’s your dad, that’s all that’s important right now.”

  “Take me away, please. It hurts too much to be here.”

  I carry her to the limo and gently place her inside. She sleeps the forty-minute drive back home and I carry her up to her room and put her to bed. I undo her hair, brush it out of her face with my hands before I kiss her cheek. I leave her blinds open for light and her door cracked the way she prefers it.

  Sleep eludes me, so I distract myself with work, halfway hoping that Sydney will come to me as she always does. I sense her long before I can see her. My body calms and excites all at the same time when she comes and joins me in the living room. She perches herself on the couch and watches as I walk back and forth in front of her.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I tell her as I stop the closing argument I was giving and turn to face her.

  “You didn’t. I’ve been up for a long time.”

  “Are you hungry? I can heat you something.”

  “I don’t feel much like eating.”

  “Then let’s get you into bed. You need to sleep.”