Daddy Secrets

by Mia Carson

  “Unfortunately, not yet, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with something else that’s probably going to get me in trouble.” Remy held up the family therapist’s card and took a deep breath. “I’m trying to set up a therapy session for Stan at home to get his butt back into it, but I don’t know who to call. Do you happen to have a number?”

  Silence met her words, and at first, she feared she’d overstepped her bounds. But Mrs. Wellington yelled excitedly again and told her to hold on. “I have that number around here somewhere, and don’t you worry about calling. I’ll get it all set up on my end. What day were you thinking?”

  “Next Monday? I might try to get him a meeting with a regular therapist too.”

  “Really? And he knows nothing about that one either, does he?”

  “No, and I’m trying not to pry into his life,” she promised, speaking in a rush. “I just found out what really happened with the boating accident and know why he’s so damn broody all the time and I think… I think it’s time he talked to someone about it so I’m forcing the issue because that’s what friends do.”

  “Oh, hon, from what I hear, you might be more than just a good friend.”

  Remy’s grip clutched the phone. “From who?”

  “From Stan himself, of course. He’s told my husband quite a lot about you, and from the way he says your name, and how much you care about him, I’m going to guess there’s something more going on than simply you taking care of his stubborn ass.”

  “Well…I, uh, I mean… I do like him as a friend, you know, and a boss, but there might be a little more…there… oh, God.” Her face fell into her palm as she groaned, and Mrs. Wellington laughed warmly through the line. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “I’m his mother, hon. I know more than he likes to admit.”

  “Can we keep this conversation between us? For now, at least?”

  “Of course we can. I won’t say a word, though I will get a meeting with this physical therapist going.” The silence that followed her words left Remy feeling she wanted to say more, but she mumbled something too quiet to hear on the other end. “Never you mind. I hope to meet you and my first grandchild soon.”

  “If you need to talk to me again about the therapy session, I’ll give you my cell number to call so Stan doesn’t get suspicious if you call and ask to talk to me.” Remy gave Mrs. Wellington her number and hung up, wondering what the hell she just started.

  Stan didn’t make it home before he had to pick up Louis from school, and when they crashed through the front door, chortling about something or other, Remy knew she couldn’t dampen the mood by confronting Stan with the message on the answering machine. That would have to wait until tomorrow when Louis was safe at school again.

  “How was your first day?” Remy asked Louis as he slung his backpack onto the kitchen table.

  “Awesome! I can’t wait until tomorrow and I already have like twenty friends and the art teacher is amazing, and we’re going to shoot bows next week!” he rambled excitedly. Remy set a snack for him on the table as he shrugged out of his tiny sports coat. “Were you bored all day without me around?”

  “So totally bored, but don’t worry, I’ll survive.”

  Louis scarfed down his snack. Taking his bag, he sprinted upstairs to do his few assignments before dinner so he and Stan could play afterwards.

  “And what did you do all day?” Stan asked, rolling so he was next to Remy.

  His hand snaked around her waist, and she smirked, bending down for a quick kiss while they were safely alone. Heat flared at his touch, and he groaned against her mouth, his fingers finding smooth skin beneath her shirt. She considered letting his hand go higher, but Louis could run back downstairs at any second. She straightened and cleared her throat, pulling away from his touch.

  “I started a new project.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No. This one you can’t see until it’s finished—if I ever finish it.”

  “And if I sneak in there for a peek?” he asked teasingly, pushing his chair towards her studio.

  “Don’t you dare, Stanford Wellington. Some things aren’t meant to be seen until they’re finished, so hold off for a while. Like a month or two, just for that piece.”

  He frowned and sighed, giving in. “Yes, my lady. I’m going to change out of this damn suit.”

  He was in such a good mood, and as the night wore on, his good mood only increased, playing video games with Louis until sunset when his son wanted to go outside and catch fireflies. Remy watched from the bench, tugging a blanket up her lap as the sun’s warmth faded into the cool night air. Stan and Louis were at the other end of the patio and their voices calmed her worries, her eyes slipping closed as sleep crept in. She dimly heard the patio door open and close, and squinted one eye open to see Stan rolling towards her.

  “Fun over already?” she asked.

  “He said he should get some sleep so he’d be ready for school tomorrow. That kid is amazing. I’m not sure I’d be that excited about school after such a huge loss.”

  “He’s got you,” she said and rested her hand on his.

  He held it, lacing their fingers together, and kissed the back of her hand. “I know. But I worry I’m not enough. You saw the other night. I still don’t have all my shit together.”

  There it was, the perfect opening to bring up the message, but fear at his reaction held her back. “You’ll get there in time. We all have our issues. Sometimes they take a while to be brought to light, and sometimes they keep getting buried deeper and deeper until you don’t even realize they’re there anymore.”

  Stan shifted in his chair, and she raised her gaze to his sharp blue one, filled with curiosity. “Are you talking about me or you?”

  “You, clearly.”

  “No, not clearly,” he replied.

  Callie’s words appeared in her mind again, telling her she spent too much time wrapped up in other people’s lives, but this time was different, wasn’t it? She wasn’t here anymore to help Stan and Louis. She was here because Stan wanted her—no, needed her here because of who she was to him. Or because he hadn’t had sex in so long and she was the first attractive woman to walk through his door. There were moments she couldn’t decide if what she felt for him went more than skin deep, and without the chance to explore that avenue, she would never understand these feelings rampaging through her.

  “It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she said lamely.

  “No, you’re not. There’s something bothering you. Talk to me.”

  “Oh, like you talk to me so openly?” She tried to stand, but he still held her hand and drew her back down to the bench. “I want to go to bed.”

  “What did I do this time?” he asked, exasperated.

  “Nothing,” she said, sighing and forcing her anger down. “You didn’t do anything. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”

  “Sure,” he said and let go of her hand.

  Remy’s heart sank. Leaving him confused and dejected on the patio hurt her, but this was not a conversation she wanted to have at night with Louis in the house. Yelling was the last thing he needed to hear when he was finally getting into a good routine. Remy had to choose her words carefully tomorrow as it was. Anything could throw off the happy home Stan and Louis had created so far, and ruining their relationship by completely breaking Stan would stay with her for a long time. She tossed and turned all night, groaning when her alarm went off, and considered not getting up at all. Except she wanted Louis to have a good breakfast before Stan took him to school.

  “Remy, you sick or something?” Louis asked when he appeared in the kitchen.

  “Nah. I didn’t sleep too well. Here’s your eggs and toast. Eat up, kid,” she said and ruffled his hair as Stan rolled into the kitchen.

  Without a word, she set his coffee on the table and he murmured, “Thank you.”

  Louis stared between the two of them as silence descended in the kitchen. “Wow, you two
suck at fighting but not fighting. You know that, right?”

  Stan’s eyes widened, and Remy shrugged, turning away. “Who said we’re fighting?” Stan asked.

  “You two are obviously not talking. I’ve been around enough adults to see it.” Louis rolled his eyes as if they were the ten-year-olds and not him. “Ready, Stan?”

  “Yep, let’s get you to school. I’ll be back,” he told Remy, who nodded absently.

  The front door opened, then closed, and she sagged against the counter, glaring down the dark drain as she cleaned up the dishes, pulled her hair back from her face, and trudged to her studio. The paint didn’t call to her today, so she went to the wire figure coming to life in the corner and tugged the sheet off it. The form was bigger than she anticipated, and she had to move a few of her other works to the side so the back piece would have room to expand as the figure grew up and out. She worked her way up the main torso, twisting the wires around and shaping the chest, when her fingers found their way to the back piece instead. She picked up new wiring, connected it and shaped it, fanning the metal out to encompass the massive form. Sweat dripped down her face and her fingers ached, her hands cramping, but she kept going.

  When she returned to the front of the figure, she picked up another post to start the second form and connected it to the first, twisting wires around to begin on the more slender second form she saw in her mind’s eye. She twisted two wires together when the end of one stabbed into her palm.

  “Shit!”

  “Remy?” Stan asked worriedly and rolled into her studio from the hall. “Let me see it.”

  “I’m fine,” she grunted with a wince, pressing a rag to her palm.

  “I said let me see it,” he ordered, and she held out her hand. “That rag’s filthy. Come with me, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She glared but followed behind his chair as he pushed his way into his bedroom then to his large master bath. He pointed to the edge of the tub so she could sit as he pulled out a first aid kit from under the sink.

  “What are you doing in there with the wires?” he asked, dabbing at the puncture wound with a wipe. She flinched, but his hand caught her wrist and held her steady.

  “A new project. I told you.”

  “Maybe you should slow down a bit so you don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

  “It was an accident. It’s not like I’m in there purposely beating myself up over what happened in my life.”

  His hands stilled and he raised his eyes to hers. “What was that?”

  She pinched her tongue between her teeth, but she might as well tell him now. “You got a phone call the other day while you were out from a woman ranting about how you ruined her family’s lives.”

  Stan swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he continued to work on her hand. “I thought I told you not to answer the phone.”

  “I didn’t. She left a message, which I promptly deleted.”

  “You had no right!” he ranted and tossed the alcohol pad away.

  “Yeah, I think I do when I’m living in the same house as someone who keeps brooding about an accident that wasn’t his fault! That’s what’s been wrong this whole time, isn’t it? You’re not upset about some damn boat or your legs. You think you need to keep punishing yourself because one of those brothers died and the other won’t wake up.”

  Stan whipped his chair away from her, but she simply followed him, planting her hands on the arms and glaring at him. “Move.”

  “No. You’re not going to keep running to that cave of yours to sulk.”

  “I don’t hide,” he growled. “And it is my fault.”

  “No, it’s not! Everyone knows you tried to avoid their boat. They were drunk, Stan. That’s not on you. You can’t keep carrying this guilt around with you. It’s not worth it, trust me. It’ll eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

  “And what would you know of guilt, huh? You and your perfect, happy life of watching other people’s kids and their families. What have you ever done that would make you feel guilt like this? Tell me, damn it!” he raged.

  Remy’s mouth opened and words poured out and she had no idea where they even came from. “I was born, all right? I was born and I ruined my parent’s lives.”

  Stan leaned away from her. “What?”

  “I was born when my mom was sixteen, remember? They gave up everything for me. Gave up their dreams of going to college,” Remy rambled. “They lost their friends, their parents… they lost so much of their lives because of me. Try being a kid and carrying that shit around with you. Try understanding why the other kids at school won’t talk to you or why everyone in the damn town looks at you like you’re trash.”

  She stumbled backwards until she hit the rim of the tub and sank onto it, holding her head in her hands. Where had that come from? She’d thought those feelings had vanished a long time ago. Her parents had found out what she carried with her and had told her very firmly they loved her and they wouldn’t change their decision for anything. But Remy, apparently, never got over it.

  “The paintings,” he whispered. “That’s where they all stem from—your guilt?”

  “No, not all of them,” she murmured, not lifting her head. Why was she even telling him this? “I’ve always been scared to live my own life, scared of who else I might hurt by being around.”

  “So you live vicariously through the families you take care of?”

  She nodded, her hair flying everywhere. “I love what I do, but when I leave a family, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do…and this is way too much information.” She stood abruptly and tried to skirt around him to the door, but he whipped his chair around too fast, catching her legs. She cursed as he dragged her down onto his lap. Before she had a chance to push away, he grabbed the nape of her neck and kissed her intently on the mouth.

  “No running away, not this time,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Stan,” she replied, but he kissed her again and she melted at his touch, unable to resist him any longer. She had no idea where this might lead and, frankly, didn’t give a damn. In that moment, her fears lifted, and she and Stan were all that mattered as he wheeled them from the bathroom to his bedroom. She clung to him, not wanting to leave his touch even for a second. Since coming here, being at this house with him, new emotions awoke within her and she saw the possibilities of her future laid out before her.

  All she had to do was be brave enough to believe in herself and believe in him to reach them.

  Chapter 11

  Stan’s lips caressed Remy’s in a frantic need to be close to her and chase her guilt away as she had with his. He never thought anyone could understand the burden he carried. Though she had not been the cause of someone’s death, in a way, she seemed like the only one who understood his sulking and the depression weighing him down. Her art showed him more clearly than her words ever could the burden she carried around, and he wanted nothing more than to see those bursts of colors come to life in her paintings and in her smile.

  She clutched his shoulders, and not sure where the strength came from, he stood from his chair, lifting her with him, and tackled her to the bed. He rolled them so she was on top and he sat up. They tore at each other’s clothes, desperate for the touch of bare skin. His shirt went first, and she dragged her fingertips over his pecs and lower, tracing what remained of his abs. His stomach clenched, and he caught her hand as she grinned wickedly.

  “That tickles,” he whispered.

  “Does it now?” She lowered her head and kissed a path with her soft lips down his chest to his stomach. He dragged the band from her hair and let it fall over his hands, the silky strands brushing over his sides as she moved lower and lower until she reached the top of his jeans. “Remy,” he grunted when she unbuttoned them and worked at the zipper.

  “Do you want me to stop?” she asked, her fingers digging beneath the hem at his hips.

  His hands clenched the bedsheets as she tugged at his jeans, dragging th
em down inch by agonizing inch. “That is a very loaded question,” he argued, swallowing hard. “Remy, wait.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow furrowed in worry.

  “I haven’t…you know, done this in a long time and my legs…they’re not really…” He failed to find the words, but she crawled up his body, resting her palm against his cheek.

  “You really think I care about that?”

  He remembered the first day they met and how she hadn’t given him the pitying look he was used to or even stared at his chair like it was a hindrance. “No.”

  She kissed him, her tongue flicking against his lower lip, and he grabbed her ass, grinding against her until she slipped back down his body again. Part of his brain said to bring her back, that he should be the one pleasuring her first, but she grabbed his jeans and boxers and in one hard yank, revealed the rest of his naked body to her hungry gaze. Her hair brushed across his legs as she kissed them, starting at his knees. He shivered in anticipation and tried to remember when he had last been touched by a woman. His cock throbbed with need, and when she closed one delicate hand around his shaft, his head fell back on a moan, nearly spilling himself. Arousal had been hard for him since the accident, but not with Remy.

  Her hand slid up his cock, gripping it with just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back. She straddled his legs and rubbed her thumb over the crown. His hands twisted the sheets and his hips bucked, already so close to losing control.

  “How long has it been?” she asked curiously.

  “Too damn long,” he muttered. His head fell forward as he remembered she was still a virgin. He wanted to make sure she was ready for this, but her head lowered, her hair covering his groin. A second later, he cursed as her perfect lips surrounded his crown and drew him into her hot, wet mouth. He groaned and rested his hand, shaking from the pleasure rippling through his body, on the back of her head, urging her gently to take more of him in.

  She obliged, and soon, nearly his whole cock filled her mouth. She drew back slowly, dragging her teeth against his skin before lowering her head again. Her hand pressed down hard against him, finding that extra hidden length and increasing the ecstasy tenfold. He shoved her hair to the side, wanting to watch as he disappeared inch by inch into her mouth. When her brown eyes flickered up to meet his, his breath caught painfully in his chest and his hips bucked. She smirked around him, licking him like a damn sucker before swirling her tongue around his crown again.