Marek (Cold Fury Hockey #11)(28)

God, I hope she was right.

I take a deep breath and lean back against the sink, putting my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “Okay, so once upon a time, there was this princess.”

“What was her name?” Lilly asks excitedly.

“Um…Princess Joan,” I say, my mom’s name the first thing that comes to me.

Lilly frowns a little, and I can’t tell if she thinks the name is weird or if she’s actually pooping, so I continue.

“And Princess Joan was locked in a tower and guarded by a big, mean dragon.”

Those blue eyes go wide with awe, and I feel a little encouraged.

“Yeah…so anyway, all the princes in the land tried to save her, but the dragon was just too fierce. None of them could make it past him up the long, winding staircase to the top.”

“What happened?” she asks breathlessly, and then another frown.

Yup…she’s pooping.

“Well, luckily for Princess Joan, there was a very strong and brave prince called Galeti.”

“Galeti? What kind of name is that?” she asks suspiciously.

“Lithuanian. He was a prince from the kingdom of Lithuania.” My voice is assured and Lilly buys it. Her smile brightens and she leans forward on the toilet a little more as if the anticipation of the rest of the story is too much to bear. “And anyway, Prince Galeti was a hockey player. He was big and strong and wasn’t even afraid of the dragon.”

“He wasn’t?” Her eyes are as big as saucers, twinkling with keen interest.

“Nope. In fact, he ran up that staircase with his hockey stick, and when that dragon tried to block his way, he hip checked that dragon right into the boards.”

“What boards?”

“Um…the castle wall. And the hip check was so awesome, the dragon got a concussion and was taken out of the game.”

“What game?”

“Taken off guard duty, I mean.” Damn, this is hard. “And so Prince Galeti ran up the staircase, kicked the door open, and swept the princess in his arms.”

“Did he kiss her? Did he?”

“He did. Gave her a big kiss and then—”

“They lived happily ever after,” she yells exuberantly, and starts clapping her hands. “That was really good, Daddy.”

My knees go wobbly over her affirmation, that she liked the first real thing I’ve done for her as a father.

And when she calls me Daddy, there are no words to describe the feeling.

My throat tightens, and for the first time in what has to be two decades, I feel like crying.

Luckily, Lilly kills the overwhelming emotion bubbling up inside of me when she says, “I’m done pooping. I need help wiping my butt.”

I can’t help the bark of a laugh that comes out as I push off the sink. While generally I would not be crazy over the idea of wiping someone’s ass, I find myself not minding the responsibility at all.

When I finally get Lilly strapped back into her car seat, she says to me, “I’m hungry, Daddy.”

I still don’t know if she really knows what a daddy is just yet, but she’s calling me that consistently, and it touches me more than anything has in my life. I glance at my watch and see it’s quarter after one.

And shit, not sure how time got away from me. I remember Gracen saying that after lunch, Lilly will usually nap for a few hours. We’re already well past the time she normally eats, and I don’t know what to do at this point. I assume food is more important than sleep, but she should have both, right? And Gracen says she normally gets up around 2:30 P.M., but by the time I feed her and get her down, she’d probably sleep until dinnertime, and that can’t be good. She’ll be up all night.

“Shit,” I mutter as I run my fingers through my hair.

“Shit,” Lilly says, and mimics my action.

My eyes widen and I shake my head. “No, honey…you can’t say that word. It’s bad.”

“Then how come you say it?” she asks with her head cocked to the side.

“Um…well, okay…it’s not a bad word, but only daddies can say it.”

“Oh, okay,” she chirps, as if that makes all the sense in the world. And I feel damn proud of myself for making sense to a toddler.

Giving her knee a pat, I step back and close the door. Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket as I round the front, I think about calling Gracen to ask her about lunch and naps. But I can’t do that. She’s at work.

So I dial the next best option right now.

As I get into the driver’s seat, Reed answers on the second ring.

“Is Josie there?” I ask him. I don’t have Josie’s phone number, and I don’t think she’s my biggest fan anyway based on how I’ve treated Gracen so far.

“Yeah…sure,” he says, and then I hear him say, “It’s for you.”

“Hello?” she says hesitantly in the phone.

“Josie…it’s me. Marek.”

“What’s up?” she asks, sounding pleasantly open right now.

“So, is it dangerous for a kid to miss their nap?”

“Pardon?”

“If I don’t give Lilly her nap today, are there any dangerous side effects?”

“There are,” she says gravely, and my stomach tightens. Our schedule is now getting very complicated. Maybe I don’t feed her and just have her sleep instead.