Page 282 of Daddy's Pride
“Oh? You have no say over these things now? In your own home?”
“If we keep the dog—” We were definitely keeping the dog. “—it’s his dog. So yes, he gets to decide.”
“Hm.”
“Christ, just spit it out already, brother.”
“What? I just find it interesting that you said if ‘we’ keep the dog.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I was also wondering when you’re going to admit that the boy isn’t going anywhere, and give him a proper name and a permanent home.”
Oh, was that what he was getting at?
Juan probably thought it would get me flustered after all the years I’d told him I wasn’t ready for a boy of my own yet, and all the times I’d shied away from anything resembling a real relationship.
The joke was on him, though, because neither of those things made me want to run the other away.
Not anymore.
Not when the boy in question was Owen.
“I’m working on that,” I said, very much enjoying seeing my best friend speechless for once. I gave his truck a pointed look. “And if you’d like to let me get back to trying to make that happen…”
“I’m going, I’m going!” he said, grinning so brightly that I regretted not putting on sunscreen this morning. “And tell my future hermanito that the new water heater won’t arrive for a few more weeks!”
He hopped in his truck, but before he could swing the door closed, I caught it.
“What? What the hell is the hold-up with the water heater?”
Even knowing the insurance company was supposed to reimburse him, I’d ordered it at cost through one of our suppliers… and put it on the company account, with Juan’s blessing.
Anything to make his life a little easier.
Juan grinned. “There is no hold-up. I said tell him. I didn’t say it was the truth.” He winked. “Just consider it my way of helping you ‘work on that’.”
I laughed, shaking my head as he drove away. Of course I wouldn’t lie to Owen about something like that, but I took Juan’s teasing for what it was—his way of giving me his whole-hearted approval of the boy who’d so thoroughly stolen my heart.
The boy who, once I gave Stumpy a few ear scritches and the two of us finally made it back inside, was slumped over the kitchen table with his head in his hands, looking utterly dejected.
“Baby?” I asked, my heart in my throat as I rushed over to him. “What’s wrong?”
He looked up at me, his face pale and his chin trembling. “Um, I think I really fucked up, Daddy.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from automatically denying it. I highly doubted he had, but I also had no clue what was going on, and we all fucked up sometimes.
If it was true, then I didn’t want to give him empty reassurances. I just wanted to help him make it right. But if I was going to do that, first I needed the facts.
Correction; first, I needed him in my arms.
I lifted him out of the chair, easy to do since he was rather, ah, petite. And while I was entirely sure I would have been just as gone for him regardless of his physical appearance, I had to admit that I kind of adored how pocket-sized he was.
I settled him on my lap and cuddled him close. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
He sniffled, but burrowed against me. “The insurance company is denying the claim, and it’s all my fault.”
“What?” I tipped his chin up. “Baby, that doesn’t make sense. That water heater was so far past its prime that it should have been replaced years ago.”