Page 149 of Bucked Hard
I squeeze her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We knew this was coming."
Three days we've had together. Three days of heaven—learning each other, loving each other, building something I never thought I'd have. Now comes the reckoning.
Jim's truck slides to a stop in a cloud of dust. His face, when he steps out, is already thunderous. He must have gone to his house first and found Callie gone, put two and two together and headed here.
"Stay here," I murmur, setting my coffee down and standing.
She grabs my wrist. "Together."
"Okay. Together," I agree, taking her hand in mine as we walk down the porch steps.
Jim stalks toward us, twenty years of friendship warring with fatherly rage on his face. "Tell me I'm seeing things," he growls. "Tell me my daughter isn't holding your hand, wearing your clothes, looking like she's been in your bed."
"Can't tell you that, Jim." I keep my voice steady, squeezing Callie's hand when she tries to step in front of me. "Won't lie to you."
The punch comes fast—Jim always did have quick hands. It connects with my jaw, snaps my head back. I taste blood but don't release Callie's hand.
"Daddy!" she cries, trying to move between us.
I hold her back. "Let him get it out."
"Get it out?" Jim's voice rises. "You think one punch makes up for betraying me? For taking advantage of my little girl?"
"He didn't take advantage," Callie starts, but I squeeze her hand again.
"I love her," I tell Jim, meeting his furious gaze head-on. "Have for a long time. Fought it. Lost. But this isn't some fling, Jim. This is real."
"She's half your fucking age, old man.” Jim roars. "She’s my goddamn daughter! She calls you Papa, for Christsake."
I’m frozen, I can’t explain to him that she still calls me that…
"I'm a grown woman," Callie interjects, fire in her voice. "Old enough to know what I want. And I want him."
Jim looks between us, his anger momentarily stuttering in the face of his daughter's determination. "How long has this been going on?"
"Three days," I answer honestly. “I didn’t look at her in that way until her birthday. Then, all hell broke loose inside of me, Jim. Like God or the Devil opened the floodgates they’d been holding shut. I’m not a bad man. You know that. You know me.”
Another punch, this one to my gut. I take it. It knocks the wind out of me, hurts like a motherfucker as I double over, but I don’t go down.
"I'll take every punch you've got," I wheeze, straightening. "Won't change a goddamn thing. She's mine."
He steps back, chest heaving. "You were my best friend."
"Still am." I release Callie's hand to extend mine to him. "But I'm also the man who loves your daughter. Who'll protect her with his life. Who'll spend every day making sure she never regrets choosing me."
Jim stares at my outstretched hand, conflict raging across his face.
"Daddy," Callie says softly. "I love him. Have since I was old enough to know what love is. This isn't his fault. If anything, it's mine. I pursued him."
Jim's eyes find hers, and something there—perhaps the echo of her mother, who was just as stubborn—softens him slightly.
"I don’t care if you lay down naked on the hood of his fucking truck. He should have said no. He should be a man.”
“He is a man. He’s my man.”
“Fuck.” Jim grabs his head with both hands, his chin to his chest. “Callie,” he asks her, “you sure?"
"More sure than I've ever been about anything." She reaches for my hand again, intertwining our fingers.
