With a defeated sigh and tears in her eyes, Jocelyn turns and leaves the room. I may seem like a bastard to her, but the only way to rule a home properly is with an iron fist and my word is fucking law.
I stop and check on Darby once I’m dressed again. She’s still fast asleep and I can’t help but smile at how beautiful she is. It wasn’t too long ago, theoretically speaking, that I used to stand in the doorway and watch Jocelyn sleep. She was always such a good little girl until her whore of a mother got pregnant again. And then another time after that, even though I told the bitch that I didn’t want anymore kids other than our perfect little girl.
Boys.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with them? Play sports? Show them how to fish? No; they were a waste of time and I didn’t care enough to pay them any mind.
Not until they started to turn my Joce against me. That’s when I knew I had to put a stop to that shit.
It’s also how I know that Darby won’t be a problem. Once she sees the example that I’ve set with her mother, she’ll be the perfect little girl that I’ve been missing ever since Jocelyn was ruined.
I take a step back and close the door as quietly as I can. I won’t wake her up just yet because she can get really fucking cranky if woken up before she’s ready.
I chuckle as I walk down the hallway, down the stairs, and toward the kitchen. She gets that from me, and while I’ll admit that it’s not my best quality, it’s nice to know that even though she looks like her mother, she’s still got some of her daddy in her.
“It’s starting to smell good in here,” I say appreciatively as I enter the kitchen.
Jocelyn has her back to me as she places a slab of seasoned meat into the oven. I’m not sure what she’s making, but I do know that it’ll more than likely be good enough to let her read Darby a bedtime story tonight.
“Whatcha making?” I ask, walking up behind her and placing my hands on her hips. I push myself against her and she goes rigid for a moment before remembering the predicament she’s in and relaxes.
“Braised pork shoulder,” she replies quietly.
“You’re making my favorite?” I ask her with a laugh. “I guess you really wanna see the kid, don’t you?”
She shrugs and turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest again. I hate that she’s so damn stand-offish with me—especially since we just shared such a beautiful moment in the bedroom.
I sigh and rub my face irritably.
“Uncross them,” I say sternly. Her arms immediately drop to her sides and she looks down at her feet. “Alright. I know what’s gonna make you feel better. You keep yourself busy in here and I’ll be right back.”
Joce turns back to the oven and I run a hand back through my hair, shaking my head as I leave her alone in the kitchen again. What I should do is hold her against the refrigerator and fuck her again, but I doubt she has the stamina for another go right now
.
I go back to Darby’s room and push the door open quietly. She’s gonna be so pissed when I wake her up, but I know how to stop her temper before it flares into a tantrum.
“Wake up, baby girl,” I say, gently running a hand over her head.
She groans and rolls on her side, her back toward me, as she snuggles her blanket closer to her little body.
“Come on, Darbs. It’s time to wake up now,” I say, giving her a gentle shake.
“No,” she barks, her back still to me.
I can’t help but laugh. How this kid can go from happily picking wildflowers to being so damn pissy about being woken up is beyond me. That’s something we’ll have to work on in the near future.
“Darbs,” I say sternly. “Wake up. Let’s go. I got your surprise waiting.”
At the mention of the surprise I promised her, she sits right up and looks at me with a tired smile on her face. I wait patiently while she rubs the sleep away from her eyes before she pushes her blanket off and holds her arms out toward me.
I pick her up and kiss her cheek. She giggles quietly as she nuzzles into my neck and I carry her out of the room.
I’m not sure how she’s going to react to Jocelyn when they’re face to face. She’s only ever heard her voice and I don’t keep pictures of the kids around. It’s a waste of space and I don’t care for clutter. I’m sure she’ll see herself in her Momma and she’ll probably love her right away, but the only way to find out is to take her into the kitchen.
I walk slowly, deliberately.
We play a game of peek-a-boo on the way to the kitchen because I want to keep her distracted long enough to give her a chance to understand what’s happening when I tell her who the lady in the kitchen is.