Nobody But You: A Single Dad Romance Read online

  Nobody But You

  Megan Green

  Copyright © 2020 by Megan Green

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at authormegangreen.com

  Cover Designer: Uplifting Designs

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 9798616996343

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Mason

  2. Maddy

  3. Mason

  4. Maddy

  5. Mason

  6. Maddy

  7. Mason

  8. Maddy

  9. Mason

  10. Maddy

  11. Mason

  12. Maddy

  13. Mason

  14. Maddy

  15. Mason

  16. Maddy

  17. Mason

  18. Maddy

  19. Mason

  20. Maddy

  21. Mason

  22. Maddy

  23. Mason

  24. Maddy

  Epilogue

  Preview of The Off-Season

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Megan Green

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Mason

  When I was a kid, my mother used to always say I was special. Not special in the way all mothers think their kids are. No, I was special because I had a certain … intuition. The day my cousin fell out of a tree in our backyard and broke his arm during summer break? I begged my mom to stay home from work because something deep down in my gut had told me something bad was going to happen. The day our dog, Max, got out of the yard and disappeared for three days? I called my father from the school office, frantic for him to get home and make sure Max was okay.

  My brothers down at the fire station like to say I have a sixth sense … you know, without all that creepy I see dead people shit. It’s part of what makes me a good firefighter. I feel things before I actually see them.

  So, really, it comes as no surprise that the day my life metaphorically goes up in flames, I wake with a sense of dread so deep, I can feel it all the way down to my bones.

  My eyelids flutter open, the fog of sleep slowly evaporating as I push myself up onto my elbow. The harsh sound of my infant daughter’s cries cuts through any remaining haze, and my eyes instantly move to the right side of the bed, my hand reaching out to feel the cool white sheets where my wife normally sleeps.

  “Steph?” I groan out, my voice gruff and raspy. I clear my throat, calling out for her once again, “Steph!”

  My ears strain to hear into the other room, searching for any sign that she’s in there, trying to soothe and quiet Hannah before she wakes up our neighbors. The walls in our townhouse are paper-thin, and in the two weeks since we brought our little girl home, we’ve had more than one occurrence of pounding fists on the adjoining walls.

  But other than Hannah’s angry screams, there’s not a single sound in our small home. A sudden pang of fear rolls through me, and I spring from the bed, not bothering to pull on my sweatpants or slide on my slippers to help protect my bare skin from the winter chill.

  Because now that the thought has entered my mind, I can’t get to Hannah’s room fast enough. Add in the dread I felt as I woke, and it’s all I can do not to scream out my wife’s name as I rush down the hall.

  What if something’s happened to Stephanie?

  A million different scenarios roll through my mind in the two seconds it takes me to get to Hannah’s door. Steph lying unconscious on the bedroom floor. Steph passed out in the rocking chair we’d purchased for the corner of Hannah’s bedroom, her hold faltering until our sweet baby girl slipped down to the …

  I can’t even finish the thought, my breath hitching as I round the corner into Hannah’s room. A relieved sigh escapes my lips when I find Hannah resting safely in her crib, her little face red and twisted into another ear-piercing wail but otherwise no worse for the wear. Closing the few steps between the door and her crib, I place my hand on her belly, cooing patiently at her as she pulls in several hiccupping breaths.

  “You’re okay, Nana. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you,” I whisper, reaching in with my other hand to trail my fingers around the shape of her eyes—a gesture I quickly learned would knock my baby girl out in a matter of seconds.

  And right on cue, her breathing evens out, her cries diminishing to whimpers and then ceasing altogether as her chest slowly begins to rise and fall in an even cadence. With another sigh of relief, my shoulders sag as I realize the crisis I likely just averted.

  But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I remember the entire reason I rushed so frantically into Hannah’s room.

  Stephanie hadn’t been in bed with me when I woke.

  She must’ve fallen asleep out on the couch, I tell myself, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time since Hannah was born that Steph went to sit on the couch while she waited for Hannah to fall asleep and then fell asleep herself.

  The other night, I returned home from my first night shift since Hannah’s arrival and found Steph dead to the world on the uncomfortable, threadbare cushions, Hannah sleeping happily beside her in the playpen.

  My baby girl always falls right to sleep for me, but I think she secretly enjoys testing Stephanie’s patience. She and I are going to have to have a little chat about that one of these days. I don’t care what anybody else says; Hannah understands every damn word that comes out of my mouth.

  I knew the second I held her in my arms that the two of us shared a special connection—something that went deeper than the normal father-daughter bond. They say everyone falls in love with their baby the moment they first lay eyes on them. But I knew I’d never love anybody else the way I loved my daughter before she even took her first breath. Holding her in my arms … it only further solidified that there was nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for this little girl. And when she opened her eyes and looked up at me, an unspoken pact was made between us. Nobody would ever love her like I would. And she would never let me forget how lucky I was to be her daddy. She’d be there for me to love and protect, to hold and cherish, until the day I died.

  And as if evidence to the unbreakable bond we shared, as soon as I remove my hand from her chest and move to leave the room, Hannah’s delicate whimpers pick up again, her little feet kicking out in protest with every step I take. I chuckle faintly to myself as I step back to her crib and lift her into my arms. Once she’s settled against my chest, I lower my head and kiss her on the forehead.

  “Let’s go find your mommy, Hannah Banana.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes the first time I called her that. “You realize she can’t understand you, right? Much less the concept of a pet name,” she challenged.

  I simply shrugged her off. I’d always been one to give people nicknames, and I’d be damned if I let anyone, even my wife, stand in the way of the tradition continuing with my daughter.

  The one person I’ve never given a nickname to …

  Stephanie.

  Not unless you count the wholly unoriginal babe, which I do
n’t. In all the years we’ve spent together, I’ve never been able to come up with something unique and fitting for the love of my life.

  That should’ve been my first sign …

  The fear I was feeling when I woke returns as I make my way down the hallway out to the living room. But it’s different this time. Now, I’m not expecting to find Stephanie unconscious on the floor. I’m not scared of having to see my wife in the middle of a medical emergency, my arms too full with my daughter to give her the help she needs in time to save her.

  No, don’t ask me how, but I know what I’m going to find before I even get there.

  A white slip of paper, folded carefully in half, my name printed neatly on the front.

  The note sits right where I was thinking I’d find Stephanie when I was still in Hannah’s room, propped up against the cushions of the couch, its brightness a stark contrast to the dark brown fabric, even in the dim light from the bulb under the microwave coming from the kitchen.

  A sudden urge to take my daughter back to my bed and ignore the offending piece of paper overwhelms me, and I almost do it. It would be so much easier to tell myself this was all a bad dream, a nightmare conjured from too many sleepless nights and lack of sex. That I would wake up tomorrow, and everything would be right in my world, my wife smiling at me as she held our baby in the crook of her arm, her lips pressing against mine as she leaned up to give me a kiss on my way to work.

  But no matter how much I wish it were true, I know deep down that nothing is going to change. Retreating to my room isn’t going to make the words on that piece of paper disappear. It isn’t going to make my wife suddenly have a change of heart. It isn’t going to make Hannah and me … enough.

  With a heavy sigh, I trudge over to the couch, arranging Hannah on the cushion beside me, barricading her with pillows in case she decides to skip the next few months and teach herself to roll over. Once I can’t put it off any longer, I reach for the piece of paper, carefully unfolding it as I prepare to see the words I already know are there.

  And even though I was expecting them, it does nothing to ease the devastation I feel when I finally see them.

  Mason—

  I can’t do it. I’m sorry.

  Seven little words. But they change everything.

  1

  Mason

  “Daddy, stop!”

  My foot crashes against the brake pedal, the jolt of contact with the floor beneath traveling up through my leg to my hip. I don’t give a second thought to the pain, however, instead twisting around in my seat until my eyes land on my daughter.

  My daughter who, at this very instant, is staring out the back window with the world’s most pitiful look on her face but is otherwise perfectly fine.

  “What is it, Nana?” I ask, my eyes roving over her once again, just to make sure there’s no hidden wound or secret ailment I might’ve missed that could’ve caused my normally well-behaved daughter to shriek like a banshee from the back seat.

  But no. Just as I determined upon my first assessment, my baby girl is strapped safely in her booster seat, the stuffed monkey she was playing with only moments ago now face down on the seat beside her.

  “Hannah? What’s wrong?” I ask, a little more sternly this time. As much as I hate taking this tone with her, I need for her to explain what the problem is, so I can get the hell out of the middle of the road.

  My daughter finally manages to tear her eyes away from whatever it was she was looking at outside the car and pins me with a desperate look. “We have to help him!” she pleads, her eyes already starting to brim with tears.

  “Help who, sweetie?”

  I look out the window, searching for whatever it is that has my daughter so concerned. But there’s nobody.

  Hannah’s fingers fly to the buckle on her booster, and she fumbles with it for only a flash before freeing herself and reaching for the door handle.

  I throw the car into park and lean into the back seat to halt her movement. “Hannah Marie, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Please, Daddy! We can’t leave him there!” she wails.

  My eyes scan the empty street once more. “There’s nobody out there, Nana,” I say gently, trying to placate her with the nickname she’s had since the day she was born.

  It doesn’t work though, and Hannah’s legs struggle against my grip as she desperately tries to reach for the door.

  With a heavy sigh, I relinquish. “Okay, okay. We’ll get out and see. Just let me get off to the side of the road first, ’kay, Hannah Banana?”

  This seems to pacify her, as she instantly stops fighting my hold and instead turns to stare back out the window. “Hurry, Daddy!”

  After parking the car and yelling at Hannah once again not to leap out into the street, I finally help her from the back seat and firmly take hold of her hand. We turn to face the small park that’s tucked between a Laundromat and a run-down diner that has definitely seen better days.

  I say “park,” but it’s little more than a patch of grass, an empty bench, and a rickety, old metal swing set that looks like it’s seen a thousand rainstorms if it’s seen a day.

  If Hannah thinks for even a second that she’s getting on that thing …

  Before I can complete the thought, my daughter starts tugging me toward the bench. “Come on, Daddy! I think he might be hurt.”

  “I still don’t see anyone, Hannah.” I stop short when we get a few feet closer to the bench, and the small, fuzzy black form huddled underneath comes into view.

  At first, I’m not sure that what I’m looking at is even alive. The fur is so matted, whatever it is looks like it’s been there for a while. Probably a forgotten stuffed animal left behind by a child. I open my mouth to say as much to Hannah, but before I can get a word out, my daughter drops to her knees and starts to coo.

  “Here, boy,” she says in her sweet little tone. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Hannah, I don’t think—” But I’m cut short when an ear perks up and an eye opens to peer up at my daughter.

  Holy shit. It’s a dog.

  Crouching down beside my Hannah, I try to get a closer look at the animal. Even from its curled position, I can easily make out the dog’s ribs. Its matted fur is black in most places and a sort of dusty brown in the others, though I can’t tell if that’s its natural coloring or merely the result of all the grime caked onto its coat.

  I reach a tentative hand out, my movements careful so as not to frighten the terrified animal. “C’mere, boy. Come on out of there.”

  The dog cowers back into the dark space beneath the bench, his eyes never leaving their fixed position on my hand, as if waiting for the moment it’s going to lash out and strike him. My heart cracks a little at the signs that this dog has so obviously been abused in the past.

  Deciding to try a different tactic, I keep my eyes trained on the dog, and my voice is mellow as I speak to Hannah, “Nana, run on back to the car and grab the pack of beef jerky I keep in the center console. Be careful not to move too quick though—at least not until you’re out of his line of sight. We don’t want to scare him away.”

  Without even a thought of protest or a hint of a whine, Hannah climbs to her feet and begins to back away. Her toes are so light against the ground, it’s almost comical. I wasn’t aware my sassy little tornado of a daughter was even capable of moving that quietly. But here she is, tiptoeing her way around a park like one wrong step might trigger a land mine.

  After watching Hannah until she safely reaches the car, I turn my attention back to the dog and regain my efforts to coax him out. A few low whistles and several more, “Here, boys,” and I’m not any further along than I was when I started.

  Luckily, Hannah returns with reinforcements.

  “Here, Daddy,” she says as she drops back to her knees beside me, passing me the beef jerky as her eyes focus back on the dog.

  The sound of the package crinkling in my hand is enough to pique the dog’s interest
, and when I pull the zippered pouch open, his chin lifts from the ground for the first time since we stumbled upon him. Snatching a small piece of jerky from inside, I lay my hand palm up on the ground in front of me, the tasty morsel in the center where the dog can easily see it.

  His eyes move from the treat to my face and back again a few times, as if he’s trying to assess if the risk is worth the reward. I slowly inch my hand closer, all the while using a mellow tone and kind words to try to show him that it’s safe.

  After what feels like an eternity, the dog finally pushes up to his feet. He takes a cautious step forward before pausing to stare up at me again.

  I hold stock-still, giving Hannah the subtlest of nods when she looks at me. If he’s going to come out, he’s got to do it on his own terms.

  Hannah seems to pick up my meaning and sits rigid beside me, the faint sounds of her breathing echoing in the silence that surrounds us. Finally, after an excruciatingly long minute, the dog takes another step. And another.

  “That’s it, buddy,” I croon as he lightly takes the piece of meat from my palm.

  Hannah and I turn to look at one another as he chews, her big, toothy grin beaming at me as she giggles.

  Turning back to the dog, I pull a few more pieces of jerky out and offer them up. He takes them without hesitation this time, closing the distance between us and coming to rest right by my side.