A Broken Soul(5)

My brow quirked up as I studied my little girl. "A ballerina?"

"Uh huh," she nodded enthusiastically. "Yesterday, at school, Missy Davenport was talkin' about how she takes classes to be a ballerina. She said she gets to wear pink tutus and dance around on her tippy toes in these special shoes with ribbons on 'em. I wanna wear tutus and ribbons. Can I, Daddy? Pleeeeeease?"

Fuck, but I was screwed. Telling my daughter no was never something I'd been good at. When Addison was alive, she'd been the firm one, while I was wrapped around my little girl's finger. Now that I didn't have Addy to run interference, it had only gotten worse.



       
         
       
        

"But I thought you wanted to be a firefighter like your dad?"

Her little face scrunched up like she smelled something bad. "That's for boys, Daddy."

My eyes went wide as I stared down at the little girl who, just last week, declared she wanted to fight fires like her old man. "That's not what you said a few days ago." Why I felt the need to argue with a six-year-old was beyond me, but her sudden change of tune made me feel somewhat less important. It was ridiculous, really, but knowing I was my daughter's hero, to the point where she wanted to be just like me, was a huge ego boost. Losing that - for something as girly as ballet, felt like a slap in the face.

She shrugged casually as she ate the last bite of her breakfast. "I changed my mind. Now I wanna be a ballerina. Can I? Pretty please?"

Christ, those blue puppy-dog eyes, combined with the way her bottom lip jutted out in a pout just about did me in.

"We can go to the dance school next to where we always eat dinner! You can sign me up and I can start tomorrow!"

After draining the last of my coffee, I put the cup in the sink and circled around the island, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "I'll think about it. Now go get your backpack. We're going to be late."

Sophia hopped off the stool and bolted from the kitchen.

A ballerina. Addy would have been ecstatic. When we found out we were having a little girl, she went on and on about putting her in dance class and gymnastics, and all those girly things.

It was times like this that I missed her the most. Not only because I loved her and wanted her back, but because she wasn't there to teach our daughter how to grow up into a woman.

And just like every day for the past three and a half years, I was eaten up by the overwhelming fear that I was going to do something that would irreparably damage the only person I had left.

Most days I didn't have a goddamned clue what I was doing. I was alone and drowning.

All I could do was hold on to the hope that I'd find my footing. I'd eventually wade out of the murky waters and feel that confidence as a father I had when I was part of a team.

Until that day came, all I could do was fake it and hope I didn't screw up along the way.





WITH SOPHIA AT school and thirty minutes before my shift was set to start, I pointed my truck toward Sinful Sweets, the town bakery-turned-restaurant that was co-owned by Eliza, my buddy Ethan's wife, and her step mother Chloe. The place served great food, even better pastries, and out of this world coffee. The latter of the three being what I was needing the most.

"Morning, Quinn," Chloe called out once I stepped inside. She ran the bakery side of Sinful Sweets and had been the original owner when it first opened back when I was a teenager. 

"Chloe," I greeted, tipping my chin in her direction as I made my way to the counter.

"The usual?" she asked, marker poised against a paper cup, ready to write my name on it as I made my way up to the counter.

"Please. And a chocolate croissant to go as well."

"You got it." Chloe set my cup under the espresso machine and began hitting buttons so it could work its magic, then moved to the pastry case for my breakfast. "So how's sweet Sophia doing?"

One corner of my mouth quirked up at the mention of my little girl. "She's great. She just informed me this morning she wants to be a ballerina."

Chloe's face lit up as she slid the bag with my croissant across the bar. "That's adorable! You know, Lilly runs the studio next door." At her words my gut clenched. But unbeknownst to the sudden turmoil I was suffering, she continued. "I have my girls enrolled there. She really is a fantastic teacher. You should think about signing Sophia up. I bet she'd love it."

I had no doubt she would. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that dance teacher in particular. I'd been back in Pembrooke for a little over two years now, and in that time I'd probably said a handful of words to Lilly Mathewson. And for good reason.