Page 71 of Homebound

He needs someone to make the decision for him, so I say, “I’m going. I know this property like the back of my hand, so I’ll be right back, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

“Dakota, I don’t—”

“No complaints!” I shut the door on the very complaint I don’t want to hear, and it’s only when I’m outside that I realize what I said.

Our girl.

29

I HATE THAT WORD

WYATT

“Shhhh, I know your fever’s gone, little devil, but you’ve got to be quiet ’cause your daddy’s sleeping on the couch.”

My eyes drift open at the sound of Dakota’s low murmur, and I peek through my lashes to see her dancing around the open kitchen in nothing but a tiny cotton tank and little plaid shorts with my smiling girl in her arms.

I’m dazed with sleep, so it takes me a second to remember everything that happened last night. I must’ve fallen asleep before she got back from her dad’s. But my baby girl is smiling big, which means I’m smiling. Her cheeks aren’t flushed either, so she must be feeling better.

Relief hits me like a runaway train.

I almost jump off the couch to check on my girl, but then I remember Dakota said that her fever’s gone, and I notice the morning light glinting off Vi’s curls. Dakota’s grinning down at her. My breath stops.

There they are—dimples.

Not for me, but for my little girl, and that’s even better. I let myself stare, watching, soaking up this moment. I can’t capture this, so I’d rather watch a little longer. I shove my feet under Tuna’s warm body, snoozing peacefully at the end of the leather couch, and stay right here.

“It’s like this,” Dakota whispers, picking up Vi’s tiny fist. “One-two-one. One-two-one.”

She mimics my chant, her voice soft and playful, as she two-steps around the granite counter with my daughter in her arms. If I hadn’t already loved her before, this would make me fall for her now. I keep my eyes barely open, just slivers of light peeking through my lashes, so she still thinks I’m asleep.

The sweet, familiar melody of “You're Gonna Miss This” by Trace Adkins hums under her breath as she twirls and sways in the kitchen.

Seeing her melt for my little girl makes this big world shrink to the three of us, and I can’t help but stare at them. This right here is what I want. Simple, slow mornings with two girls I love. The hockey season can be brutally fast-paced, so I always appreciate the slower things in life.

She kisses her cheek, making her baby hands clap and trying to grab at her face. “Your daddy taught me how to two-step,” she whispers. “He’s pretty good, but don’t tell him that ’cause he already knows it. He’ll teach you one day too.”

Vi’s curls are a mess, but her chubby cheeks are flushed with happiness. She giggles as Dakota two-steps with her, and her tiny feet try to kick at the rhythm.

After seeing her sniffling last night, the joy rolling off my daughter is a massive relief. It’s these moments that make all the snotty tantrums worth it. I swear parenting is a roller coaster of little moments filled with the biggest emotions.

And laundry—so much laundry.

She continues two-stepping, and as much as I like watching them, I want to be a part of this now, so I get up. Tuna doesn’t even budge. She just blobs on the couch.

“Looks like you’re getting better, but you’re still a little stiff,” I tease.

“Oh, you’re awake.” She whips her mess of brown curls to me. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Vi’s all smiles and no fever this morning. It must’ve broken in the middle of the night. I changed her diaper, oh, and made her some breakfast. Banana pancakes. I figured I’d let you rest.”

I glance at the rooster clock.

It’s 10:00 AM.

My brows fly up in surprise.

“Thank you,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I slept this late. Or the last time I woke up with my girl fed and her diaper changed by someone other than me or my parents. How’s she doing?”

I drop a peck to the top of Vienna’s head, and then feel her temperature. Her forehead is cool, and my shoulders loosen in relief. I feel like parenting is always like that. Kids get fevers, and they randomly go away.