Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 182075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
“How do they do that?”
“By dressing me in a cute outfit, I guess. Calling me Little one, or having me call them Daddy or Da or Dada. Doing my hair.”
“We can do those things.”
“What would I call you, though?” she asked as her thumb crept up to her mouth.
“I don’t know. Is there anything you want to call me?” he asked.
A strange look came into her face. And he had a feeling he was going to regret saying that to her.
“How about Q-Q?”
“Q-Q? Really? It sounds like Coocoo. Like I’ve gone nuts. Actually, that could be apt.”
A ghost of a smile hit her mouth. Hell, he’d probably let her call him a cockwomble if it put a smile on her face.
Maybe.
“Come on, let’s see if we can find you a cute outfit and do your hair.”
Wow.
Who knew that Quaid had a secret talent?
“Q-Q, you’re really good at doing hair,” she told him, studying herself in the mirror.
She was wearing a cute pink-and-white-striped tracksuit with some pink fluffy socks. But the very best thing was her hair.
It was up in two high ponytails and secured with pompom hair ties. Then, at intervals down her ponytails, he’d tied other pompom hair ties.
“I love pompoms!”
“I know you do.” He smiled indulgently.
A spark of happiness filled her before it was washed away under a wave of something that felt like . . . grief? It was weird. Her emotions had been locked away tight these past two months but now they were fighting to get out.
Indie thought that if she could just break through that wall and get to them, she might feel lighter. More like herself.
“Come on,” Quaid said to her. “Let’s go find something to play with.”
She was trying.
He could tell she was. But nothing seemed to be helping.
His poor girl. She was so tired and desperate to let go and just play.
Maybe it was him.
Quaid placed his hand over hers as she half-heartedly colored in a picture of a squirrel running up a tree. They were sitting at the table in the playroom and he had some music playing quietly.
“Is it me?” he asked.
“What?” She raised her eyes to his face in surprise. He could tell she’d been thinking deeply. “What do you mean?”
“The reason you can’t relax and slip into Little headspace, is it me? Am I doing a bad job?” His voice was stiff and cool, although he didn’t mean it to be that way.
It was a defense mechanism.
He was thinking about seeing a therapist. He had unresolved issues with his father and it was time he faced them head-on rather than running from them.
“You? No, of course not. It’s me. I’m still numb. I’ve always done it, I guess. Pulled into myself when something bad happened for protection. But I don’t want to be like this anymore. I think I need to talk to my therapist again.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
She gave him a surprised look.
“About me,” he quickly added. “I was thinking that I need to speak to a therapist about my unresolved issues with my father. I want to find a way to become more expressive with my emotions. I’m a father now. I don’t want to mess up like my father did.”
“You won’t,” she said, sliding off her chair to kneel in front of him. She took his hands in her smaller ones. “You are nothing like that bastard.”
“It’s a cycle,” he said quietly. “His father was a bastard to him, then he did the same to me. I don’t want to be like that and—”
“And you won’t be,” she interrupted him. “I know you won’t be because of how much you love me. How much you love the guys. You would never harm us. And you would never harm our children.”
He cupped her cheek. “Still don’t think I deserve you.”
“Yeah? Well, ditto.”
Quaid narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t like that.”
She huffed out a breath. “Well, it’s the truth. I have a lot of issues around self-worth. About being worthy of your love.”
“You are.” He lifted her onto his lap. “And I will tell you that every day until you believe it.”
“Ditto,” she said.
He nodded and kissed her. “What do you think we can do to help you right now?”
She squirmed on his lap. “I don’t know.”
Hmm. He didn’t quite believe that.
He thought she did know. And that she was lying.
“Are you lying to me, baby girl?” he said in a low, warning voice. “Because you know that’s not allowed.”
“I’m not.”
“Indie,” he said sternly.
“Well, if I’m lying to you then maybe you should spank me!”
71
Had she really just said that?
What was wrong with her?
She didn’t really want a spanking, did she? But she’d once read something in a book, about how the heroine was having trouble releasing all of her tears and pain and she wanted her Daddy to spank her.