I woke up after having one of the best night’s sleeps I’ve had in a very long time. I know it had to do with the man who was holding me. I needed to get up, but admiring the muscles of the man whose arms were around me was much more important.

The bedding was covering only the bottom half of Liam’s body. I could have stared at his chest all morning. I studied the rise and fall of his chest, his messy hair that screamed to be touched. His defined pecs as they flexed with the way he had them stretched over his head. My mouth went dry and my legs quivered. It was in the instant when my eyes scanned up his body to his beautiful face and lingered at his dark five-o’clock shadow and his incredibly carved jaw, then moving back down past his parted lips to see his heart beating through his chest that I realized how badly I wanted this baby to be a girl.

My fingers itched with extra energy to wake him and tell him why. Seeing this strong, talented, and loving man with our little girl has the power to bring me to my knees. We both have strong father role models in our life, and the example Liam would be for a daughter melts me.

Even though I’m not far along, I can’t wait to see what our child will look like. A beautiful combination of the best of us. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it at all; my heart, though, is fully invested.

I lay there and studied him for a bit longer before deciding I had to get up to use the bathroom so bad my bladder started to hurt, screaming and crying in protest.

And now, after Liam bringing me to work, securely walking me to my office and planting my butt on the couch, I sit here waiting for my family, so we can put an end to this chapter in our story and move on to Liam’s. Mostly, though, I’m nervous to tell my dad, and not for the reasons one would think if they knew the real Cain Bexley.

“I would have thought you’d want to spend the day with Liam, since it’s his day off,” Jonathan quips. His eyes laser in on the magazine of baby NFL apparel in my lap as he enters before my parents. I fold the page, close it up, and give him a stern look that screams ‘shut up.’ Jonathan’s gaze darts to my stomach and back to my face. I give him another look to underline my meaning before training my attention on my dad.

“He’ll be back to pick me up in a little bit; I have something to tell you all first.”

“Did you receive another gift?” Dad asks. His words of concern were not met to trip the livewire fizzling around in my head, except it does.

He crosses the room and picks up the wrapped box on the table in front of me, while I fight against letting him know how panic-stricken I am that whoever is stalking me could take something away I never knew I wanted.

“No, that’s for you.” My words are rushing out, smiling as I vision the man I know. He’s futile at best, yet warm and loving only to the ones close to him.

“Open it.” I glance at my mom, who already has tears forming in her eyes; she leans into my brother, who wraps his arm around her. I want to run to her and thank her for being the queen of this family and showing us the true meaning of love.

I run my hands down my legs, finding the softness of my leggings comforting. It’s funny how yesterday when I was getting dressed, I paid no attention how tight my pants fit, yet this morning when I went to put a pair on, I could barely fit them over my ass; and fastening the button was out of the question. It was probably a figment of my imagination, but still, I wanted to be comfortable, so I shrugged them off and opted for these.

Nerves flood my veins, my mind spins, and my heart feels like it might cave as I watch him lift the lid and give a long, fixated look at the T-shirt.

“Jesus, I was right. This isn’t a joke, is it?” Cain Bexley, my hero, the man who doesn’t cry, who doesn’t show his soft side to many people, is on the verge of tears.

My lips quiver and my heart stutters as I watch my dad, who can unravel quicker than anyone I know, place his hand on the top of my mom’s when she rests it on his shoulder.

“No. I would never joke about this. I didn’t find out until yesterday. It wasn’t planned. I want this baby more than anything, Dad. I want my child to know his or her grandparents. This baby is going to love you as much as I do.” I dig the pads of my fingers into my soft leggings.

He says nothing as he lifts the shirt out, tosses the box back on the table, and places it on his lap.

“Future Idaho Diamonds Fan,” he quietly reads the script on the newborn shirt.

It looks incredibly tiny across his big body. It looked even tinier in the window when Liam and I walked by the gift shop this morning and the thought of buying these for our dads occurred to me. I can’t say why I thought to do it this way was better than telling them, but when my dad lifts his head and the man who raised me, who protected me all my life and is still protecting me now, sheds a tear, I glance up to Mom with misty eyes telling her it was worth it. So, so worth it.

“This is why you were acting all weird last night, wasn’t it, Calla? You know I hate secrets. This one I’m glad you kept from me. Thank you for letting her tell me.” God, the man makes me want to cry.

“I love you, Dad. You’ve given me everything. You made it possible for me to have the courage to go after Liam, and this child”—I stutter over my words, the emotions clogging my throat—“means everything to us.”

I’m pressing the emotional tear button frantically to stop myself from crying. I love this man more than anything. He is generous. I don’t have to seek his approval or worry if he’s going to be angry with me even though in most circumstances I do, but never over something like this.

Last night, I made myself sick with worry about protecting my child, especially with the possibility of danger. I’ll second-guess every move I make until the sick asshole or assholes are caught. The thing is, I’m my father's daughter, and as much as I despise it, I’m more like him than I realize. I’ll fight and kill someone to protect my flesh and blood. No questions asked.

Dad clears his throat. The rare emotions he shows us are shining through. “One day, your mom had to go somewhere. I stayed home with you. Life at the time was chaotic. Whatever was going on, we didn’t want you in danger, so between the two of us and your grandparents, we kept you home. You weren’t even walking yet, but you were teething something fierce. Alina assured me you would be fine. Being the man I am, I hated it. God, it ripped my heart to fucking shreds that I couldn’t stop you from crying and fussing. I put on some music and danced with you. You stopped crying and fell asleep on my chest. When the music stopped playing, I kept swaying with you in my arms. I didn’t want to disturb you; you hadn’t slept for more than an hour in over twenty-four hours. When your mom came home, she went to take you so she could feed you. You started crying again, reached your arms out to me, and spoke your first word."

Dad wipes his eyes.

“Dada.” I finish the sentence for him.

He nods solemnly with a big grin on his face. Pride.

I can barely see his eyes crinkle at the corners through my blurred vision. There are many things I want to say, and yet I sense he isn’t done telling me his story.

He’s right; I don’t remember. There are many other happy times I remember about my father. He was always one of those fun parents who spun me around by my arms until I was dizzy and giggling when my head would feel funny and my stomach woozy. I always fell to the ground, and he would tumble down next to me. It was a process we repeated often.

Again, Daddy!

And he would.

I remember when I came rushing through the door one day from school and showed him the note for the father-daughter dance. He looked down at me and said he’d go, but he wasn’t wearing a tie, and yet when he knocked on my bedroom door to get me, his tie matched my pink dress. I ran into his arms and hugged him tightly. No matter how hard and rough he was, he was always gentle and kind with me. Soft even during the times when I was being punished. He also was the first man to give me flowers, the man who made me love pink roses. I thought I would hate them after my stalker had sent them to me. I don’t. I won’t allow it. Nothing and no one will take away my precious memories of my dad.

“I can’t explain how I felt when you spoke any better than saying that was the best word I had heard in my life. You were mine, Justice. My innocent, sweet little girl. And up until today, there wasn’t any other word I loved hearing more. I can’t wait to hear your child call me grandpa. The day you and John were born, those were one of the happiest days of my life. You had a ton of hair similar to my own. Your nose was small and shaped just like your mother’s. You had pouty lips. Small fingers that curled around my finger. You turned my world upside down in the best way possible. My daughter, who never let go of my hand. Not even when you moved here. You’ve let go of it now, and that’s okay. I watched you, sweetheart. Watched you suffer in your pain, and it tore chunks out of my soul not to help you find your way back to Liam. It killed me when I held your mom after I told her we were not interfering and you’d find your way. You did it. You found your path. And I’m fucking proud of you. So damn honored to have you call me your dad.”

I adore this man. Somewhere deep inside of me, I find the strength not to burst into tears, not until he gets up, sits beside me, and takes hold of my hand.

“My little girl is going to be a mother. Fucking hell,” he mutters, causing me to laugh through my impending tears.

“Frightening, right?” I place my head on his shoulder.  

“No. If I were you, I’d be frightened for Liam. I’m going to beat his ass.”

I roll my eyes. “Only after the season, Dad.”

His laughter vibrates against my body, and even though there’s still a lingering threat, I know everything is going to be okay.

I’d love nothing more than to sit on his lap and curl into him. I’m comfortable right here, even more so when Mom wipes her eyes and sits on my other side. Jonathan, who is exactly like our dad, sits next to her.

This man who holds me in his arms is the reason why I want a daughter. There is nothing better than the bond between a daughter and her dad. I want that for Liam more than anything.