My pulse spikes as worst-case scenarios flood my brain. What if someone broke in? What if they were taken? I start searching harder, my voice echoing through the too-big house. Who the hell needs this much square footage anyway?
I curse myself for buying this place. It’s just Brianna and me now. I’ve got five too many rooms and not nearly enough peace.
I turn in circles calling their names, and I’m met with dead silence.
The basement is the only place left. My feet slam against the stairs as I head down. When I hit the bottom step and round the corner, two bodies tackle me, hard. I stumble, arms flying up to protect my face.
“What the fuck is going on?” I bark.
“Language, Worth!” Maggie scolds.
I lower my arms to find Bri and Maggie laughing hysterically, standing over me on the carpet. My vision clears, and I see their smug faces. They look at each other, then double over in another fit of giggles.
“I thought you were hurt!” I yell, breath still catching up to my brain.
“It worked!” Bri shrieks, throwing her arms around Maggie. “We got him!”
I stare, speechless, as they celebrate their little ambush.
“You’re both dead,” I mutter.
“You’re so dramatic, Dad.” Brianna tries to muffle her snort.
Maggie offers me a hand. I grab it and yank her down beside me.
“Ah-ha!” I grin as she hits the carpet with a shocked gasp.
Bri and I burst out laughing while Maggie glares at me, lips twitching.
“How does it feel now?” I ask, smug.
“Yeah, Mags,” Bri chimes in. “How doesthatfeel?”
I shoot my daughter a wicked look. “You’re not off the hook yet, Piglet. You better run.”
She squeals and bolts up the stairs. I give her a few seconds’ head start before chasing her, pounding up behind her like the big bad wolf—a game we always used to play when she was younger. She darts through the first floor and zips up the back staircase, finally slamming her bedroom door shut in my face.
“Little pig, little pig,” I say in a gravelly voice, “let me come in.”
“No!” she shouts, giggling from the other side.
“Come on, little pig. I just want totalk.”
The door doesn’t lock—deliberate design choice, thank you very much—so I turn the knob and push against her weight.
“I’m not a pig, Dad!” Bri squeals.
I shove the door open and she leaps into bed, hiding under her blanket.
“Too slow.”
I dive in and tickle her until she’s snorting again.
“You sure sound like one,” I tease.
Her laughter is contagious. Loud, free, and full of life.
My heart swells. This is the part of me that still works. Being her dad.