THE KID

He’d carried her up the stairs, the tired little girl with the peaceful smile on her face. It was no secret to him she’d been getting under his skin lately, in the worst way possible.

The heartfelt way.

But the way she just lay limp in his arms, completely trusting, something deep in him stirred.

She felt just like his daughter.

He tried to push the thought away, the feeling, he really did. She had to be put to bed, tucked in. He was just doing what was necessary, right? He was always good at doing what had to be done. Could always be counted on.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave.

Every action he took felt like that. From holding her super close to him for a couple of seconds while he bent to pull back the covers with one hand, then laying her gently on the antique bed, seeing her body relax comfortably to the shape of the mattress. Pulling off her shoes, her socks. Rubbing those little feet gently so she’d feel comfortable-hell, he always wanted his feet rubbed when he took off his socks. The fact that hers were sweaty from a day of play and fun didn’t even hit the ew metre.

Running to the bathroom, he filled her special glass – another Darth Vader special – with water, making sure it was ice cold, then he went back into her bedroom, and placed it on the nightstand. He calculated quickly just how far away it needed to be so if she accidentally turned over and thrashed or hugged her pillow weird, it wouldn’t spill.

Then he watched her for a few moments, breathing deep. Lost, utterly lost in dreamland. “Good night, Princess,” he whispered, the whisper soft and scant even as whispers went.

Tiptoeing out, he quietly pulled her door shut, then at the last minute left it open the tiniest crack, so if she cried out, they’d all hear. Could come running.

Then he stood outside her door. His heart beating a bit hard. Everything necessary-that she required-had been done.

Realization flooded through him.

That was his little girl in there. His freakin’ little girl.