Military Daddies’ Nanny (Lucky Women’s Daddies Reverse Harem #1)

Chapter 2

Drew

The harsh clinks of cutlery hitting glass plates reverberate in the quiet dining room. I look around the table at my family, feeling the weight of the silence. My daughter, Bella, is thirteen. She sits with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face devoid of any emotion, and her eyes staring blankly at her plate.

Next to her, my son, Jason, who is nine, eats slowly, each bite methodical and careful. Jason has brown hair like me, but Bella is a redhead like her mother. I can't help but notice that Bella's cellphone sits untouched beside her plate, a symbol of her isolated social life.

Usually, kids are excited to text their friends and need to be told to put their phones away. Not Bella.

Bella's eyes are dull, devoid of the spark they once held. I remember when she used to come home excited to share every detail of her day. Now, it's like she's built a wall around herself, shutting everyone out.

Is she lonely?

The thought gnaws at me, making my chest tighten.

Jason's movements are slow and deliberate, each bite of food a painstaking process. He's always been a careful eater, but this feels different. There's a rigidity to his actions, a sense of obligation rather than enjoyment.

Does he even like what I made for dinner?

The dining room feels stifling, the silence pressing down on us. The clinking of utensils is the only sound, each noise amplified in the oppressive quiet. I glance at the family photos on the wall, reminders of happier times.

When did things get so bad?

Jason finishes a bite and pauses, his fork hovering over his plate. His eyes flicker up for a moment, meeting mine, before quickly darting back down. That brief connection is enough to make my heart ache.

I shift my gaze to my brother, Nathan, who is seated across from me. Nathan has always been the quieter one. The thinker. He's watching the kids with that familiar furrow in his brow, his hazel eyes filled with concern.

His auburn hair, a shade darker than Bella's, falls slightly into his face, and he pushes it back with an absent-minded gesture. Nathan has always had a lean, muscular build, honed during his years in the military, but he carries himself with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with my own stern demeanor.

Nathan catches my eye and gives me a knowing look, one that speaks volumes without a single word. I frown, not wanting to address it just yet. The silence between us is heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared worries.

We've always had this silent communication, a bond forged through years of shared experiences and mutual understanding. Growing up, Nathan and I were inseparable. Despite our differences, we complemented each other perfectly.

I was the disciplined, serious one, while Nathan brought a sense of calm and perspective. In the military, we looked out for each other, and that bond only strengthened. Now, as we navigate raising my kids together, that connection is both a blessing and a curse. He sees through me, knows when I'm struggling, and pushes me to face things I'd rather avoid.

But Nathan's not one to back down easily. He sighs quietly, his expression softening as he watches me. I appreciate his concern, even if it's frustrating. He's always been the steady hand, the voice of reason.

Trying to break the silence, I clear my throat. "So, how was school today?" I ask, aiming for a cheerful tone.

Bella responds with a flat, "Fine," not bothering to look up. I feel a twinge of frustration.

She used to be so chatty.

Jason, after a pause, says, "Was okay." His focus is still on his plate. His voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear him.

I press on, determined to get more than monosyllables. "Were your classes interesting?" I ask, hoping for any spark of enthusiasm.

Jason nods slightly. "Math was good," he says softly.

At least it's something.

But it’s still not enough. Bella shrugs, "They were okay." Her tone is dismissive, her face a mask of indifference. It's like talking to a wall.

The silence stretches again, and I feel the weight of it pressing down on me.

Come on, Drew, think of something.

"Did anything exciting happen?" I try, forcing a smile. Bella doesn’t even react, her eyes glued to her plate.

Jason shifts in his seat, mumbling, "Not really." The disconnect is palpable.

"Any new friends?" I venture, though I already know the answer.

Bella’s lips press into a thin line. "No," she says curtly.

Jason shakes his head.

Why is this so hard?

The silence returns, heavier than before. I glance at Nathan, who is watching the exchange with a concerned expression.

I look back at Bella and Jason, their faces blank, their spirits dull. It’s like they’re just going through the motions, and no matter what I say, I can’t seem to reach them.

The meal continues in near silence until everyone finishes. Bella and Jason rise simultaneously, collecting the plates without being asked. Bella takes my plate with a small, polite smile, and Jason grabs Nathan's plate.

They head to the kitchen, their steps synchronized. I watch them go, a mix of pride and sadness swelling in my chest.

They are such good kids, always so responsible.

I sit back in my chair, listening to the sounds of water running and dishes clinking in the kitchen. The efficiency with which they move is impressive, but it also makes my heart ache. Kids their age should be laughing and joking, not acting like miniature adults.

I glance at Nathan, who’s watching them with a thoughtful expression. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, as if to say, See what I mean?

Bella rinses the plates while Jason dries them, their movements in tandem like a well-rehearsed dance. I can hear them exchanging a few words, but their voices are low, almost as if they’re afraid to disturb the quiet.

When did our home become so silent?

Nathan sighs softly, leaning back in his chair. "They're too young to be so serious," he murmurs, more to himself than to me. I nod, unable to find the words to respond.

He's right, but what can I do?

The routines and responsibilities I’ve set up to keep us going seem to have drained some of the joy out of their lives. As the kids finish up in the kitchen, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on them, expecting too much. They deserve to be kids, to have fun and make mistakes. Yet, here they are, acting more like adults than children. I glance at Nathan, who gives me another knowing look, his eyes filled with concern.

Bella and Jason return to the dining room, their faces neutral. "All done, Dad," Bella says, her voice polite but distant. I smile at her, trying to convey my appreciation.

"Thanks, sweetheart. You too, Jason," I add, ruffling his hair. He gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Nathan reaches over and gives Jason a gentle pat on the back. "Good job, buddy," he says warmly. Jason nods, looking a bit more relaxed. I appreciate Nathan’s effort, but it’s clear that the kids are still carrying a heavy burden. They head to the living room, moving together in that same synchronized way.

I turn to Nathan, who is giving me that look again. "Just say it," I mutter, unable to hold back my irritation.

Nathan sighs, leaning back in his chair. "This is what I've been telling you. There should be more excitement in their lives. Their childhood is slipping away, Drew."

The tension between us is palpable. Nathan's always been the more easygoing one, believing in a balance between structure and fun. I’ve relied heavily on discipline, on keeping things orderly and predictable.

It’s what kept us afloat when Karen left.

Nathan doesn’t understand how precarious our situation felt back then, how close we came to falling apart.

Nathan leans forward, his eyes earnest. "Look at them, Drew. They’re doing everything right, but at what cost? They should be out playing with friends, not acting like adults at the dinner table."

His words sting, mostly because they hit too close to the truth I’ve been avoiding. But what am I supposed to do? Let everything fall into chaos?

"I’m doing what I can," I snap back, my voice harsher than intended. "We’ve been through a lot. Stability is important." Nathan's expression softens, but his resolve doesn’t waver. "I know you are. But stability doesn’t mean stifling them. They need to laugh, to feel free. We can give them stability without taking away their joy."

I cross my arms, feeling the familiar defensive walls rising. "And how do you propose we do that, Nathan? You think I don’t want them to be happy?"

Nathan shakes his head, his gaze steady. "Of course you do. But sometimes, it takes more than just discipline. They need to see us happy too, see us enjoying life. They need balance."

Nathan's words leave me feeling exposed, and my defensive armor cracked. I feel a pang of guilt. "You're saying it like it's my fault," I snap, the frustration bubbling over.

Nathan raises an eyebrow, his expression softening. "I'm not blaming you, Drew. I know you're doing your best. But they need more than what we can give them."

The tension eases slightly, but the weight of Nathan’s words lingers. He’s right. They need more. But how do I give them that without losing control? The questions swirl in my mind as I watch the kids in the living room, their quiet cooperation a stark contrast to the childhood they deserve.

My mind drifts back to six years ago when Karen left the country. She walked out on us, leaving me to raise Bella and Jason alone. The memory still feels like a punch to the gut. I had to pull myself together for the kids. My military background helped; discipline and order became our foundation. It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

The early days were the hardest. Bella was only seven, and Jason was three. They needed stability, and I had to provide it. My routine became our anchor. I’d wake up early, make breakfast, get them ready for school, and then head to work. Every day was a battle against chaos, but we managed.

We survived.

Nathan moved in with us shortly after Karen left and quickly became indispensable. His presence provided a sense of normalcy for the kids, balancing my strictness with his gentle nature.

Together, we found a rhythm: he handled the evenings while I focused on the business. We made a good team.

Carlos, whom I met in the military, was also a lifeline. He had saved my life during a mission gone wrong, and his laid-back demeanor and knack for repairs made him a perfect fit for our auto shop.

Carlos treated Bella and Jason like his own, bringing much-needed lightness to our home environment. I don’t know what I’d do without him.

Raising the kids alone was a constant challenge, and I often collapsed into bed exhausted and worried about the future. While I didn’t really miss Karen, I did constantly wonder how life would have been if she’d never left in the first place. I worried about the kids’ happiness and well-being.

Nathan and Carlos were my support system, and we’d often sit in the garage after hours, discussing the kids and the shop, trying to figure out how to make things work.

There were triumphs, too: Bella’s first science fair win, Jason’s steady improvement in school. Each milestone felt like a victory, making up for the absence of their mother.

Balancing work and home life was a tightrope act. The auto shop demanded long hours, and sometimes I felt like I was failing on both fronts. But Nathan and Carlos’s unwavering support kept me going. I couldn’t do this without them.

We specialized in custom builds and repairs, a niche market that kept us busy. I handled the business aspect, Nathan was the master builder with skills honed from his engineering days in the military, and Carlos managed the repairs with a keen eye for detail. We made a good team.

As I sit here now, reflecting on the past six years, I realize how far we’ve come. But Nathan’s words echo in my mind. “They need more.” The truth is hard to swallow, but it’s there. We’ve done our best, but maybe it’s time to think about what’s missing.

Nathan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "What we need is a woman's touch around here."

I frown at this, the idea unsettling me. I haven’t dated since Karen left, too busy with work and raising the kids. The thought of bringing someone new into our lives feels foreign, almost like a betrayal.

Can I even do that?

"I don’t know, Nathan," I say, my voice uncertain. "We’ve managed this long without one."

Nathan leans forward, his expression earnest. "But at what cost, Drew? Look at the kids. They need more than structure and discipline. They need someone who can bring warmth and joy into their lives."

I shift in my seat, the conversation uncomfortable but necessary. "I’ve been thinking about getting some help at home," I say slowly. "Maybe a nanny or something. Someone who can be here when I can’t."

Nathan nods, a small smile forming. "That’s a start, Drew. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Just think about it."

The idea of hiring a nanny feels more manageable and less intimidating than bringing someone new into our personal lives.

The latest business venture has been occupying most of my thoughts lately. A big car company reached out to us, wanting custom engines. It's a huge opportunity, but it also means long hours at the shop and countless meetings to get everything just right. The growth potential is incredible, but so is the stress.

We can’t mess this up.

With the increased workload, the need for help at home has become more pressing. I can't be in two places at once. I’d already been considering hiring someone to ensure Bella and Jason have an adult around when I’m tied up with work.

I’d located a website called "Nancy the Nanny". A site that offered access to a list of nannies in the area had directed me to Nancy. She looked nice enough in her profile picture, not extraordinary but kind and approachable. Her smile seemed genuine, and there was a warmth in her eyes that was hard to miss.

She gave me a very comforting vibe.

I read through her reviews, noting the positive feedback from various families. They praised her patience, kindness, and the way she connected with children.

She sounded promising.

I scroll through her profile, looking at her picture again. There’s a warmth in her eyes, a genuine smile.

Maybe she’s what we need.

It’s a gamble, but I need to do something for Bella and Jason. They deserve more than just a father who’s always busy with work.

I resolve to send her a message in the morning.

Maybe this will be the change we need.