Too bad there isn’t…
“Come on,” he says, as if snapping out of his own stroll down memory lane.
I follow behind and slip inside when he holds open the door. The house is nice. It’s cozy with a good-sized living room, open to a dining room and kitchen combo. I spot my suitcase sitting beside the staircase and turn to take in the view from the front room. I can see the front shrubs and trees, but not the street. Mack obviously has some decent privacy.
A noise catches my ear, and I turn to the kitchen area. Fish is there, heading my way, with something in his arms. The closer he gets, I realize what it is. It’s a baby. A tiny little human wrapped in a blue swaddle blanket. All I can do is stare as he approaches where Mack and I stand. “This one was getting fussy,” Fish says, rocking side to side like a pro.
I smile down at the baby, who’s suckling at his fist. “What a cutie pie. You didn’t mention you have a baby,” I tell the man who delivered me to my ex’s doorstep.
Fish just looks at me, and then to the side. I feel Mack’s presence and body heat as he steps right next to me and runs a finger along the baby’s little fist. My heart does this weird pitter-patter in my chest at the sweet gesture. Fish finally glances my way and says, “I don’t have a baby.”
It takes a few seconds for the light bulb to flip on. My heart is like an earthquake in my chest as I slowly turn to face Mack. His eyes are full of pain, worry, and plea. Plea for help, maybe? All I know is I wasn’t anywhere prepared for the words about to come from his mouth.
“I do.”
Chapter Two
Mack
God, she’s beautiful.
More beautiful than in my wildest dreams.
She’s real.
And standing right in front of me, her jaw practically unhinged as she gapes at me.
“What?” she asks, her wide eyes flying to the baby and back to me.
My baby.
I sigh. It seems I’ve been doing that a lot in the last eighteen hours. “Turns out, I apparently have a baby.” I look over at Fish, who’s holding my son. Blood test will be able to confirm it shortly. At least that’s what the social worker said.
Lena looks from me to the baby again, and I hate how my heart kicks up a few thousand beats per second when I see the look on her face. It softens as she gazes at the child, a far-off look of longing. But as quickly as that look appears, she pushes it aside. “Is this…” She clears her throat. “Is this what you needed my help with?” she whispers, her green eyes turning back to me.
I can’t seem to find the words to reply, so I just nod my head.
“What about his mom?” she asks, her voice so soft you almost can’t hear it.
I run my hands through my hair for what could possibly be the ten-thousandth time in the last handful of hours. Ever since I got the call.
“Listen, I know you both have a lot to talk about, but I think this guy is gonna need some din-din soon,” my friend says, as he adjusts the baby in his arms and transfers him to mine. It still feels completely foreign to hold him, my supposed child. To be responsible for his everything.
“Hey, thanks, man,” I tell him as I try to move the baby without waking him up. It doesn’t work, though, and I can already tell he’s about to let one of his loud ear-splitting wails fly.
“No worries, Cruz. Wish I could stay and help, but I gotta get on the road soon,” Fish says, glancing back to where Lena seems to stand like a garden statue. “You gonna be okay?” he asks not-so-subtly, his eyebrow shooting up.
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him. Though, I’m not sure that’s true. I definitely wouldn’t have made it this far without him, and the fact he’s leaving is another cause of worry. I haven’t even told Lena why I need her help yet, and all I can do now is pray she doesn’t run screaming from my house and fly back to Kansas. “Thanks for, well, everything,” I tell him, following him toward the front door.
“Call me if you need anything. If I don’t answer, I’ll call ya back as soon as I can,” Fish says. Before he opens the door, he glances over his shoulder. “Nice to meet ya, Lena. Be gentle with my boy here.”
I glance back just in time to see her wave and flash him a small smile. She may be uncomfortable, but she’s always polite. Plus, except for his ex-wife, everyone likes Fish. He’s a likeable guy. He’s trustworthy and a damn good friend too, which is why I asked my second big favor in under twenty-four hours, and that was to retrieve Lena from the airport and bring her here.
The first, you ask? Well, we’ll get to that shortly.
When Fish leaves, my son decides he’s hungry and not willing to wait for his food. I lock the door and turn to head to the kitchen. I pass Lena, who’s still standing in my living room, watching my every move, and say, “Make yourself at home. I’m going to grab a bottle and then we can talk.”
Fish set up the counter with everything the social worker brought last night, so I head over and try to juggle the now-crying baby and open the container of formula. First thing I do is knock over the clean bottle. My frustration level reaches maximum capacity as his screams grow more insistent. I haven’t felt this out of my league since the first time I got behind the wheel with the Colton Donavan watching from the pit box.
Suddenly, I feel her presence. Lena steps in and reaches for the baby bottle, her arm brushing against mine, and I’m not the least bit embarrassed to say that touch affects me. Specifically, in my pants. She grabs the bottle of water and glances my way. I realize what she’s asking immediately. “Four ounces.” I move the baby to my shoulder like Fish showed me to do and gently bounce him. He’s not having it though, and the longer it takes to get the boy some grub, the more upset he becomes. With quick and steady hands, Lena pours the water into the bottle. The moment she sets the jug down, I tell her how much formula to add. As soon as she has the bottle ready, I grab it, mumble a quick thanks, head to the living room, and sit on the rocker recliner.
Awkwardly, I adjust my son, his little mouth opening like a baby bird in a nest. I place the bottle against his lip, and he latches on like a champ, greedily sucking his food in massive gulps. “Slow down, little man,” I whisper, watching as he gasps for air. He lets a cry fly as I shift him in my arm and put the bottle back against his lips. This time, he slows down and starts to eat his food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lena slide down onto the corner of the couch. She’s basically as far away from me as possible, and that fact is both welcoming and unsettling. Welcoming because the farther away she is, the less likely I am to pull her into my arms, nuzzle my nose against her hair, and kiss her as long and hard as I can. It’s unsettling because I realize she’d rather sit over there than beside me.
I take a deep breath, the exhaustion of the last eighteen hours weighing heavily on me. I keep my eyes focused on my son, open my mouth, and speak. “His name is Oliver and he’s three weeks old. I didn’t know about him until yesterday when a social worker called me.”
Risking a glance her way, I see her eyes cast downward, but I can tell she’s listening. After a few seconds, she glances up, the uncertainty clear on her face as she asks, “Where’s his mom?”