Hesitant.
Probably because he’s terrified I’ll hit him or something.
After last night, I probably should.
Em would. She’d slap him across the face, drag him back to his room, straddle his legs, and make him worship her the way she deserves.
But Madelyn? She’s weak. Insecure. She doesn’t know how to fight for what she wants. Not when he had no problem reminding her less than twenty-four hours ago how he’s already slipped through her fingers once.
We haven’t spoken since he brought the random woman home. There’s nothing to say. I don’t own him. And it’s crystal clear he doesn’t want me. But the worst part is, technically, he did nothing wrong except break my heart all over again. But it isn’t exactly his fault. It’s mine for getting attached in the first place.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m too drained to think about anything else right now except the crying baby in my arms, who must be as exhausted as I am.
“Has she eaten?” Milo repeats, his nostrils flaring from my silence.
I blink slowly, barely registering his words over Peanut’s screams. “Yes––”
“And you’ve changed her diaper?”
“Of course, I’ve changed her diaper, asshole,” I choke out, finally snapping back to the present while feeling more alone and embarrassed and depressed and unworthy than ever. “But thanks for pointing out all the ways I’m potentially failing as a mom.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t––”
“Look,” I huff, adjusting Peanut to my other side while bouncing on the balls of my aching feet. “I’m doing my best to keep her quiet, but nothing’s working. I’ll buy you some noise-canceling headphones or something in the morning, okay? I can’t do this right––”
He reaches for Peanut, taking her from me. And because I’m paralyzed with shock, I let him.
“What are you…?” My voice trails off as Milo presses her to his chest, rubbing his giant hand up and down her back softly.
“I’ve got her. Get some sleep.”
Get some sleep?
I shake my head and reach for her. “Milo––”
“She was up all night last night after I woke you guys up. You’ve both gotta be exhausted.”
Dropping my hands to my sides, a pathetic laugh bubbles out of me. “So? Isn’t always being tired what parenthood is all about? No sleep until they’re eighteen?” I scrub at my tired eyes, grateful to find them dry, and reach for her again. “I’ll be fine. Now, can I have her back, please?”
“Just…” He sighs and takes a step back, her cries as strong ever as she arches her back angrily. “Get some sleep.”
“What if she gets hungry?” I argue.
“You got any milk in the freezer?”
“Milo––”
“Answer the question.”
I bite my lip, refusing to answer him, though he reads my silence correctly anyway.
“And a bottle? You got any bottles?” he asks.
“She hasn’t taken a bottle since she struggled with latching at the hospital.”
“I picked some up when I got the crib,” he grunts, more to himself than to me. “I’ll take care of it.”
Taking a step toward him, I grab his arm. Not with any real force, but enough to keep him in place. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips, his muscles tight and firm as they flex, patting Peanut’s back softly even though she’s still very worked up.
“Milo,” I plead, but I’m not sure what I’m begging for anymore.
I feel like I’m being ripped apart. Like if I let him take her, I’m admitting defeat. Like if I choose to rely on him right now, it’ll prove I can’t do this alone.
And I have to do this alone.
Don’t I?
He looks down at the contrast of my pale skin against his inked forearm, surprised I’m touching him. Hell, I’m surprised too. Especially after last night and the way he tore what’s left of my heart into tiny, infinitesimal pieces.
But he feels good. Familiar. Like I could crawl into him and stay there––safe––forever.
If only it were so easy.
The heat from his gaze spreads up my arm and into my chest before he shrugs away from my touch.
“Get some sleep,” he repeats. Peanut is still howling against his chest as he closes his bedroom door behind him. I stare at the wooden barrier between us for a solid minute, unsure what to do. But the truth is…
He’s right. I need sleep.
Not only for my sake but also for Peanut’s.
For the first time in hours, I close my eyes and soak up the mostly quiet room, collapse onto my bed, and curl into a ball. As if Milo’s permission is the only thing I need, I let go and finally rest for the first time in ages.
And I hate how good it feels.
I wake with a deep yawn, my boobs killing me from holding way too much milk.
How long have I been asleep?
Rolling onto my side, I check the time on my phone and groan, pressing my hands to rock-hard breasts. Peanut has to be starving by now. I’ve missed two feedings, and the milk is practically seeping from my aching chest.
Poor cows. Now, I know how they feel.
After stretching my arms over my head, I open the door and head to the kitchen only to find it empty. Curious, I creep back upstairs, chewing on my lower lip as I study Milo’s closed door for a solid thirty seconds.
She’s gotta be in there, right? Where else would she be? Then again, if Milo decided to be an asshole like the previous night, there might be a woman in there, too, and if I have to see him having sex with someone who isn’t me…
A lump lodges in my throat as I lean closer and press my ear to the door.
Silence.
No humping. No high-pitched praises to a higher being. Nothing.
With a deep breath, I lift my hand to knock when it hits me.
I didn’t hear Peanut crying, either. And if she’s finally sleeping, I don’t want to wake her up.
Not giving myself a chance to decide against it, I twist the handle and push the door open a few inches as memories of all the times Milo and I hooked up in this very room flood to the surface.
The late nights. His hands. The sweat clinging to his skin. Our conversations afterward. How he’d hold me against him, not bothering to ask if I’d stay with him but not letting me go, either.
I remember all of it like it was yesterday. Yet somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago.
Even though it’s still dark outside, I can tell his room is as clean as ever. Everything’s in its place. Not a speck of dust to be found. The sheets pressed and fitted. His closet door closed, though I have no doubt it’s organized to perfection. Ironic because ever since the moment we met, all I’ve managed to do is make his life messy. Chaotic. When he thrives on the opposite.
Folding my arms across my aching boobs, I squint my eyes and scan the dark premises again, a lump on the bed catching my attention.
“Sh…,” a low voice warns from the mattress, the room blanketed in shadows.
With my head cocked, I take in the big, tattooed biker in a dark T-shirt and sweats with a baby curled up on his chest.
“She shouldn’t be sleeping on her stomach,” I whisper, creeping into the room.