At least I remember something from the hospital.
“She’s fine, Mads. I’ve got her.”
I pause, almost tripping over my own feet as my brain catches up with his words.
Mads.
My name.
My real name.
He hasn’t used my real name since the hospital when it sounded more like a curse than a way to address someone. And it hurts in one of the best ways possible, especially combined with the sight in front of me.
They look so cute together. Peanut all curled up, her little round bum in the air as she sighs softly. Milo’s hair is a mess, his eyes tired, but his lips form a soft smile. One arm is tucked beneath his head while the other is wrapped around my baby girl like she’s his entire world. And I love it. Hell, I almost feel like I’m intruding on the moment.
Maybe I should…
“You can come in,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft.
Carefully, I step closer, chewing the inside of my cheek while committing the image to memory of an alternate reality where we’re a happy family. Where it’s normal for Peanut to be cuddling up with her daddy after a long night. Where it’s normal for Milo to step in and give me a night off so I can get some sleep. Where it’s normal for us to be in the same room without any cutting remarks or raised voices.
And even though I’m not stupid enough to believe it’ll last, it’s still bittersweet, and I try to savor every single second of it.
“How’d she do last night?” I whisper.
“Good. Drank four ounces about three hours ago, so she’ll probably be hungry as soon as she wakes up.”
“Okay.” I rock back on my heels, unsure what to do or where to go but not ready to leave yet.
“We gotta name her, Mads,” he adds as if he’s been thinking about it all night.
His gaze shifts from Peanut to me.
“I know.”
“Why haven’t you named her?”
“Don’t start this again,” I beg. I’m not ready to pop the bubble of perfection wrapped around us.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess it’s one more thing I can’t follow through on, okay?”
With a low sigh, he looks down at Peanut curled up on his chest, her pouty lips parted as she breathes deep. “Want me to make a suggestion?”
“I…” I blink slowly. “Y-you wanna help name her?”
“Since you won’t do it––”
“Tell me your suggestion,” I interrupt, annoyed but kind of relieved too. Naming Peanut has been stressing me out, and I’ve been avoiding it like the plague. There’s so much pressure to choose the right name––one she won’t hate when she grows up––and it’s been killing me. The idea of someone else helping me with it is too enticing to ignore.
“What about Penny?” he suggests.
My brows pinch. “Penny?”
“Yeah. Penny. Like a lucky penny. One that just kinda…showed up.” He looks up at me again and smirks, showcasing the damn dimples which managed to own me from the first moment we met. “You can still call her Peanut. And it’ll fit even more if she keeps this coppery hair.” He gently brushes his giant palm across the crown of her head.
“Penny, huh?” With a soft smile, I let the name roll off my tongue. “I like it.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He looks back down at the baby in his arms. “Nice to meet you, Penny Anders.”
Anders. As in…Milo Anders.
His last name. And he’s giving it freely.
Again, the stupid knife lodged in my chest since the moment I saw those two little pink lines on my pregnancy test digs a little deeper. Making me feel even guiltier, more insecure, and so damn unsure of everything happening in my life I could puke.
He deserves to know whether or not she’s his before he gives her his last name. But I can’t tell him. I don’t know how. Besides, he loves her. I can already see it. Wouldn’t the truth hurt him even more?
We could do this. Raise her together. For real.
Couldn’t we?
“Okay?” he asks, looking up at me with those same gorgeous, haunting eyes which haven’t stopped torturing me for months.
I force myself to nod. “Yeah, Milo. I think it sounds great. But are you sure? You don’t have to––”
“She’s my kid, Mads.”
He makes it sound simple. And even though I’d give anything for it to be so easy, the truth is… It isn’t.
“What about her birth certificate?” he asks. “I was reading online, and it said the sooner we get her official name on it, the better it is. Especially for insurance and shit.”
“You Googled it?”
“Someone had to. Not like we’re good at actually communicating.”
I grimace and sit down on the edge of the bed. The back of my butt touches the side of his thigh, but he doesn’t move away. Still, I can feel his heat through the soft navy comforter as I run my hands over the fabric beside me.
“Good point,” I concede, peeking over at him. “Something we should probably work on, huh?”
“Might be a good idea if we’re gonna raise a kid together.”
I swallow thickly and tuck my hair behind my ear. “You know you don’t have to––”
“Stop telling me I don’t have to be a father. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Dropping my chin to my chest, I fist the comforter in my hands but stay quiet.
“We should set some ground rules,” he adds.
Again, I peek over at him. “Like what?”
“Jake said you want to get a job.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, he did, did he?”
Traitor.
“Yeah. I think it’s a bad idea.”
“You don’t own me––”
“Who’s gonna raise our kid if you’re working all the time?”
“Who’s gonna pay the bills if I don’t have a job?”
He smirks. “I think we both know the answer to that one.”
“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy,” I argue.
And I already feel guilty enough.
“Who said I was offering? And you didn’t let me finish,” he counters.
“Fine,” I huff. “Finish.”
“I said I didn’t want you working all the time. I never said you couldn’t get a job if you felt like you wanted to get out of the house more. I can watch Penny while you’re gone. I want to make sure we’re communicating”––he drags out the word––“so I can keep my schedule relatively clear.”
“Oh,” I offer, surprised by how easygoing he’s being. It’s not exactly the norm for the guy. With a tight smile, I add, “Okay.”
“Good. Next rule. No sex in the house. If you wanna hook up with someone, do it at their place. Not here. And don’t worry. Same goes for me.”
Damn you, knife in my chest!
I rub at the ache above my heart, convinced I’ve been stabbed all over again as I try to keep my expression in check, though I doubt I’m successful. “You can’t be serious right now.”