He waves his empty arm toward the door next to his on the second floor of his home.
My brows furrow. “Wasn’t this…?” I start.
“Spit it out.”
I peek up at him. “I thought this was Jake’s room.”
“He moved into Fender’s old room.”
“Oh.”
Fender used to live here but decided to move out when his close proximity to Gibson, his half-brother, felt like a bit much. They’re also in a band together called Broken Vows. The same band Dove fell into when she moved here to help me get on my feet after finding out I was pregnant.
Man, how time flies.
“Why’d he move rooms?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and down the hall to where the other three bedrooms are located. One belongs to Gibson, and the other belongs to River. Or at least it used to. He landed a huge movie role and is filming across the country with his girlfriend, Reese, who happens to be Milo’s little sister.
Milo ignores my question and pushes the door next to his open. There’s a queen-sized bed placed front and center and a large oak dresser beneath the window, along with a brand new white crib tucked in the corner near the walk-in closet.
“Where’d my crib go?” I ask. “The one from my apartment.”
“You mean the piece of shit about to fall apart any second?” He scoffs. “It’s in the trash where it deserves to be.”
“You can’t throw away my things––”
“I can do whatever the hell I want, especially where my daughter’s safety is concerned.”
But I don’t even care about his arrogance right now.
He said, my daughter. My. As in, he’s claiming her. Without a paternity test. Without any questions. Just a simple fact.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always how Milo’s been. Black is black, and white is white. There is no in-between.
It’s why our relationship blew up in my face. Why I left. And why things can never go back to the way they were. He can never find out about Marty or why I did the things I did with him to keep Milo’s dreams from falling apart.
Funny how it only took mine being shredded to keep his dreams intact.
I fold my arms and scan the immaculately clean room one more time.
“And her clothes? The ones I bought online? Were they thrown away too?” I ask.
“Closet,” he grunts, setting the car seat near the door. “She supposed to sleep this much?”
I look down to find her tiny eyelids still firmly shut. “I think so?”
“You think?” he barks.
“I don’t know? She slept a lot in the hospital, and the nurses never batted an eye, okay? So, yes. I think she’s supposed to sleep this much.” Peanut fusses quietly, her restless body fidgeting beneath the yellow, gray, and white giraffe blanket I’d splurged on while I was pregnant. “But it looks like she’s waking up, thanks to your yelling. So, good one there, Milo.”
“Now you’re blaming me?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I ignore him and search my memory for the last time she peed or pooped. “Look. She’s probably hungry. Or maybe she needs her diaper changed? I don’t think she’s cold…”
“How can you not know this?” he argues.
With a glare, I squat down next to the car seat. “They don’t exactly come with a manual, Milo.”
“Yes, they do. It’s called a parenting book. Ever read one?”
“Gee, sorry I didn’t have the time to read a freaking book while I was carrying the weight of having to raise a child on my own.”
“And who’s fault would that be? Huh?” he counters, his body almost vibrating with fury. I shouldn’t be surprised he went from cool and indifferent to a damn volcano on the verge of erupting in under ten seconds flat, but it still grates on me.
With a quick glare up at him, I peel off the giraffe blanket and search for Peanut’s binkie, her cries growing louder with each passing moment.
Where is the stupid thing?
“She probably wants her binkie,” Milo mutters from above me.
“Yeah. I figured that part out,” I huff, my fingers catching on the small pink pacifier. I press it to Peanut’s lips, but she wiggles her head from side to side, her screams amplifying in the small room and Milo’s massive presence.
“You should probably get her out of the seat first.”
Dropping the binkie back into the car seat, I grit my teeth and fumble with the buckle. “Look. You’ll have to cut me a little slack if I don’t know exactly what she wants every minute of every day. I’m doing the best I can, and I’m sorry if it isn’t good enough for you.”
I click the giant red button on the car seat, but the straps around her shoulders and chest are too short to get her out.
Why is it so damn tight?
There’s a way to loosen them, and I know I’d remember if I could…think for a second. But I can’t think right now. Not with Milo hovering over me like this. Not when he’s watching my every tiny move and judging me for being a shitty parent even though he hasn’t even given me a chance to prove myself.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as Peanut fusses in the background, begging to be picked up yet still tied down in her five-point harness.
What the hell is wrong with this thing? I want to scream, tugging at the seatbelt.
Her wails grow louder.
The floor creaks beneath Milo’s weight as he squats next to me, hooks his thumb beneath the edge of the car seat cover, grabs the straps around her tiny chest and pulls softly. They loosen. Once there’s enough room to get her out without bending her arms at an awkward angle, he stops and stands up.
Looking up at him, my face flooding with shame, I ask, “How did you––”
“There’s a latch to loosen the straps.”
I slip my finger beneath the bottom of the car seat. Sure enough, a small latch is there.
“I’m going to work,” he announces.
Without another word, his footsteps echo down the hall, leaving me more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
The front door slams closed a few seconds later, and I press Peanut to my chest, stand up, and rock her back and forth, but it does nothing to stop her tears.
“What do you want?” I whisper against the crown of her head.
I’m not angry.
Simply…defeated.
She continues crying.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her, near tears myself.
Her only answer is more wailing.
Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I search for a place to nurse her while ignoring the pool of dread seeping into my stomach along with the glaring truth—Milo’s right. I have no idea what I’m doing. And it isn’t fair Peanut has to be my guinea pig while I figure it all out.
6
Milo
“You’re calling me,” I grunt.
“I sure am,” my kid sister, Reese, replies through the Bluetooth speaker in my new car. “Is she there? Have you held her? And why the hell haven’t I received any pictures yet?”
“I’m on my way to work.”
“You didn’t take the day off?”