“Excuse me.” Mom fans her watery red eyes. “My allergies really hit hard as soon as I entered this tiny hole you cage yourselves upin.”
“Hole?” I ask, looking to my father as if to ask what the hell has gotten into her, and he simply shrugs as if powerless to control her mouth—which happens to be entirely true. Although I probably shouldn’t have repeated the slight, judging by the way Skyla’s chest is pumping withfury.
“Yes, it’s a hole, Gage,” Skyla snaps. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. And you”—she jabs her heated gaze toward my mother, who at the moment I don’t feel sorry for in the least—“I’m not buying yourallergies. You have a full-blown cold. I could tell the minute I walked in that it sounded as if someone was pinching your nose shut when you said hello. If you weren’t feeling well, I’m sure my mother would have gladly come up to relieveyou.”
Mom is quick to wave her off while gathering her things. “That wasn’t necessary. Happy New Year to you both.” She pecks my cheek with a kiss. “I’d lay low if I were you,” shewhispers.
“I heard that,” Skyla sneers as she and my father exchange a politeembrace.
“If you need anything, call.” My father winks as they disappear and click the door shut behindthem.
A welcome silence fills in the air around us as the boys both indulge in thick sleep that will hopefully last the duration of the night. If the boys enjoy one thing, it’s staying awake and crying out to let the whole world know aboutit.
The room vibrates for a moment as the crowd below shouts in unison, “Three-two-one—Happy NewYear!”
“Happy New Year, Skyla.” I lean in and steal a sweet kiss off her velvet soft cheek and savor it as if it were our last. I hope to God it’s not anywhere near our finalgoodbye.
She bats her lashes at me a moment. “You said goodbye the night you chose your father over me,” she says it low, each word measured withgrief.
“It was me or the boys, Skyla. I made a sacrifice that any father wouldmake.”
“Every other father would have consulted with their wife—if they were smart.” She holds up a hand as if to end it and places Barron down in his bassinet. I do the same with Nathan, and they both start in on a hacking cry. “I think tomorrow I’m going to have the swings brought up. I swear it’s the only way they sleep—even if it is for ten minutes at a time.” She picks up Nathan and hands him right back to me and does the same withBarron.
“Why wait until tomorrow? I’ll do it now. It will be a serious game ofTetrisgetting them to fit, but at this point I’d rather chuck the bassinetsaltogether.”
“Knock, knock,” a voice calls out softly from the doorway, and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Lizbeth. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was irritated. This conversation regarding bassinets and baby swings was the longest Skyla and I have had since the incident, and I was enjoying the hell out of how normal it allfelt.
“Aww,” she coos as she makes her way over and kisses both the boys in turn and somehow miraculously they seem calmer for it. “Happy New Year, kids.” She roughs up my hair and gives a little wink. “I’m so glad to see you working it out. I’m headed to bed. Enjoy the rest of thenight.”
“What about your party?” Skyla’s eyes widen with mild panic as if she might be expected to tend to the meleeherself.
“Demetri and his guest just left. Bree and Drake are down there having a good time. I’m sure they’ll handleit.”
Skyla’s lips twist in that adorable way that lets me know she’s irritated herself. “Is that what has you down—Demetri?” she asks sweetly just above a whisper as if trying to coax the answer fromher.
“Hekissedher at midnight,” she hisses as if suddenly they were alone in the room and ready to gossip. Lizbeth is incensed, and a part of me wonders if this were the sole purpose of Demetri’s redheadedguest.
Skyla’s chest rumbles with a dark chuckle. “He kissed her? I bet that was hard for you to witness. Him gnawing on the face of his lady friend while you were forced to kissTad.”
“Skyla.” Lizbeth rolls her eyes. The two of them have gone around the block when it comes to Lizbeth’s mostly inappropriate obsession with my DNA donor. “Good night, you two.” The boys ratchet up their cries as if detecting the fact she’s about to vacate the premises. They do seem to love their Mee-Maw. My mother almost stroked out when she heard what Lizbeth insisted her grandchildren call her. And to her credit, she only referenced Tad and Lizbeth as the Paragon Hillbillies just once after that. My father put down his seldom-used iron fist and refused her the right to use that verbiage everagain.
“Be good, boys,” she sings as she makes her way to the door. “And you two be nice to one another, too. The boys are cranky because they can feel your tension. Once the two of you kiss and make up, they’ll sleep like the little princes they are. You’ll see. Try me on this!” She gives a sly wink my way, and I mouththank youbefore the door seals shut onceagain.
I turn to Skyla, each of us bouncing a baby in our arms, and my soul melts at how precious this moment is. “Let’s be nice.” I take a step in and take in her soft vanilla scent. My guts cinches at how easily aroused I am around her. Skyla and I haven’t been together for two solid weeks and my balls are aching, about to malfunction without her. “How about we head up to the butterflyroom?”
“How about you go and get the swings, Gage?” She puts the baby down and takes Nathan from me. “And then go home and take care of your sick mother.” Her head ticks to the side. “How was that fornice?”
“Perfect.” It may not be equal to some alone time in the butterfly room, but I’ll take it. I head down and Ethan helps me hoist the swings upstairs. Somewhere we’ve got another set, most likely in the garage with a pile of unopened boxes we had no room for after the babyshower.
No sooner do we get the swings situated in the last patch of free space in the bedroom than the boys miraculously fall asleep in them. Skyla shoos both Ethan and me out of the room and bolts the door behind us. I can’t blame her. She’s eager to get a single moment of shut-eye. Between nursing and no sleep, I don’t know how she’s surviving. Most likely she’s fueled off her hatred for me. And that alone brings a wry smile to myface.
“Still in the doghouse huh, dude?” Ethan gives my arm a swift sock and Igrunt.
“Yes,” I say incredulously, rubbing the shit out of the bruise quickly forming. Ethan is a darker, meaner looking version of his brother Drake. Sort of a Landon add-on, since he didn’t move here with the original crew. “How are things withEm?”
He winces as if I just sucker punched him right back. “She’s a freaking mess, dude. Half her relatives are missing.” He spears me with a look as if I’m the one who turned the Videns into a thing of horror. “You fucking take care of that shit. You gotit?”
“Her relatives volunteered for this shit,” I correct. My blood courses with rage at the thought of anyone pinning the blame on me. “Emily of all people should knowthat.”
