“Nurse him? Oh I’m not doing that anymore.” She pulls a spare pillow over and tucks it between her knees. “Goodnight, Logan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll see you in the morning?”
Jaxson starts in on a wild cry, and Skyla plucks the pillow from between her legs and lands it over her head.
Holy heck, what the hell is happening?
I quickly get dressed and take Jaxson downstairs where I’m met with Lizbeth’s waiting arms.
I hand over my son before heading to the kitchen where Emily is turning off the lights as she gets ready for bed.
“Hey, Em. Have you noticed anything strange about Skyla?”
She averts her gaze. “The better question would be—have I ever noticed anything normal about her? I don’t know, why? Is her BJ game off?”
It feels like a punch to the gut because Em isn’t entirely wrong.
“I don’t know.” I nod over to the counter loaded with everything you’d need to feed a baby. “Would you mind teaching me how to make a bottle? I think Skyla’s done nursing Jaxson, and I’d like to relieve Lizbeth of the duty.”
She does just that, and I take my sweet son and feed him myself while watching Drake and Ethan duke it out in the form of a couple of zombies.
Skyla and her strange behavior infiltrate my mind.
And it makes me wonder if I can help her at all.
* * *
The next morning I wake up Skyla with soft, tender kisses. We start in on round two, and she’s all moans and groans, and downright screams.
“Whoa.” I pull her in close, my chest bucking as I hold back a quiet laugh. “We better keep it down. I know the walls are carpeted, but still.” The carpeted walls are a leftover tacky token from her time with Gage. From what I understand it was Tad who stapled the stuff to the wall. “Your sisters might hear. And we’ll wake the baby.”
But it’s too late. Jaxson squirms with his balled up fists punching the air above his head as he starts in on a monstrously loud cry.
Skyla scoffs. “I don’t care about my sisters.” She rolls her eyes. “But believe me, I am sorry we woke up the little monster.”
Little monster? I inch back, surprised. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Skyla reference any of her children that way.
“I’ll take care of him,” I volunteer.
“Good.” She bounces out of bed as if her feet were on springs. “And if you get tired of him, just give him to that ditz downstairs.”
“You mean your mother?”
“Oh”—she recoils as if it just dawned on her who Lizbeth was to her—“yes, her.” She glances out the window. “It’s stopped raining for once. I think I’ll go out and see the island.”
“See the island?” I ask, stunned, as I get Jaxson to calm down a notch as I rock him. “Is that code foryou’ll be trying on wedding dresses?” I’m hoping so. Because if it’s not, I’ll truly begin to worry.
“Wedding dresses?” She blinks back. “We’re getting married?” Her eyes widen a notch. “When was our wedding date again?”
Crap.
Something is very, very wrong. I think we just wandered into Dr. Booth territory. He was her psychiatrist once upon a time when she really didn’t need it, and now I’m beginning to think he should reprise the role because she really might need it this time.
“December thirteenth—a Friday. In honor of our first wedding day, same date. We’re having it at Whitehorse.”
Her cheeks burn with heat a moment.
“I knew that,” she hisses as she pulls some clothes together. “Don’t wait up for me. I don’t know how you stand to live in this house.” She shuts herself in the bathroom before I can answer.
