Chapter One
Baker
* * *
Camden slaps his hands against the water and giggles as his bath water splashes us both in the face. Joy lights his expression, even after the shock of the water splashing in his eyes.
“You’re cute, but come on,” I complain, chuckling as I grab his towel and wipe off my cheek. I smile down at my son.
My son.
When Natasha first told me she was pregnant, I was scared out of my mind. I was a single guy, living my best life, with a career I loved. I didn’t know how a baby would fit into my world. But I shouldn’t have been worried, because the minute I held him after hearing his first breath, I just knew that he was my life.
There was no making room for him. He just fit. He’s my little man, my heart, and although I can’t stand his mother, this little guy is my entire universe.
“Pash!” he squeals, slapping the water again. His little body jiggles with his laughter.
“All right, little man, you’re all wrinkled, and Mommy will be here to get you in an hour.”
“No.” He furrows his brow, and my heart cracks.
He’s two months shy of turning two, and already, he doesn’t want to see his mother. He should be smiling, laughing, and excited to see her. The truth is, he doesn’t know her. Not really. Before Camden was born, Natasha and I worked out a schedule for coparenting. We would each have a whole week at a time, then switch off. I hated it, but with our schedules, it was the easiest way, especially for her. Our agreement accommodated her schedule for photo shoots around the world. I hate not seeing my son for seven days straight, but looking back, I don’t think that’s ever happened. Very rarely has she had him the entire time. She leaves to go out of town in the middle of her week, and I always tell Mrs. Ward, his nanny, to bring him here. I want every minute I can get with him.
However, now, more often than not, Natasha has a reason for not getting Camden on her weeks. Not that I mind, I love my son. I want him with me full-time, but that’s not the reality of our situation. I hate that she’s missing out on so much of his life, but that’s the choice she has to live with.
At almost two, Camden doesn’t know her, and if she keeps this up, he never will. He’ll resent her, and Natasha is going to miss out on the very best thing that has ever happened to her.
“Yes, come on,” I tell him. “Bathtime is over.” He juts his bottom lip, but I hold firm, pull the plug on the bath water, and lift him out, wrapping him in a fluffy towel. “You’re going to have so much fun with Mommy and Levi,” I tell him. The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I refuse to talk badly about his mother and her boyfriend in front of him. I’ll never be that guy.
“Daddy, no,” he says, his pout growing more prominent.
“Camden, yes,” I say, tickling his side. He wiggles and takes off running out of the bathroom. His tiny feet slap against the hardwood floor as I take off after him. I have a gate at the stairs, and my little man is a master at sliding down them, but I still worry he might fall.
That’s something I wasn’t prepared for when it came to fatherhood. The worry. It’s heightened because I don’t get to talk to him while he’s with his mom, and if I’m being honest, I’m not confident in her skills at keeping an eye on him. Natasha is self-absorbed, and while she’s not mean to him, I still worry if he’s getting the love and attention he needs while he’s with her.
It's not just that. I worry about his eating habits, sleeping habits, his bowel movements…. Yeah, that’s one that got me, too, but when you’re a dad, you worry about it all. It all rests on my shoulders.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to have a partner, a wife who I loved more than life to share these worries with, but that’s not the hand I was dealt. Besides, if that hand had come my way, I wouldn’t have Camden, and nothing in this world could make me regret my son.
“Got you,” I say, lifting him over my head. He squeals in delight, and I know I need to get a diaper on him before he pisses all over me. Another thing I’ve learned during my short stint as a father. You get pissed on, and shit on… a lot. I imagine it’s worse with a boy, at least the pissed-on portion, because that arch of piss always seems to hit in very inconvenient places. Like my shirt, and even my face—yeah, that’s a moment I don’t want to relive, but I keep that memory tucked away to embarrass my son when he brings home a girl.
After carrying him into his room, I get that diaper on him and then wrangle him into an outfit. It’s a one-piece with short sleeves and shorts. I don’t really know what it’s actually called—a romper, maybe? Anyway, it’s got a football on it, which he loves. He is my son, after all.
“What’s that?” I point to his chest.
“Ball!” he exclaims.
“You’re a genius,” I tell him, not that he understands what that means. “Okay, let’s get some shoes,” I say as my phone rings. Camden races off to the corner of the room and starts pulling books off his shelf as I retrieve my phone from my back pocket. “It’s Mommy. I bet she’s on her way,” I tell my son, who ignores me. “Hey,” I answer.
“Baker, dear, how are you?”
Turning my back to my son, I roll my eyes. How I ever slept with this woman is beyond me. She’s a knockout, but she’s also fake as hell and annoying as fuck, among other things. “What’s up? You on your way?” I ask her.
“About that, I’m still in Paris.”
I have to clench my jaw to keep from going off on her. Not because I want time away from my son, but because she’s missing his life, and it pisses me the fuck off that he doesn’t have a mother who puts him first. “Delayed flight?” I ask, when I know damn good and well what the answer is going to be.
“No, nothing with the flight. They asked me to do another shoot for a new and upcoming designer, and I couldn’t tell them no.”
