“Hey.” I hear Emmett’s muted voice as it filters fromthe bottom of the stairs. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Practice overran, and the traffic was fucking terrible.”
My dad responds with something, although it isn’t loud enough for me to make it out, and I kick my feet up onto the bed, lying down and closing my eyes. Seeing Emmett would be great, but keeping Blake asleep and grabbing some myself is what I need, regardless of the shitty timing.
I’ve got no idea what time it is or how long has passed when I snap my eyes open and stare straight at the bedroom door.
“Hey.” Emmett’s hand is all I can see as it wraps around the doorjamb. “Is it okay if I come in?”
I quickly sit up and attempt to fix my hair as I sleepily reply, “Yeah, sure.”
His gray eyes land on me first before tracking to the bassinet, reminding me of the first time we set eyes on each other following my return from college. Every time I’m with Emmett, I’m Billie Quinn and not Billie the mom, and I like the way that makes me feel.
Slipping a hand into the pocket of his black jeans, he crouches down beside Blake as she happily sleeps away, hands raised above her head and sucking on a pacifier.
Her mass of dark hair reminds me of Tucker, but she has my freckles and nose.
One thing I’ve noticed about guys, especially ones who aren’t fathers themselves: they’re often clueless as to how to act around young kids and babies. They stand awkwardly or freeze completely on the spot.
Emmett does neither as he very gently rocks Blake’s bassinet the second she begins to stir again, soothing her back into a peaceful rest.
I look on, still dressed in last night’s pajamas, but not much caring either.
He pulls a silent breath into his lungs. “She’s beautiful, Bill. You did really good.”
Emmett knows the birth wasn’t completely straightforward.Every single part of my birthing plan went out the window, replaced with a forceps delivery that I guess I should’ve expected, given Blake’s size. I needed stitches, and the doctors kept me under close monitoring for an extra day before finally discharging us back home.
Adjusting the pillows behind me, I reach over and grab my water glass, taking a couple of sips before setting it back down on the nightstand. “Yeah, she’s a stunner.”
Emmett’s eyes are back on mine. “How much sleep have you been getting?”
I shrug like it’s no big deal when I’d actually murder for an unbroken three hours. “Not much. Blake has colic, and it’s been really bad.”
I know I look like shit. This past week, I feel like I’ve aged at least a decade. Even if I had the time for my skin care routine, there isn’t an illuminating eye mask or brand of concealer powerful enough to hide the dark circles around my eyes.
“I knew you were having a girl,” he says, briefly turning back to look at my daughter. He rises to his full stature, towering over me as he pushes his second hand into the other pocket of his jeans. “And Blake is a really pretty name.”
I suppress a yawn, attempting to hide it with a hand. “It was my first choice and Tucker’s last, so it seemed like the best option.”
His expression immediately morphs from relaxed to uptight, lines creasing into his forehead. “Have you heard from him?”
I thought I’d be more disappointed to get nothing more than an acknowledging text back from my ex-boyfriend, shortly followed by a second message, confirming that he will “meet the financial obligations as the father.”
In reality, I’m not. In time, I’m sure I’ll feel sad on Blake’s behalf and maybe even sorry that I picked a heartless prick for a father, but right now, the cycle of survival I’m in won’t allow me to think past the next five minutes or when I might be able to grab mynext nap.
I shake my head, but don’t say anything.
Emmett’s exhale is audible and laced with frustration as he takes a seat at the foot of my bed.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
Emmett pulls his hand from his jeans, pushing back the sleeve on his Blades hoodie to check his watch.
“Whoa!” I quietly announce, rearing back in jest. “I’m blinded by the diamonds on your Rolex.”
He looks at me, deadpan. “About an hour. I left your gift downstairs.”
This time, when I pull back, it’s from shock. “Gift?”
He rolls his lips together, and I swear to God I notice the pink flush that stains his cheekbones.
