And clearly he’d felt the same because every time I hadgotten curious, his curtains were closed—almost like he didn’t want to see me either.
It was ironic that two people who hated each other as much as Drew and I had somehow always ended up near each other—at the same college, then living next door.
But unlike those few other times I’d peeked, Drew’s curtains were wide open and he was pacing back and forth, Rory in his arms, red-faced and clearly upset. Drew didn’t look like he was faring much better. He looked rough, like sleep had eluded him for far too long, and even from this distance his shoulders seemed stiff with tension. He was bouncing her, swaying, clearly trying everything he could think of to get her to stop crying.
By the cries I could hear through the closed window, his attempts were failing.
I waited to see if one of the guys would come in and help. That was one thing I’d noticed since Rory’s appearance at their house, that everyone was pitching in to help Drew figure out his new role.
But nobody came.
Drew kept pacing, speaking words I couldn’t hear—no doubt begging her to stop crying—and the longer I watched, the more defeated and sad he appeared.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was grabbing my shoes and heading for the door.
The early April air was cold, especially this time of night, and it cut through my oversized sweater as I crossed the small yard between our houses. I nibbled my lip as I raised my fist to knock on the door.
When he finally answered, he looked worse up close than he had through the window. There were bags under his eyes. His hair was a disaster, and there was what looked like spit-up on the front of his maroon Clark Fork UniversityT-shirt. Rory was still screaming in his arms, her little face red and scrunched up with misery.
“Harper?” He looked around behind me as if he expected someone else to have knocked on the door. “Is everything okay?”
“She sounds upset,” I said, gesturing toward Rory, who was reaching a new octave in her crying. Drew hadn’t stopped bouncing her up and down as if he hoped the ineffective movement would suddenly start working.
His face blanched. “I’m sorry if she’s being too loud. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve checked her temperature. I even called the pediatrician I found for her, but they told me this was normal baby behavior. There’s no way this is normal. I’ve literally done everything I can think of—changing her diaper, feeding her. Nothing’s working.” His voice broke as he looked down at his daughter like he wished she could speak and he’d make everything better if she’d just tell him what she needed.
“She hasn’t stopped crying for hours. Not since we got home from our game.”
Hours? Jesus. No wonder he looked so exhausted.
“Want some help?” I asked, holding out my arms.
Drew hesitated, and I could see him fighting with something. “She’smydaughter. I should be able to take care of her.”
But the way he said it made me wonder if he was doubting himself as a father in a way that went deeper than just one bad night.
I stepped closer, brushing my hand over her arm in a soothing gesture. “You know,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “it’s entirely possible that your stench is making her cry. When’s the last time you showered?”
“Don’t pull your punches, Tinsley. Way to hit a manwhen he’s down.” He shook his head, but the corners of his lips lifted into a small smile. “I meant to shower after the game, but I skipped it because I was so worried about her. She was crying before we left, and Sam said she cried most of the time I was gone. I should’ve stayed home with her.” His voice lowered at the end as if he didn’t mean for me to hear that last part.
I never thought I’d see the day when Drew Dumontier would prioritize anything over hockey.
“Go shower,” I said, stepping even closer and gently taking Rory from his arms. He didn’t smell that bad, but it would still give him a little break. “I’ve got her.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but I shook my head. “Go.”
“I’ll just be ten minutes,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“Take as long as you need.”
He ran up the stairs taking two at a time, and I smiled down at his daughter. “Your daddy doesn’t like being away from you, does he? You’ve pulled off a miracle, you know that? For the first time in his life, a girl has him wrapped around her little finger.”
I kept talking to her as I settled onto the couch, adjusting my hold until she was comfortable against my chest. Her screaming turned to whimpers and then small hiccups when I started humming the lullaby I’d sung to her a few days ago.
“It’s okay, baby girl,” I murmured. “Daddy’s just tired, but he’s doing his best. You need to go easier on him, okay?”
Anyone with eyes could see he really was trying his hardest, even when he had no idea what he was doing. Even when he was clearly overwhelmed and exhausted and probably wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
The longer I hummed, the calmer she became until her eyelids started to close with her own exhaustion. Her tiny fist was curled around a piece of my hair, holding on like she was afraid I might disappear.
