Icon rubbed a hand over his beard and said, “She’s shaken up. But she’s okay.”
“Good,” I said.
Then he scoffed while shaking his head. “I should have never taken her out.”
“Don’t blame yourself. Y’all have been cooped up for weeks, despite the baby shower. You did what you thought was best. I can imagine it’s hard to please your wife while being a boss.”
Icon shrugged, then shook up with me, and went towards the bar. I was sure he needed a strong drink.
This was the shit I had to prepare for. Not just fatherhood in some soft Instagram way where a nigga held his baby for pictures and bought tiny designer clothes. I had to get ready for an opp potentially using my woman as a pressure point and my son turning my fear into something bigger because now there was somebody to lose that would really break me.
Protecting Ava and Cairo was not some abstract promise now. It was work. It was making peace with the fact that if war came to my door, I had to meet it with everything in me before it ever got close enough to touch what was mine.
I thought about Ava at home with Cairo probably asleep on her chest, depending on me to make sure the violence stayed far from him. Being a father and being Ava’s man meant more than loving them. It meant being ready to kill every threat before it got a chance to breathe in their direction.
AVA REYNOLDS
By now, it had been a week since I’d given birth, and I was already emotionally drained.
Cairo had been fussy on and off. Reek was a night owl, so he usually tended to Cairo when he woke up during the night. But I still couldn’t truly rest hearing my baby cry in the next room. My breasts were sore, and I had spent half the day smelling like milk no matter how many times I wiped myself down. Motherhood was beautiful. It was also exhausting in a way nobody could explain to you until you were in it with a baby attached to your body every few hours and your own body still trying to recover from bringing life into the world.
By the time I finally got a chance to shower, I needed it. It gave me fifteen minutes to focus on myself, instead of Cairo. But when I got out and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, all that peace evaporated. I just stood there staring at myself. My stomach was bigger than before my pregnancy and was deflated now. It felt like a foreign object attached to my body that I couldn’t remove. Stretch marks fanned across my skin in places I had not had them before. My breasts were fuller and heavier,and my nipples looked darker and worn. I looked so tired and frumpy.
I felt guilty for caring. I had a healthy baby. I had a man finally loving me right.
So why was I crying over a body that had just done something miraculous?
Still, I cried anyway. I just kept staring at myself, thinking about the body I used to have, the way clothes used to fall on me, the way I used to feel sexy without effort, the way I used to walk past mirrors and admire myself.
I left the bathroom without looking at myself again and headed straight for the bedroom.
Reek was in the kitchen cleaning baby bottles with Cairo strapped to his bare chest in one of those cloth newborn carrier slings. I would have teased him, because there was something almost ridiculous about seeing a baby strapped to the tattooed chest of such a big man. But the sight was too sweet to joke about. Cairo looked so small and safe against him, and Reek looked so natural handling both the bottles and the baby.
I tried to avoid him and keep walking, but he caught my eye before I could duck into the bedroom and pretend I was fine.
Of course, he came in after me. By the time he stepped into the room, I was standing near the dresser in my towel, trying to blink away tears.
He came toward me slowly, with concern in his eyes after whatever he saw in my face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
When it took me too long to answer, he rested both hands on my waist. “Ava.”
“I don’t feel sexy anymore,” I admitted. “And I’m so tired.”
That made his hands tighten just slightly and his brow curl.
“I look tired all the time. My stomach is ugly. I have stretch marks everywhere. My boobs hurt. I leak. I smell like milk halfthe day. I just...” I swallowed and looked at myself again. “I don’t feel like me. I know I’m supposed to be grateful, and I am. I’m so grateful for Cairo. But I miss feeling pretty. I miss feeling like when you look at me, you actually see something sexy and not just...” I trailed off and laughed bitterly. “A tired mama.”
His eyes ran over my wet skin, my tear-streaked face, all of me standing there feeling exposed and sorry for myself.
Then he said, “Do not do that.”
I blinked at him. “Do what?”
“Talk about yourself like you’re not beautiful. You are beautiful, even right now, like this. Tired. Crying. All of it. You’re still the finest woman in the room every time you walk in one.”
That made fresh tears gather.
