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He stalks to the door of the apartment and holds it open. I take a step in his direction when a mewl sounds from the bassinet. I glance at the baby to find she has her eyes open and is watching me. She yawns, and my heart melts. I want to lean toward her, but I force myself to keep going.
The baby must sense the tension in the air for she lets out another wail. My pulse rate spikes. My heartbeat ramps up.
The child is not my problem. She’s not. He’s made that clear. And I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted. It doesn’t stop my stomach from bottoming out while stupid tears clog my throat.
I keep my gaze straight, and head past the door he’s holding open. As I reach the threshold, the baby sends up another cry. Damn it. The pressure builds behind my eyes. I would have to be made of stone not to throw a final glance at the child over my shoulder. Every fragment of my soul wants me to stay…but he wants me gone. The man I was sure wasthe onewants me gone.
And I’m not such a self-sacrificing idiot that I’m going to beg him to allow me to stay and soothe the child until she stops crying.
I reach the elevator and punch the button. I stare woodenly at the doors. The silence stretches. I curl my trembling fingers around the straps of my handbag. Come on. Come on.If I stand here any longer, I’m going to lose it. And if I let him see me crying, I’m going to hate myself.
The doors slide open. Thank God. I step inside and turn to face him. I try not to look at him, but he’s standing right in my line of view. Big, and solid,and delicious. And goddamn him—I sneak a look at his face. I see the burning gaze in his eyes. The regret. The need. The frustration.
Tell me to come back inside. Please?
He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is “Goodbye, Priscilla.”
16
Tyler
Fucking hell! She’s gone.
I told her to leave. I told her I need space, when nothing could be farther from the truth.
I stare at the closed doors of the elevator, wondering why it feels like my heart just left with her. My life, my soul… Everything is tied to her. And I cut it off and allowed her to walk away with the best parts of me.
It felt like my life was incomplete without her by my side. In the few hours I’ve known her, she’s already come to mean more to me than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s why I had to ask her to leave. I had to piss her off enough that she wouldn’t feel compelled to plead with me.
Enough that she wouldn’t return to insist that she help me take care of the baby. For if she did, I wouldn’t be able to say no. And I will not thrust the burden of being responsible of such a young life on her. I need to do this myself.
I need to set her free so she can live her life and not be weighed down by my problems. I made the right decision. I did. So why does it feel like my heart is breaking? Like my soul has been crushed? Like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
Another thin cry splices the air. I startle.The kid. Shit.I spin around and head to the carrier. She looks at me, scrunches up her features, then opens her mouth and cries even louder. Fuck. I squat down and rock the carrier from side to side. Will this calm her? I sure hope so.
It doesn’t make any difference. She continues to cry. Her face turns red. Her eyes are squeezed tight. Her entire body seems to shudder with the intensity of her wailing. I look around the living room helplessly, wishing Priscilla were still here.
It’s up to me to solve the problem of how to stop a baby from crying. How difficult could it be, huh?
I scoop the child up in my arms and cuddle her close. She’s so tiny. So fragile. Rising to my feet, I begin to pace. I place the kid against my shoulder and rub her back. "There, there, little one. You’re going to be fine." I hum to her. Croon under my breath. Say nonsensical words of comfort to her. The vibration of my voice seems to help. She’s still crying, though. I continue to walk back and forth across the living room.
Her crying only seems to grow louder.Shit.“Are you hungry?” I rub my hand in circles over her back. “Do you want something to eat?”
Her wail grows to a crescendo. I take that as a yes. My pulse is racing. Adrenaline fills my bloodstream. And it’s all because she’s crying, and I feel helpless. I need to do something. But what? I head into my kitchen, open the refrigerator, hoping to get her something… But what?
I pivot and make a beeline for the diaper bag. The baby’s tucked tightly against my chest, wailing louder by the second. I dig through the chaos inside the bag—diapers, more diapers, some mystery cream, a squishy toy, wipes. Come on, come on. There. A couple of jars of baby food. I grab one and squint at the label, trying to focus. But the cries keep rising, slicing through my nerves. Damn it. My chest tightens. My pulse kicks into overdrive. I’ve defused IEDs with steadier hands than this.
Thankfully, the baby food is ready to eat, some mashed blend of vegetables with pasta, tuna and cheese. Still holding the kid and the baby food, I race into the kitchen and grab a spoon. Then, heading for the breakfast counter I sit onto a stool. I place the spoon, the jar of baby food and the kid on the counter. Holding the kid close, I manage to open the jar. Then, I scoop out some of the food and offer it to her.
She instantly closes her lips around the spoon. The cries cut off.Thank fuck.I feed her another spoonful. And another. The baby eats, all the while watching me with her big eyes. An image of Priscilla's big, brown eyes flickers across my memory, but I push it away.Just like I pushed her away. I can't think about her now. I focus on Serene and the fine, chestnut-colored curls forming a halo around her head.
For the next few seconds, the only sounds in the room are those of the kid slurping up the gooey stuff. She doesn’t look away, as if my face is fascinating to her. Strangely, I can't drag my eyes away from her, either.
I scoop out the final mouthful from the jar and offer it to her, she bats it away. Some of the goop drips from the spoon and onto the floor.
“You’re done, huh?” I place the spoon in the empty jar.
“Feeling better?” I glance at her.