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Chapter Two

Jordan

She looked like a fucking zombie.

Dark circles, shuffling gait, pale skin as she staggered to a chair in the kitchen and sat down.

After making sure it wasn’t too hot, he put a mug of tea in front of her and then a plate with toast, cinnamon, and sugar—her favorite of late.

Then he sat next to her.

Tired hazel eyes drifted to his. “Is Hunter up for school?”

He nodded. “I dropped him already.”

Those eyes flew to the clock. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It was my turn. I must not have heard the alarm and—”

He covered her hand. “I turned off your alarm, sweetheart.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“You’re not getting enough sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re starting the bottle tonight.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said. “You’re running yourself ragged between Carter and Hunter and Emma, and you need at least one chunk of solid sleep every night.” Squeezing her fingers lightly, he shifted closer to her. “You don’t have to be Super Mom. I’m here, too. Let me help.”

“But you’ve been taking more of the nighttime feedings and that isn’t fair.”

He loved this woman, but she was talking crazy. “You mean I’ve been carrying Emma around and changing a few diapers while you’re feeding her,” he said. “Tell me which of those is more important.”

“Jor.”

“I love you,” he said. “But this isn’t a scoreboard. Your body needs to rest and recover, and you’ve been pumping, so why not use the milk?”

“What if we need it?”

“More than we both need sleep?”

She froze, and he knew he’d scored a point.

Jordan understood she was exhausted—he wasn’t feeling particular chipper himself after Emma’s weeks of exercising her lungs—but Abby had been through a difficult pregnancy, a difficult delivery, and now a difficult few weeks.

She needed more rest than she was getting.

Even if she was trying to pretend otherwise.

“I’m just not sure if it’s too soon . . .”

He brushed back her hair from her face. “How about we just try? If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll go back to the other way.”

“Okay,” she said and picked up her cup of tea, lifting it to her lips.

Right on cue, Emma, who he’d had set up in the vibrating, musical swing in the corner, began crying. Which was promptly followed by Carter, who had been building a tower of wooden blocks that collapsed.

He glanced at his wife, lips twitching.

“What was that you said about rest?” she asked, fighting a smile.

“We’ll look back at these days at some point, right?

” He kissed the top of her head, moved to the swing and picked up Emma, bringing her back to Abby and shifting the mug well out of the way of flailing little arms. Then he scooped up Carter, hugging his son and talking him down from the tower edge before they sat on the rug together and rebuilt an even better one.

“You’re a good dad,” Abby said, coming over to them and kissing his cheek. “Even if you are a stubborn husband.”

“I learned all of my stubborn skills from you,” he deadpanned.

She laughed, and even after all these years, it was still the best sound on the planet. “I love you and your stubbornness.” A waggling of her brows. “ And your hammer.”

He snorted. “My hammer is what got us into this mess.”

“True,” she said. “But it was worth it.”

Jordan stared at his little family—minus one because Hunter was at school—and had to agree.

They were worth every hour of lost sleep and the gray hairs and the vomit and poop and fallen block towers.

But a week later, he had to wonder if Abby felt the same way.

She was getting more sleep, Emma having taken to the bottle like a champ and giving them each a block of almost four hours. It felt like nirvana, like the skies had cleared and the sun was shining down on them.

Or at least it did for him.

Abby had grown steadily quieter, even as the dark circles beneath her eyes faded.

Hormones, perhaps. Or a case of the baby blues. He’d read somewhere that they didn’t always come on right after birth, that depression could slide in later.

He made a mental note to keep an extra close eye on her.

He’d just returned from dropping Hunter at school and was looking forward to a nice, hot shower and maybe a cup of coffee sans the side of tears, in that order, so he traversed the stairs as quietly as possible, slipping into the bedroom to not wake the beasts—er, his lovely, beautiful children.

Then tiptoed through the bedroom to not wake his lovely, beautiful wife .

He pushed open the door.

Abby was naked and in the shower, her gloriousness visible through the glass panes, and he was abruptly reminded of how long it had been since he’d held his wife, the water pouring down on them, her silken curves against him.

She was still the most gorgeous woman he’d laid eyes on, and he needed to hold her.

His gaze flicked to the left, to the monitor that showed his younger two children were still sleeping.

And he seized his opportunity.

He stripped down and slid into the shower behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him.

“Jordan!” she shrieked, trying to squirm away.

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, flicking his tongue out and tasting the shell of her ear.

“I—” She kept squirming, and he released her, frowning when she stepped out of the spray and reached for the towel hanging over the side, using it to cover herself.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, clutched the towel to her like it was a lifeline and she’d just fallen off a ship in the middle of the ocean. “I—uh—the baby is up.” She stepped out of the shower.

Emma wasn’t up.

He could see that much, but he could also see that his wife was uneasy about something.

Jordan wasn’t sure whether she thought he was trying to get lucky—he certainly wouldn’t turn her down, but he wasn’t expecting anything, especially this soon after she’d given birth—or if she was uncomfortable with her body or if she was still tired and hormonal and just off, but any idiot could see that she needed some space.

“I’ll hurry up and shower and grab her,” he said, reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

“No!”

His eyes shot to hers, hands covered in suds, soap dripping down his temples.

“I—uh—” She was wrapping her robe around her still towel-covered body. “I’ve got her.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said.

But inside, he recognized the tell she’d just given him.

And he filed it away to deal with later.

Because he knew exactly how to deal with it.