Page 13 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

"Just for a minute," he says. "Let me give you a second to breathe. To eat something. To exist without a tiny human attached to you."

Everything in me wants to say no. To hold on tighter.

To prove I can do this alone. I could have called Devan and he would have come running as soon as he was able.

He'd drop everything, I know he would. This load could be shared, but I refuse to get out of my own way.

This is all on me. God. My arms are shaking and my head is pounding and I'm not okay, not really.

So I hand her over reluctantly, feeling like a failure. Like I'm admitting defeat. Like I'm confirming every doubt I've had about my ability to do this on my own.

She fusses for a beat and then blinks up at him, hiccups, and goes still.

Just. . .like that, the kitchen is silent. As if someone hit a mute button on the universe.

I watch, stunned, as her body relaxes against his chest. Her little hand fists in the collar of his hoodie. She lets out a tired sigh, her eyelids already drooping as she nestles into him like he's the most comfortable place in the world.

"Holy shit," I whisper, afraid to break the spell.

He chuckles. "Maybe she likes my cologne."

I let out something between a laugh and a sob. "Or she's just a fan of tall, quiet men with deceptively good baby instincts. Or she's punishing me specifically. Showing me that she'll behave for literally anyone else."

"I'm pretty good with kids," he says, gently rocking her, his large hand spanning her entire back. "I used to volunteer at this camp in Texas. For kids from rough backgrounds. That and I've been watching you two from my kitchen window at night."

My head snaps up.

He looks sheepish. "Not in a creepy way. I just see you on the porch sometimes. When she won't sleep. You pace back and forth singing to her. You have a nice voice."

My cheeks flush, but not from embarrassment. From the realization that I was right, he's been watching us. Seeing me. The late nights. The swaying. The loneliness. The moments when I think no one is looking, when I let the mask slip and just be the tired, overwhelmed woman I really am.

I don't speak for a long while, turning to finally make Chloe's bottle. I busy myself because what do I say to that. How do I respond to the fact that he's been witnessing my most vulnerable moments without me knowing?

"Did I mention I met Glitzy a few weeks ago?" he adds lightly, clearly trying to ease the tension.

I laugh, looking over my shoulder as I work. "You met Devan's cat?"

"She's a menace. She's massive, painted pink claws and all.

She sports a diamond studded collar. Quite the diva.

Nearly took my head off when I stopped by to talk to Devan.

She was waiting in his foyer like she owned the place, giving me the most judgmental stare I've ever received from any living creature. "

I raise a brow. "Sounds about right. You're lucky she let you live. She's very particular about who she allows in her presence. Devan spoils her rotten, buys her organic treats and those ridiculous cat toys that cost more than my shoes."

He shrugs. "She saw me and decided I wasn't worth the energy."

"Guess that makes two of you," I mutter, turning with a freshly made bottle in my hands. "Deciding I'm not worth the trouble."

His gaze meets mine. It's soft. Easy. Comforting.

There's something in those eyes that makes my breath catch.

I can get lost in his gaze. Get lost with him in my space, holding my daughter in his arms like she's. .

.damn it, Lia. Chloe has a father. A devoted, loving father, who would die two times over to be here comforting her just like this.

Why didn't I call Devan? Why do I keep trying to prove I don't need him when all evidence points to the contrary?

"Lia?" Tobias calls my name, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts.

"Huh," I say, holding out Chloe's bottle to him automatically, still lost in my own head.

I watch in awe as he sits on a bar stool and positions my daughter in his huge arms and feeds her without complaint. His movements are confident but gentle, like he's done this a thousand times before. Chloe looks tiny against his broad chest, her eyes fluttering closed as she suckles contentedly.

"Eat," he says as I just stare like I've lost my mind. "Mexican food from one of your favorite restaurants up the road. I may have heard Ridley talking to Devan about it during practice today. Something about how you'd kill for their enchiladas when you were pregnant."

I immediately get to work, plating up beef enchiladas, rice and black beans.

The first bite makes me moan embarrassingly loud.

I didn't realize how hungry I was until the flavors hit my tongue.

Grateful for his thoughtfulness yet again, I devour the food like I haven't eaten in days, which isn't far from the truth.

We eat at the counter, Chloe full and now dozing in the crook of his arm.

I let myself lean on the marble, let the silence stretch.

I can breathe again. The constant tension in my shoulders eases slightly, and for the first time all day, my mind isn't racing with a million different tasks and worries.

"I brought you something," Tobias says, digging into his hoodie pocket and pulling out a tiny rubber teether shaped like a hockey puck. "Figured it might help. It's freezable, the cold numbs their gums. That's what I read anyway."

I take it from him, our fingers brushing. The brief contact sends a jolt through me that I choose to ignore. "Thank you."

He nods and continues to eat one handed, cradling my daughter with so much care, my eyes sting. There's something about seeing a man this size, this strong, being so gentle with something so small that breaks me open in ways I'm not ready to examine.

"Go, I've got Chloe. Go do what you need to do," he says walking back to the living room after we finish the much needed meal. He settles into my overstuffed armchair like he belongs there, adjusting a throw pillow behind his back.

"Are you sure?" I ask uncertain, hovering awkwardly in my own living room. "She might start screaming again. She's unpredictable lately."

"Lia. Take the time you need," he says settling Chloe back in her rocker as he picks up a nearby baby book from the seat beside him. "I've got nowhere to be. Honestly, this is better than sitting alone in that empty rental house trying to figure out what to do with myself."

So, I take him up on some much needed time to myself.

I dash upstairs, call Everett back, and somehow manage to sound like a professional human being instead of a sleep-deprived zombie.

I finalize the colorways, make three important design tweaks that had been eluding me, and even manage to respond to client emails.

I get so much done I don't notice three hours have passed without a peep from Chloe.

By the time I make it back downstairs, my body lighter from the productivity, I find them both on the couch, Chloe now back in his arms, sleeping peacefully.

He's reading her Goodnight Moon in a low, rumbling voice that seems to vibrate through the room.

The sight stops me in my tracks. This massive hockey player cradling my tiny daughter, his finger tracing the illustrations as he reads.

Just like Devan. God. I've failed him. He is missing this.

Missing these quiet moments with his daughter, these fleeting seconds where everything seems perfect and still.

The way her tiny fingers curl around the edge of the blanket, how her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks when she dreams. He should be here witnessing the way she sighs in her sleep, the subtle changes in her face every day.

Instead, he's across town, probably scrolling through the photos I remembered to send him yesterday, trying to piece together a life through digital snapshots.

I've kept him at a distance, kept him from being fully present in Chloe's life.

All because I'm terrified of what letting him in completely might mean for me.

For us. For this delicate balance I've created.

It's not fair to him. Not when he's never been anything but patient, supportive, willing to take whatever scraps of family life I've been willing to share.

The man who would drop everything at a moment's notice if Chloe or I needed him, who reads romance novels to our daughter because he believes in love stories even when I've made ours so complicated.

When Tobias finally stands to leave, I walk him to the door. He passes Chloe back, and she barely stirs, still snuggled in her blanket, her face peaceful for the first time all day.

Before he leaves, he glances over his shoulder. "You don't always have to do it solo, you know."

The door shuts behind him before I can answer or even say thank you.

I stand there, Chloe pressed to my chest, and let the words echo in the stillness.

You don't always have to do it solo.

I want to tell him, I know I don't. My help is only a phone call away, but I keep him at arms length because I'm too afraid to lose myself and everything I've worked for.

Too afraid to let him love me completely.

Too afraid to admit that sometimes I'm drowning and need someone to throw me a lifeline.

Too afraid to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, accepting help doesn't mean I've failed.

Now, I'm not so sure. For the first time in a long time.

. .I believe it is possible. I can have this.

All of it and still be whole. Still be me.

Still have my independence and my business and my identity beyond motherhood.

Selfishly, I don't see just one man holding me up, but maybe two.

Devan with his unwavering devotion and history, and Tobias with his quiet strength and unexpected kindness.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, as I carry my sleeping daughter upstairs, it feels like the first full breath I've taken in months.