Page 8

Chapter Eight

BODE

I ’m exhausted. I have never been more exhausted in my entire life. Even my eyelashes are tired.

Caleb was up all night for the second night in a row. I never knew a baby that size could poop so much. I had to get more diapers and wipes delivered this morning because I went through everything I had.

At least the vomiting stopped.

I called the pediatrician, but they weren’t concerned. The nurse told me what signs to look for and to make sure he stays hydrated, so that’s something I am keeping a close eye on.

Which is something I never thought I’d be doing.

Right now, the baby in question is staring up at me, tears wetting his eyes.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

His lip quivers before a rip cuts through the air.

“Oh, fuck.” I gag. The smell is terrible. Probably the worst thing I’ve smelled in my life. Well, since last night at least.

Sighing, I get up and carry him upstairs to change him. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve done this.

I know I can change a diaper with the best of them now.

“Is this bothering you too?”

His tiny bottom is starting to get red, so I slather more diaper cream on it to try and help. Poor kid is miserable.

That makes two of us.

And there goes the doorbell. Who in the world is here in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday?

Gran and Deb left after watching him this morning while I had my workout, and Stevie is currently at the spa. She asked if she could stay and help, but I promptly sent her to work.

I have no idea if this is a bug or not, but I don’t want Caleb getting everyone sick. The one good thing so far is he doesn’t have a fever.

“Let’s go see who’s at the door.”

I toss his dirty onesie into the laundry basket and grab a fresh one to put on him when we get downstairs.

For now, he’s clean and not crying. That’s all I can ask for.

Pulling open the front door, my jaw drops. “Miss Mitchell. What are you doing here?”

A dead panic washes through me. What is going on? Is there a reason she just randomly decided to show up? Did I do something wrong?

“It’s Friday. I had a follow-up visit scheduled with you.”

“Friday?” I rack my brain, trying to figure out what day of the week it is, but it’s all blending together. “But today…”

“Is Friday,” she finishes for me.

“Shit,” I mutter.

When I got home from practice—on what, Wednesday?—Gran said Caleb was spitting up more than normal. I kept a close eye on him, but it only got worse. Between him getting sick and diarrhea, I’m past knowing what my name is, let alone the day of the week.

I forgot about this entirely.

“Come in.” I hold the door open for her, sweeping my arm out to welcome her in. “I’m sorry, but the house is a mess. Caleb is sick today.”

Following her into the living room, I look around the main floor of the house. God, if I were her, I’d question my ability as a father.

A pile of laundry that needs to be folded is sitting on the counter. Probably the first of many loads today. Empty bottles sit next to the fridge. The package of diapers that I opened earlier looks like it has exploded across the living room floor.

Caleb has been so miserably unhappy that I haven’t put him down since I got home, so I haven’t had the chance to clean up.

Hell, Caleb isn’t even dressed as I’m holding him in my arms.

“How are things going?”

“Honestly?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Terrible. The house is a mess. I wish I had four sets of hands and about eighteen more hours in a day to get everything done because I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but changing dirty diapers. And I worry every single day if I’m the right person to raise him.”

Shit. That was way more than I ever should have dumped on this woman.

“Sorry.” I wince.

The woman smiles at me. “If you told me everything was great, I’d be more concerned.”

“And you’re not now? Should I be concerned?”

She gestures to the living room and we each take a seat. I take the onesie from my hand and get Caleb dressed.

“It’s been close to two months since Caleb arrived. No parent learns everything overnight. But all I see here is that you’re trying. If you really didn’t want to be his father, you would have insisted on a paternity test the day I showed up rather than waiting to do one to clear up paperwork for the state.”

I didn’t need the results of said paternity test to know that Caleb is mine.

Caleb is sitting in my lap. His expression is clear, but for how long, I don’t know. That dimple of his—the one that matches mine—pops out when a smile graces his face.

Fuck, I love it. Even sick, he is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’ve been waiting for the day when I regret taking him in. When I realize it’s too much to be raising a kid, but it hasn’t come. I love him.”

Miss Mitchell smiles at me. “I’m glad. Being a parent is the hardest job in the world. My two children are grown, and I still worry about them.”

I chortle. “Great. So this feeling is never going to go away then?”

She shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. You can only hope you raise them well so they are a good person.”

I press a kiss to Caleb’s head. It smells like the baby shampoo I use. A smell that calms me. “I hope he’s a better person than I am.”

“From where I’m sitting, you’re a good person.”

“Thank you.”

Coming from an almost complete stranger, that means a lot. Because this woman does have a lot of say over what happens with Caleb. The fact that I’m his biological dad goes a long way. But if things weren’t going well, she could take him from me.

It instills a fierce protectiveness in me.

I will do whatever it takes to make sure my son has the best life possible.

With me as his father.