Chapter Thirty-One
Frey
The scent of the hospital never failed to irritate Frey’s fox. The antiseptic, blood and other stuff he didn’t want to think too closely about, they were constant reminders of exactly where they were. Even in the maternity wing, they couldn’t escape. Frey buried his nose in the neck of the little girl who cooed up at him. She smelled of talcum powder and soap.
If anyone asked him, he would say they were the best smells in the world coming off his little girl.
No, not mine , he reminded himself, for the fortieth time since he’d arrived that day. It was getting impossible to believe it, because it really didn’t matter how many times he said it, his heart wasn’t listening to his brain.
When he’d understood Toby had died, in his mind he’d become the little girl’s popi. He’d helped bring her into the world. Been the first thing she’d seen. She was his.
Ours. His fox was in full agreement .
They wanted her. Wanted to be a father to the bundle who never failed to make his heart brim with joy when she opened her green eyes and stared at him intently, like she was trying to figure him out.
Frey released a heartfelt sigh. He just didn’t know how to say that to Booker. To the others. They would probably think him silly, but Frey just needed to fathom out how to make them see that it was the right decision.
A little fist waved in the air and fingers grabbed onto his cheek. “I’m right here, Emmy,” he murmured, not moving so as not to dislodge the tiny hand that also laid claim to his heart.
“Emmy?”
Frey froze in the seat and counted to ten to get his breathing under control as he peeked up, noting Booker dressed in a fitted black suit. He stood leaning against the doorframe of the parent room the staff let Frey use. How long had he been there?
There was something about his expression that gave Frey’s belly a little hitch. “Don’t you think she looks like an Emmy? I mean, we couldn’t keep calling her baby, could we?” he asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.
The staff had said naming her wasn’t a good thing when they’d be leaving. Something about transference. He hated the idea of spending one minute away from her; he didn’t care about transference.
Booker didn’t move his gaze from them as Emmy started to fuss .
Frey lifted her and smelled her bottom, knowing it had only been an hour since he’d fed her, and she couldn’t be hungry. He’d learned a lot over the last four days from staff in the hospital and the internet, while Emmy slept. The ripe scent made his nose wrinkle as he rose, grinning. “Someone needs a diaper change. Should Popi do it…” oh no!
His gaze flew to Booker to see if he’d caught the slip up.
“Do you want some help?” asked Booker instead, not revealing if indeed he’d heard what Frey had said aloud.
“Help?” he squeaked, when it sunk in what Booker had actually suggested. His heart skipped all over the place with what it would be like to watch Booker with the little girl.
He eyed the bear, who walked towards them, holding out his arms. “Do you know how to change a diaper?”
“You can teach me.”
“I can?” Back was the squeakiness that made him want to slap himself upside the head.
Booker took the little girl from his arms, not waiting for a real answer. He dwarfed her and Frey’s feelings expanded inside his chest until he couldn’t breathe with how much he wanted this to be his reality. The three of them. A family.
The little pink bundle stopped fussing the second she lay in his arms and he gently swayed on the spot.
“Shall we get that bottom clean, sweetheart?” Booker walked to the changing bench tucked in the room’s corner, continuing on. “I’m a novice at this sort of thing, so you need to cut me some slack, okay?”
Her response was to reach a hand up. Frey watched the world narrow to just the girl and Booker, who, when his face got close enough to the little girl, grinned widely. Emmy grabbed at his beard and clutched it with her chubby fingers, making Booker chuckle. “Look at you showing how strong you are.”
Frey wanted to offer all the love he held inside him to the man and child who had more than staked a claim. They’d set up house inside him and he never wanted them to leave.
In fascination at this side of Booker, Frey stepped closer when he finally placed the little girl down and looked at him. “What’s next?”
Frey blinked and, for a moment, could not find his tongue with how charmed he was.
Booker arched a brow at him.
“Erm… we need to undo those poppers between her legs.”
Booker nodded and eyed the all-in-one-suit like it was a complicated work problem, giving it his total concentration. His fingers looked massive against tiny legs as they kicked up. Booker spoke to her the entire time, as he did as Frey instructed ever so carefully. “That’s it, let’s get this off so we can get you all cleaned up.”
Frey bit his lip at the cute baby voice Booker was rocking as he grinned at him once more. “What’s next?”
Lower lip firmly clamped between his teeth to hold back his giggles, Frey showed him how to tuck the baby all-in-one out of the way. Frey had learned that lesson the hard way. No one wanted poop everywhere with a wiggly baby who could make even the most careful person poop covered.
Frey grabbed the wet wipes and the fresh diaper, laying them on the padded bench. He pointed at the sticky tabs. “ Peel those back, then hold both legs in one hand when you pull the diaper between her legs.”
He did that and Frey prepared himself for the ungodly poopy smell that a baby could make. Did he warn Booker? Why no, he didn’t.
When Booker peeled it from between her legs—the gloopy greenish-brownish poop covering her lower half and right up her front—the sound of a loud retching noise quickly followed.
Frey creased over with laughter at the alarmed look Booker threw at him.
Pale faced, his nose wrinkling and his lips curling, Booker looked about ready to throw up. “What the hell are they feeding Emmy?”
He couldn’t answer as he clutched his sides at the next round of retching from Booker as he moved his upper body as far away from the smell as he could get. Frey didn’t tell him it was pointless, that he’d tried it. The smell a tiny person could create, there was no escaping once it was unleashed in a diaper.
Next, Booker’s entire face scrunched up, just increasing Frey’s amusement. “Pass me a baby wipe, for fu…sh…damn sake,” he finished, looking helpless and making matters worse for Frey when he tried to avoid swearing. He was just too adorable.
The problem, though, was that Frey had not laughed in days, and now he had no control. His hands shook as he pulled out the wipes, handing them over and gave Booker a break by taking the diaper and putting it in the pail that sat next to the bench.
“Thanks,” Booker choked out, his eyes watering as he swiped haphazardly at the poo, smearing it everywhere as another retch followed. “How the heck did Popi do this?” he gasped, his face going a deep shade of red.
“Do you want me to take over?” Frey asked innocently once he’d gotten himself under control… kind of.
Booker scowled at him while Emmy wiggled and made cheerful noises, unconcerned that she was inflicting torment on Booker.
“I can do it,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “If I can manage a business and millions of dollars, then I can manage a diaper change.”
Frey clamped his lips together to prevent more laughter from escaping at how Booker looked, clearly working hard to keep the next retch from escaping. Or when Booker inadvertently smeared poo over the cuff of his suit jacket. A very expensive jacket that they’d be hard pushed to get the stain out of. Frey should know, he had ruined two shirts.
When Booker had finished and Emmy was clean and dressed, Frey gave in and mentioned the jacket. “You got a little poop on your sleeve,” he said, all innocence.
“Argh… eck…” Another round of retching, but to Frey’s surprise Booker never let the little girl go as he slipped his arm out of the offending sleeve before letting it fall down his other arm and drop to the floor, where he booted it away.
Twenty-five minutes later and Emmy had a clean diaper on, something Frey didn’t mention was a five-minute job. Booker was redder than a fire engine when he sat down in the nursing seat with Emmy in his arms, looking utterly exhausted.
Emmy’s lips parted, and she searched, her pretty face screwing up, her lips trembling.
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Booker in an alarmed tone.
Frey knew what she wanted and sat on the arm of the big, padded chair, putting his finger next to Emmy’s lips. “This. She doesn’t like the pacifiers,” he murmured. “Do you Emmy, you prefer Po—Frey’s finger.”
Blushing, he didn’t dare look at Booker at his second slip up while Emmy sucked on his finger, making happy noises.
Not even a second later, her eyes drifted shut. He met Booker’s grin with one of his own. They stared at each other, and Frey’s heart picked up speed.
“She’s mine,” said Frey, compelled to speak his truth. He wasn’t going to be able to leave her.
Then Booker spoke and Frey’s life became perfect. “She’s ours.”
Frey burst into tears, but still mindful even as he deflated faster than a balloon not to jostle Emmy, he rested his head on Booker’s broad shoulder, the relief immense.
“S-she i-is,” he sobbed. “W-what do we do n-now?”