Chapter Fifty-Eight
Emily
Five hours later, I’m on my knees on the floor in front of a bright red faced, tear-soaked infant thrashing inside a pink plastic bathtub. I smooth a handful of lukewarm water onto her thigh while holding her head up from the basin.
“Sweetheart, why’re you crying?”
When I removed her onesie, her face scrunched with disapproval. When I took off her diaper, she cried. When I placed her in the water, it was more of the same.
I should be used to it by now. I’ve changed her diaper six times today and there hasn’t been a different response.
“Sweet baby….” Tears sting my eyes as I lean over her, lift her from the tub and wrap her in the softest towel I own. “I’m sorry you hate me.”
My head pounds as I swaddle her inside the white cloth. This was a huge mistake. I plop onto my butt because the strain of caring for a baby that would rather be raised by wolves has me wanting to collapse in a heap and cry myself to sleep.
As I cradle her to my chest, her face smooths and her eyelids fall shut. She’s as exhausted as I am.
A knocking at the door has my heart dropping to my feet. The last thing I need is for Jake to see me like this. Stressed. Sad. Worried. My hair is limp and falling out of the bun on top of my head until the band is hanging at the base of my skull.
My clothes aren’t faring any better. My mauve T-shirt is soaked. I don’t even know what the moisture is from. Her sobs, mine, formula, bathwater? A combination of all of it? It’s hard to say at this point.
“Em, open up.”
“I’m tired.”
“Em….” The wrapping on the wood re-starts. “Let me in so I can help you.”
Fuck. A tear slips down my cheek. “I’m–”
“Emily, open the door.” His voice is low and clear through the crack of the door. It’s that commanding tone he uses as a police officer that has me scrambling to my feet with the baby safely tucked against me.
After I trudge to the door, I glance through the peephole, confirming he’s alone. He is.
It’s unfair. He’s clean with damp hair from his shower, not bodily fluids. I yank open the door and sniff. He smells like soap, and his eyes haven’t lost all hope. I shake my head and step out of the way as he closes the door with a snap.
“What’s wrong? Is the baby sick?” He places a hand on her forehead, feeling for a temperature.
“No, she’s fine. At least, I think so. How in the world would I know though.”
“Babe….” One corner of his mouth quirks upward. “You’re a paramedic. You’d know if she was sick. Are you okay?”
“No.” My bottom lip quivers. “She hates me.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He scoops her from my arms. “What do you need from me?”
“Can you hold her body a little straighter? She likes being straight up and down unless I’m putting her to sleep.”
“See, I told you that you know what you’re doing.
” His enormous palm covers the back of her head as she settles against him.
“Do you need to use the bathroom? Get something to eat? Shower? Take a nap? Cry? Take all the time you need to do what you need. I’ve got her, and when you get back, we’ll talk because this baby doesn’t hate you.
You’re not failing, and everything is going to be fine, okay? ”
“Who are you?” This man can’t be real. Because no man can look this good, hold a baby like he was born doing so, and say all the right things.
“I’m just doing what any man who’s determined to be a good boyfriend would do. Now, what do you need?”
I blink as his words sink in. What do I need? Nothing. Except him.
My heart skips a beat. I’m so in love with Jake Thompson, and there’s no hope of putting that genie back into the bottle. And I don’t even want to. “I need you.”
He rubs Grace’s back and tips his head toward the recliner. “You’re in luck because you have me. Do you want to sit down?”
“Grace likes that chair. I’ll take the sofa.” I wait for him to settle into the rocking recliner before dropping onto the sofa, facing him with one foot tucked under my backside.
“What’s happened to get you rattled? Because the Emily I know doesn’t rattle.”
“She cries whenever I open her onesie to change her diaper, all through diapering, and then when I got her ready for her bath and during the bath.” I frown as I sink into the cushions. “Aren’t babies supposed to like water? I didn’t have it too cold or too hot before you ask that question.”
He snuggles her closer, using his foot to rock the chair back and forth while kissing the top of her head. “I was reading up on infants who’re exposed to drugs in the womb, and it’s typical for them to have skin and other sensory sensitivity. So maybe that’s why she’s not responding typically.”
“You read up on babies today?”
Grace sinks against him. “I read about babies in general and then touched on some topics that were specific to drug exposed infants.”
“Do you want to get married?” Holy shit.
My heart comes to a complete stop. What in the fuck is wrong with me?
I’m out of my mind. We just started dating like five minutes ago.
Sweat coats my already sticky armpits. I can’t ask him to get married.
He’s going to drop the baby in my lap and disappear.
He arches an eyebrow without breaking the stride of his rocking. “In general? Or to you specifically?”
“Forget I said that.” By this point, my face is likely as red as Grace’s was when she was crying.
Thankfully, her back is slowly rising and falling as she sleeps.
“It was the stress of watching the baby and hearing you talk about researching….” I wave my hand at him and Grace.
“And coming in here and saving the day. It was too much for my nerves to take.”
“No.” He shakes his head.
Son of a bitch. Why did I say anything? “I should take a shower.” I shift my feet to the floor, readying to spring into action.
To escape with my humiliation to another room.
If this wasn’t my place, I’d be out the front door.
This is Jake Thompson. He doesn’t do long-term relationships. Or marriage.
“Stay.” His voice is stern this time when he speaks.
“I don’t want to forget you said that. I like that you’re already considering it.
That you see a future with me.” My stomach drops to my feet as I meet his gaze.
The intensity there makes my toes curl into the carpet.
“I want the same thing. But also no.” His eyes are steady on mine. “I’m not accepting your proposal.”
“I–”
“Let me finish.”
“Fine.” I slump into the cushions as the chair stops moving.
“I won’t accept your non-proposal, proposal because when the time is right, I’ll ask you, and it’s going to be something special. Not the two of us in different chairs when we’re not even touching. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes.” I gnaw on my bottom lip as his intensity burns my skin.
There isn’t an ounce of deception or uncertainty in his expression.
He means what he’s saying. Or at least, he means it today.
It could be a mixture of lust and playing house, so I won’t hold him to it.
But I’m not going to lie, right now, it makes me feel pretty damned good.