Chapter 22
twenty-two
DANE
Owen woke up in happy baby mode. His morning coos almost sound like he’s singing as tiny feet kick around the changing pad. He’s going to be fun to dress while this wiggly.
All of my problems—explaining Merlin’s sudden “disappearance” to the multitude of women in his life, the Gaming Commission—they all seem irrelevant when I look in that face.
Leaning down I give him a be good or else expression . “You have got to be quiet, Little Buddy, or you’re going to wake up Mom.”
In an act of nature versus nurture, I’ve always been a light sleeper like my own mother. It’s coming in handy as a new dad. Wanting Darcy to rest, I had Owen changed and fed before he had a chance to start fussing. He was sound asleep again within half an hour, content with a full belly. He’s wide awake this time, ready to play.
Darcy stirs on the bed, her hair an adorable tangled mess. She stretches and yawns, looking around.
“You don’t have to get up with him,” she insists.
“I like doing it. We’re having fun, aren’t we?” I ask Owen, making a face in his direction. Owen coos out his answer, clearly an affirmative.
Darcy slips out of bed and walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She kisses my inked shoulder. “You should have let me get him.”
I overhand toss the folded-up diaper toward a nearby trash can. It flies into an arch, hitting the rim before disappearing into the bottom. “I slept enough,” I remark offhand. “I gave the baby a bottle so you could sleep in. I also brought your pump if you need to use it.”
“Thank you, but you should have woken me up. He’s so fussy with a bottle…” she answers, biting her bottom lip.
I shrug dismissively. “He sucked down four ounces without a single problem for me.”
“Wait, he drank the entire thing?” she asks, surprised. “He never eats as well for Eleanor as he does when he nurses.”
“He ate better when I held him up. Likes to see the world.”
Looking around the room, she asks, “Where’s Gris-Gris?”
“Vet appointment. He still needs physical therapy after surgery on his knee.”
A note of sadness seeps in her tone when she remarks, “I’m surprised he left Owen.”
“We had to pull a fast one. Carried the baby to the truck, told Gris-Gris to jump in first.”
“Aww, that’s so sad! Poor Gris-Gris.” I don’t miss the scowl of disapproval in my direction.
Owen lets out a loud squeal as if wanting to be included in the conversation. I lean down close to him. “You got an awfully big mouth short stuff.”
Owen smiles back, then makes a loud “ahh” noise, continuing our little chat.
I somehow manage to wrangle appendages into his outfit and zip him up. “All done, Buddy. You’re ready to hit the road now.”
With a hand under each armpit, I sit Owen up for inspection. “We need to do something about this ‘do. It’s sticking up all over the place like your Uncle Couyon’s.” With my palm, I smooth down Owen’s sparse dark hair, then inspect him again. Lifting him off the changing pad I say, “Okay, Mom, we’re ready.”
“You’re very comfortable with him,” Darcy says, something hiding in the tone beneath. “Do you have a kid?” There’s a sting to her words, an accusation more than a question.
My body stills. “Why would you ask that?”
“It's just strange you’re so at ease with him. You could have had a girlfriend with a baby or something.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend, nor held a baby before Owen. It’s not that difficult to figure out. You do most of the hard work keeping him fed.”
“I didn’t mean for it to come out like it did,” she apologizes.
“Any kid of mine would be under my roof, with me, so I could protect them, raise them right. I sure as fuck wouldn’t not claim one. Owen and I just clicked.”
“I can see.”
I hand Owen over to Darcy, the air between us feels awkward when I say, “I want tons of kids. Four minimum.”
“Are you insane? That's….” She looks up as if mentally doing the math. “Seven people under one roof!”
“Six. I included Little Buddy in that count, and Darcy…I said ‘minimum.’”
“Way too many kids,” she says, a laugh cutting in.
After she lays Owen on the bed I come up from behind wrapping my arms around her body.
“You don’t think it would be fun letting me fill your pussy every night until you’re good and knocked up again?”
She turns around to look at me like I’ve lost my mind, but her pupils are dilated. I move my hands to cup her overfull breasts, rubbing the peaked nipples over her pajama shirt. The fabric of her top starts to grow damp, leaving a dark circle on each side. “That’s insane,” she says in a husky voice.
Pulling my hands away, I lick the droplets of milk off of my hand. “Yep, I want to keep you just like this.”
Latching onto the drawstring of my gray sweatpants, she smiles. “We can certainly practice.”
“Speaking of which…two questions…”
“Okay?”
“Are we dropping Owen off at daycare?”
“Yes, I want to disrupt his routine as little as possible. What’s the other?”
“That answers both. My little buddy’s kinda awesome but I need to have Mom to myself very soon.”
* * *
My old lady’s gaze is fixed on my grin as I slide the stapled document across the booth top. “Is this what Flinch dropped off this morning?”
“Yeah. They just put it together for us real quick,” I answer as if it’s just another day.
“It makes me nervous when you hand me paperwork. Makes me wonder if a life change is coming.”
Massive ones, Sugar, and a new last name.
Keeping it casual, I say, “It’s a lease. We need to square things away with the house. A rental agreement feels like the natural first step.”
“I thought we could maybe discuss the terms first,” she says in her most businesslike voice.
“There’s some wiggle room for negotiations,” I remark, looking toward the kitchen for our breakfast to come. This will definitely go easier if she has pancakes.
She shoots me a “I know you’re up to something” look as she begins to scan the paperwork. The easy expression she’s had most of the last day disappears, and for certain, I’m in the dog house.
I love it when she scowls. It’s fucked up, I know. Every time her beautiful face scrunches into one of annoyance, I have to suppress a grin that would, for sure, put me in even deeper hot water. It reminds me of a baby kitten that’s batting at a toy, too adorable to worry at their attempt at ferociousness. I don’t think we’ll ever have a real argument just because the moment she starts to get irritated, her eyebrows draw together, and I get a rush of serotonin.
I know it’s not smart to bring it on, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to keep one step ahead of his old lady.
It was glaringly obvious what would happen when Darcy and I sat down to iron out the details of her living arrangement. She would insist on certain terms and I would fight for footing, making it impossible to get to a place where I was content. The best defense was a good offense. The attorney had the paperwork ready overnight, and Flinch brought it to the cabin as we were getting ready to leave. Convenient, and two full steps ahead of my Sugar.
Without flipping the first page, Darcy lifts her chin proudly and announces, “These terms are ridiculous!”
“You said you were worried about Owen having stability,” I remind her.
I don’t see what the problem is. It’s legally binding for fuck sake. She has an entire year to vacate the premises if I give notice, which is never going to happen…until we need more bedrooms anyway.
“This is not fair to you!”
“I consider this a compromise.”
“You’re putting all the rent into an account we share, which is the same as me not paying anything at all.”
“As the landlord, isn’t it my right to decide how much rent to charge and what to do with my money?”
“You are steamrolling over me,” she complains.
“Yes,” I admit flatly.
“Well, I’ll be sure to remember that in the future,” she snorts.
“Then you should also keep in mind that it’s you reaping the most benefit.”
“That doesn’t mean I like it,” she mutters, flipping through the pages, she scans deeper into the lease. “You’re including all the utilities?” She laughs in outrage.
“That is standard for many rentals.”
“Not at this price!”
Leaning in, I admit, “This isn’t only about me not wanting to take money from you. I’ve never had anyone that’s mine before. I’ll go crazy with worry.”
“I'm a big girl. I can handle whatever comes along.”
“But Darcy, that’s the thing. It’s not okay with me that you have to handle it. I’m your man. It’s my job to take that weight off of you.”
The account serves a double purpose. It’ll give Darcy funds to take care of emergencies if I’m out of pocket for some reason, but it also opens the door to shared accounts. Folgers said everything in Houston was in her name—understandable after her father pulled the stunt he did. If earning Darcy’s trust means giving her access to money that is technically mine, then that’s step one. It’ll all be hers soon enough when we marry.
Darcy’s shoulders slump. Sounding defeated she asks, “Why do you have to be so stinking sweet?”
“I’m trying to be a man worthy of a woman as good as you, Darcy.”
Her eyes soften, she leans across the table, and presses a kiss against my lips. “You are a good man, Dane Bordelon.”
No, I’m not, but I like that you see the best of me.
After the waitress takes our order, Darcy moves the menu aside and supports her chin with interlaced fingers, elbows resting on the table. Our gaze stays connected as we talk. I love the way her lashes frame dark eyes rich as chocolate, and how her long hair leaves a glimpse of olive skin exposed on her shoulder.
As I pour myself a third cup of coffee she asks, “You’re hitting the coffee pretty hard this morning. Is that normal for you?”
“Little Buddy woke up very early this morning,” I answer with a chuckle.
“I’m used to going without sleep. You should have let me…” She ends with a huff.
With a grin over my coffee cup I say, “We had a blast together. Besides, I wanna be the one who wears Mama out.”
The little gold bell above the door clinks, announcing another patron. A teenage girl walks in wearing a pair of thick glasses and an ankle-length denim skirt that the church down the interstate favors for the girls. Waist length hair a shade or two lighter than Darcy’s is tossed over her shoulder.
She stops at the doorway chewing on her lip, and pulls something out of her purse. I recognize her immediately. That worried expression is so similar to Darcy’s.
The coffee mug clunks on the linoleum table top as I warn Darcy, “Delia’s here.”
Darcy looks up from the lease, her eyes wide. She pulls in a deep breath and holds it forever, then looks over her shoulder. She turns back around quickly, her bottom lip quivering. Her voice is wobbly when she confesses, “Mom and Dad won’t allow me to talk to her.”
What are they going to do, ground you?
Not waiting to be seated, Delia makes a zig-zag through the tables, but her attention keeps coming back to us. “Do you want to see her?”
Darcy nods, her eyes tearing up.
Delia approaches Darcy from behind. Her eyes are just as tear filled, her face pink and splotchy when she reaches down with trembling hands and palms a small piece of paper to her sister.
Her voice laced with heartache, Darcy whispers, “I keep stopping by the coffee shop to see you.”
“I haven’t been working as much,” Delia apologizes. “Mom wants me to volunteer at the church’s nursery during special services.”
Further isolating Delia from the real world (and Darcy) while bringing her into the church more and more.
Delia looks across the table to me, scanning me up and down, then back to Darcy. “Dad’s been with the men's prayer group non-stop since you came back.” There’s a warning in her tone that I don’t like one bit.
“If your father has something to say, he can come talk to me about it,” I grit out, balling my hands into a fist.
“You should go before someone tells Dad,” Darcy mutters. The “I love you” and “I’ve missed you” are left unspoken, but seem understood in their expressions.
Delia’s shoulders slump. “Send me a picture of the baby. Maybe I’ll run into him someday,” she whispers before walking away.
Darcy hides her eyes with her palms, her body trembling, fingers in her hair for long minutes. She unfolds the small piece of paper and scans it before tucking it inside her purse.
“What does the note say?”
“Her secret email account. We use them for anything that wouldn’t get my parents’ approval. Delia and I can send emails back and forth this way when she visits the local library.”
The waitress sets our omelets down in front of us, the mood now solemn, our food ignored. Darcy stares into space, an occasional tear falling that she wipes away.
I reach across the table, taking Darcy’s trembling hands in my firm reassuring grip. “Hey, eyes up,” I say.
Her dark brown eyes are lighter now, the color of whiskey as she stares back up at me, biting her lip. “You deserve better than how your parents treated you and getting out was the right move.” I squeeze her hands to assure her.
I wait to see it, that scared little rabbit ready to hide, but she holds my hand as our food grows cold. I love that she’s choosing me as her safe place while she’s this upset.
A long while later, Darcy picks up her fork and forces her food down.
“Sugar…”
“Hmm….”
“Don’t send a picture of Owen to that email account.”