Chapter Two #4
Alexei chuckles, and I like the sound of it immediately. Deep and rich and uninhibited, like he wasn’t expecting to laugh and couldn’t help himself.
I help myself to more cheese and a handful of grapes, and we settle into a silence that somehow isn’t awkward. The apartment is quiet except for Ella’s soft breathing and the distant hum of the city through the windows.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, dragging a pretzel through the hummus.
“Sure.”
“Are you always this . . . I don’t know. Domestic? Or is this like an act you put on when you bring stray women home?”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I don’t make a habit of bringing stray women home, for the record.
But, uh, yeah. I grew up in a house full of women.
My mom, three sisters. My dad worked nights a lot, so I helped out.
You learn to cook, clean, take care of babies. It was either that or get steamrolled.”
“Your dad worked nights?”
“He was a security guard. Came to this country with nothing and worked his way up. Two jobs sometimes, three during the holidays. But he, uh, he died my senior year of high school.”
The way he says it—matter-of-fact, but with a softness underneath—tells me it still hurts. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It was a long time ago.” He pauses. “What about your parents? If you don’t mind me asking.”
I pull in a slow breath. “Car accident. Two years ago. A drunk driver ran a red light. They were, um . . . they were coming to watch me in a college play. I was in the theater program.” I look down at my hands. “I dropped out after. Lost my scholarship. Lost my focus. Lost pretty much everything.”
The silence between us changes. Not awkward, but heavier. Weighted with the things we’ve both lost.
“I’m sorry, Ryleigh.”
“Thanks.” I borrow his words from a moment ago. “It was a long time ago.” Two years isn’t actually a long time, but it feels like it should be.
When I look at Ella again, resting between us on the couch, her little eyelids have fallen closed. She’s sound asleep, pacifier still in her mouth, but still now.
“Can I ask whose baby this is?” Alexei asks, his voice quiet so as not to wake her.
“My ex-roommate, Andi. She left her with me a couple of days ago. I’ve been trying to call her nonstop since, but her cell phone is turned off. I have no idea when she’s coming back.”
He nods, his brow furrowed. I can see him processing it—the strangeness of it, the questions he probably wants to ask but won’t. Not tonight.
“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s get you guys to bed.”
I nod and rise to my feet, lifting Ella carefully so as not to wake her. She makes a small sound of protest but settles against my chest, warm and heavy with sleep. Alexei carries the platter into the kitchen, wraps it in plastic, and sets it inside his refrigerator.
He leads us down the hall to a bedroom, and when he pushes the door open, I almost stop walking.
There’s a queen-size bed dressed in a fluffy white down comforter that looks like a cloud. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp. And in the corner—a Pack ‘n Play. Already set up. Sheets and everything.
The man comes complete with a Pack ‘n Play.
“Thought this bedroom would be best for you. When I babysit my sister’s littlest one, I put her down for a nap in here. Everything’s clean, though. My housekeeper was just here and laundered all the bedding.”
It’s more than I could have hoped for. More than I have for Ella at my place, where she’s been sleeping in her car seat because I couldn’t afford a crib or a bassinet. I’ve been putting her car seat on the floor next to my bed and reaching down to pat her when she cries.
“Thank you. This is perfect,” I murmur, and the tears are threatening again, pressing against the backs of my eyes. I swallow hard and focus on laying Ella down in the Pack ‘n Play, adjusting her blanket, making sure the pacifier is within reach.
Alexei is standing so close I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. I can feel his eyes on me as I bend over and carefully settle Ella into her bed for the night.
“If you need anything, my door’s at the end of the hall. I’ll keep it open. Just holler, okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He takes one last look at Ella before turning to face me. “Good night, Ryleigh.”
“Good night.”
I watch him walk away. The way his muscles bunch and move underneath his fitted long-sleeved T-shirt. The way he pauses at the door for half a second, like he wants to say something else, then thinks better of it and keeps going.
Everything about the past couple of hours has been surreal. Too good to be true. I can’t process it without my heart clenching and my belly tingling with nerves.
Once I turn out the light and climb into bed, I nearly moan.
The sheets are soft—some kind of high-thread-count sateen that feels like silk against my bare legs.
The pillows are actual feather pillows, not the flat, lumpy things I sleep on at home.
I sink into it, and every tired muscle in my body releases at once.
I worked a double shift today. I’ve barely slept in four days. And now I’m lying in a bed that costs more than my monthly rent, in the guest room of a professional football player’s penthouse, with a baby sleeping three feet away from me in an actual baby bed.
Lying here in the dark with the soft sounds of Ella breathing, I realize I have no idea what I’m doing.
No idea what I’ll do tomorrow. I have a lot to worry about—paying my rent and my heating bill, taking care of Ella while trying to track down Andi.
I need to figure out childcare and feeding schedules and why she cries every night between eight and nine for no apparent reason.
But right now, in this moment, I feel something I haven’t felt in two years.
Safe.
I feel safe. And the realization is so startling that it brings one last wave of tears I have to blink away.
I roll onto my side and look toward the Pack ‘n Play, where Ella’s small chest rises and falls in the dim light from the window. She’s warm. She’s fed. She’s sleeping in a real bed for the first time since she came into my life.
And there’s a man at the end of the hall who left his door open. Just in case we need him.
I don’t want to need him. I’ve worked so hard not to need anyone.
But tonight, just for tonight, I’m going to let myself be grateful that he’s there.
That there are still nice people in this messed up world.