Chapter 19
Quentin
If you keep doing that, I’m not going to let you leave.
Her words play on a loophole in my brain as I scrub at the dishes, doing my best to seem nonchalant.
Meanwhile, I want to smile and beat my fist against my chest at the fact that she likes me. Not in a romantic way, but as a friend who enjoys my company.
It means things are going well between us and gives me hope for a future where Blueberry can have a life where their parents aren’t the kind who can’t be in the same room as one another.
While we’ve been friendly over text, I feel like tonight has bonded us in a way we haven’t before.
“I get it. I’ve lived by myself for so long now that I’ve grown comfortable being alone,” I reply to her as I set the cleaned dishes on the drying rack.
“Well, neither of us will be alone much longer,” she retorts.
“Six more months,” I muse, scratching at my beard. “Is there anything you need help with?”
Teagan’s lips fold together, a hand resting in her hair.
“I don’t want to admit defeat, but I’ve had the crib parts scattered on the nursery room floor for days.
I even ordered a toolbox and everything, yet no matter how long I stare at the instructions, I can’t get myself to put it together.
I don’t want to mess it up and it’s not safe. ”
Making my way back into the living room, I say, “Not a problem. Where is it?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I was going to ask Ian to do it.”
Ian.
My hands want to tighten into fists at the image of him doing something for my baby that I’m more than capable of taking care of.
While I expect he’s going to help Teagan out, I don’t want him doing things that I should be doing for the baby.
And building the crib seems like exactly one of those things.
“I know we’re co-parenting, but I want to be a part of everything I can. Even if it’s setting up at the crib at your house, because it’s something our baby will need.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Our pact did state we would be making decisions together,” she says in understanding, then starts to stand. “Come with me. I’ll show you where it is.”
I’m about to tell her we can do it another day since she’s sick and I don’t want to make her move more than she needs to, but she shoots me a lethal glare as if she already knew what I was about to say.
“I feel better. Do not tell me to sit back down or I’m going to lose it,” she sasses, rolling her eyes playfully as she leads the way.
I follow suit into the hallway and enter the first room on the right.
It’s empty, save for the crib pieces sprawled across the floor and the brand-new toolbox.
“I know it’s not much,” she tells me, gesturing at the room.
A look of disappointment washes over her features. The urge to reach for her and erase the sadness on her face is strong, but I remind myself that we agreed to no physical contact unless necessary.
Instead, I opt for a reassuring smile. “We have plenty of time left before Blueberry’s here. I’ll help you with anything you need.”
Her face softens at my words as she crosses her arms.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” She thumbs toward the door, and as much as I want to tell her to stay so we can talk, I know we don’t want to toe the line we’ve created.
So I get to work.
While I consider myself a handyman, putting this crib together has been a mind fuck. There have been countless curses muttered as I disassembled parts that weren’t in the right spot.
But what feels like an hour or so later, it’s finally done.
I stand there, feeling an immense amount of pride as I look at the white crib, built to perfection. Despite it being empty, I mentally picture a baby inside of it, making my chest constrict with love at the image.
There’s nothing I’m more excited for than my baby coming into this world. Knowing my daughter or son and getting to watch as their personality shapes and grows.
Wanting to show Teagan, I make my way back to the living room but pause when I notice her sleeping once again on the couch.
I move toward her, taking in her dark hair that is fanned out on the pillows, her lips parted as she exhales softly. She seems so at peace, her strong body curled up into a ball as she relaxes.
While I’m happy she’s sleeping and fighting off the sickness, I don’t want her sleeping on a couch all night and having aches tomorrow.
I know our pact says that we can’t touch one another, but if the blanket is a barrier between us, then I don’t think it counts, right?
Screw it.
I place a hand below her knees and slide another under her side, being careful not to wake her.
Carefully, I lift her into my arms, blanket and all.
She stirs against me, making my breath catch in my throat. I don’t want her to be mad at me for touching her.
“W-what are you doing?” she mumbles sleepily as her dark brown eyes blink into view.
“I couldn’t let you sleep on the couch all night. You looked so peaceful, so I didn’t want to wake you. Is this okay?”
She must be exhausted because she doesn’t put up a fight, giving me a mere, “Yeah,” before closing her eyes.
I move gently across the living room and down the only hall in her condo, assuming her room must be this way, doing my best not to wake her up by jostling her around too much. Something stirs inside me at having her in my arms, at having her body close to mine.
It’s a protective urge, one I’m used to feeling, but there’s something more that I can’t put my finger on.
I’m just taking care of her, I remind myself. Nothing more, nothing less.
Peeking into the first room on my left, I assume it must be her bedroom based on the trophies and medals I see propped up around the room.
Carefully, I lay her down on the bed, and she immediately snuggles into her pillow.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, not opening her eyes.
“Anytime,” I say softly as she drifts back to sleep peacefully.
Before leaving her room, my eyes catch on the countless medals and trophies on her shelves.
There are photos of her on a dresser, one with her, Ian, and their grandparents.
While the others span from what looks like her as a kid at Olivia’s age and up to her age now.
In every photo she’s got this proud smile on her face, with a gold medal around her neck, while wearing a black or blue leotard.
It makes me smile to myself, seeing her life’s dedication come to fruition in the pride she wears and with the accolades surrounding her room. Her retirement seems odd, considering how according to the internet, she’s still in her prime and was projected to be a top contender at the next Olympics.
I’ve yet to ask her about her reasons for retiring, seeing as our friendship is growing and still new, but I can’t help but wonder what made her take the leap.
I’ve been thinking about retiring more often these days, and since I don’t personally know many athletes who’ve retired, it’d be nice to hear from someone who’s recently made the decision.
Back in the living room, I debate on whether I should stay the night. Teagan seems to be feeling better than when I first got here, but a part of me doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. What if she wakes up in the middle of the night nauseous, or she gets hungry and wants something to eat?
I’m not really tired, so I head for the kitchen to make the thing that usually brings me some sense of comfort. I rummage through her pantry and grab all the ingredients I’d need to make some cinnamon rolls. She said it makes her feel better, and I want that more than anything.
While we may only be friends who are going to raise a baby together, I plan on showing up for Teagan and our kid every way I possibly can. She grew up feeling disposable by her parents and I want to make sure she never has to wonder or question just how much I care about her.