Chapter 13 James
James
“She looks like shit.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“Just telling the truth.”
I shake my head, irritated at Josh’s comment.
“Georgie had a baby five weeks ago, Josh. She’s up every couple of hours, day and night, to feed him. She doesn’t look like shit, you asshole, she looks exhausted.”
I cradle Weston to my chest as he makes soft little noises.
Each day, he’s becoming more alert and staying awake for longer stretches of time between feedings.
He still has zero concept of day and night though, so I often hear Georgie pacing around the house in the dead of night, singing to him softly as she tries to get him back to sleep.
More than once, I’ve gotten up and offered to take him from her, but she always just shushes me and tells me to go back to bed.
Which is why I forced her to take a nap today. She probably hasn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep at a time since before she gave birth.
As rude as Josh’s delivery was, he’s right.
She didn’t look good. When Georgie brought Weston to me, she looked like she had just gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champion of the world.
Her skin was flushed, her hairline was dotted with perspiration, and she was unsteady on her feet. The poor girl needs sleep.
No matter how much I try to get her to stop working around the house, she won’t. I appreciate the desire to stay busy because I feel a similar restlessness, but the woman never relaxes unless I force her to. I think it finally caught up with her today.
I extend my arms out so Josh can hold Weston. When he wrinkles his nose and steps back, I snap. “Quit acting like a grade-A asshole and hold Weston for a minute, so I can go grab a quick shower. Then, we can go out back, and I’ll show you the new car I bought.”
With reluctance, Josh takes the baby from me. “Be careful. You need to support his head and neck.” Josh grumbles as he adjusts his hold on the baby, and I roll my eyes, promising to hurry.
As I jog back to my bathroom, I take in the minute changes to the house with fresh eyes, how I imagine Josh sees them.
There are little signs of Georgie and Weston’s presence all around—baby items, Georgie’s purse, her shoes by the back door, the hospital paperwork.
Having lived alone for years, I went into this co-habitation agreement assuming it would be difficult sharing my space, or at least that there would be some growing pains as we adapted. But… they never came.
Moreover, I’m surprised at how much I like having Georgie and Weston in my house.
I enjoy coming in from band practice or from working on my cars knowing that they’re inside waiting for me.
I like having someone to talk to over coffee in the morning or to watch TV with at night.
And I love caring for Weston, watching how he changes almost daily.
I never thought I was lonely before, but once Georgie and Weston move out, I know I’ll be lonely without them.
When I come back less than ten minutes later, Josh is softly singing to Weston as the baby watches him with rapt attention. It does something to my heart to see Josh and Weston interacting.
“How’s he doing?” Josh asks when he notices my return.
“He’s good. Since he was born early, we’re having weekly appointments with his pediatrician to make sure Weston is gaining weight and looking healthy. So far, so good.”
Grabbing the baby sling off the hooks by the laundry room, I clip it around my waist. Once I get the sling situated, I slide the baby into the front and tighten the straps to hold Weston to my chest. When I glance down, Weston is chewing on his fist, and his eyes are already fluttering, like he’ll be asleep soon.
Dropping my chin, I bestow a quick kiss on the top of his head.
When I lift my head, I feel Josh’s eyes on me.
I owe him an explanation for everything, but thankfully he isn’t bombarding me with questions about my relationship with Georgie.
He did enough of that last night at the bar.
It was easy to deflect then. I just kept buying him one drink after another until he forgot what he was asking.
But eventually, I won’t be able to dodge his questions. I hope that when that time comes, I’ll finally have some real answers. Right now, though, I have no idea what my future holds.
I want to claim Weston as my own, even though he isn’t.
Every time I see the hospital paperwork, with the birth registration form sitting at the top of the stack, my eyes focus on the bold line asking for the father’s name.
With each passing day, the urge to write my name grows harder to resist. And with every hour that goes by without Weston’s biological father reaching out to Georgie, my conviction only strengthens.
First, her mother ignores my phone message, and then, her child’s father ignores his presence. What the hell is wrong with these people?
“So, tell me about this new car you bought? What happened to the ‘Vette you were fixing up with Milo?”
Milo owns the garage in Homesboro where I worked as a mechanic for about five years, between graduating high school and Outlaw landing a record deal.
Whenever I have issues with the cars I restore, Milo’s the expert I turn to for help.
That’s actually why I was in Alabama the day Georgie crashed into me.
Milo and I had just finished replacing the Corvette’s original engine to fix a recurring overheating problem caused by a faulty radiator fan and shroud.
It was an expensive, labor-intensive job, but damn, she purred once we were done.
“Sold her.” It isn’t a lie. I sold her alright, just to a chop shop for parts after she got totaled in the accident and not to a private buyer.
As we trek across my seven-acre property to my garage workshop, Josh comments, “The wildflower garden looks good.”
“Thanks.”
It was an idea I had a few years ago. I bought the house and then promptly left on tour.
I hired a designer to oversee making the interior of the house work for me, but I failed to make any plans for the backyard.
When I returned to Nashville after the tour was over, my yard was overgrown with knee-high wildflowers.
It gave me the idea to embrace the wild, so instead of tearing it all out, I leaned into it.
I planted native grasses, added some pathways, and dedicated much of the land to wildflower gardens.
They grow well with little maintenance, making it easier for me to be gone for long stretches.
When we reach my workshop, I tap in the numbers on the alarm pad, and the garage doors roll up in unison. I’m excited to show Josh the new car I bought at auction last month.
“You paid actual money for that hunk of junk?” Josh queries, his brows furrowed as he points to Georgie’s busted up old Ford truck that sits covered in dust in one of the garage stalls.
“Nope, got that one for free.” I walk past the truck to the car parked next to it and pull off the tarp I have protecting it. “This is the one I wanted you to see.”
Josh whistles appreciatively. “Hot damn. She’s a beauty.” His hands trail over the lines of the American muscle car.
“It’s a 1970 Plymouth Hemi ‘Cuda. 426 HEMI engine. Manual transmission. Mint condition, but the previous owner made some questionable modifications to it. I’m hoping I can source the right parts to restore it to its original condition. Should sell for a pretty penny when I’m finished with it.”
Pointing to the backend damage, he asks, “What happened?”
“Fender bender, but the collector who owned it didn’t want to hassle with trying to fix it.”
“Fucking idiot. This thing will sell for, what? Two hundred grand once you’re finished?”
I nod, but Josh’s guess is a conservative estimate. Could be as high as $300,000.
We spend the next couple of hours talking cars, but when Weston wakes up, we walk back inside. I hope Georgie got some good sleep because it’s time to feed Weston again.
When we enter the house, all is quiet. Despite my offer to order takeout, I expected to find Georgie in the kitchen working on supper because that’s where she always is this time of day.
“Georgie must still be sleeping,” I comment.
“She looked like she needed it.”
“Let me bring the baby to Georgie, and then you and I can figure out what to do for dinner. You’re staying, right?”
Josh nods. “Sure.”
Holding the baby to my chest with one hand, I loosen the straps of the baby sling with my other hand until there’s enough room to slide it off my shoulders and remove Weston.
When I get to the nursery door, I knock softly and walk inside the room.
Even though I offered Georgie her own room, she prefers to sleep on the bed in the nursery to be closer to Weston.
She’s still fast asleep. Taking a seat on the bed next to her, I whisper, “Georgie, it’s time to feed Weston.” When she doesn’t respond, I sweep my fingertips over her temple, brushing my fingers through her hair.
They come back wet with sweat. Placing the palm of my hand over her forehead, I gauge her temperature. She’s burning up.
“Georgie! Georgie, you need to wake up.” With her eyes closed and her hair fanned out beneath her, I have a flashback to the ambulance after she’d collapsed. I shake her shoulder, and I’m swamped with relief when she stirs immediately.
Groggy, she sits up in bed, slumping against the headboard. “What time is it?”
“A little after five o’clock.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to sleep this long.” She makes a move to get out of bed, but with my hand on her shoulder, I steer her back down.
“Stop. You’re sick, Georgie. I’ll be right back with a glass of water and something to bring your fever down.”
I know she must really be feeling bad because she doesn’t argue.
When I make it to the kitchen, Josh looks surprised when I hand him the crying baby. “Uh… what’s happening? Why am I holding him? I thought she was feeding Weston.”