9. Daphne
9
I wake up in a cold sweat.
I’m praying these nightmares will be short-lived. That the images of my parents stuffing my child into a duffel bag won’t swirl in my mind forever.
But when I reach for Taty and find an empty bassinet, the nightmare becomes all too real.
“Taty? Taty?” I sit upright too fast, but I don’t care about the dizziness. They’re not taking my baby from me again. “Tatyanna?”
“Over here.”
My pounding heart instantly slows at the sound of Pasha’s calm voice. He’s pacing the room near a low-lit lamp, which makes me feel like an idiot for not noticing right away.
Tucked in the crook of his arm is our sweet Taty, sleepily suckling away at the bottle Pasha’s holding to her mouth. It’s an endearing sight. But it’s also my job.
“You should’ve woken me.”
And spared me the nightmares.
“You needed sleep. I can feed her.”
I shouldn’t stop him from being an attentive father. But I need to give her the nutrients and bonding that comes with breastfeeding, so I hold my hands out for her. “I have to try.”
He passes her over, though the arched eyebrow asks the question that he has thus far declined to ask: Is it still not working?
I pretend I don’t see it or notice what he’s silently asking as I take her and cradle her to me. But the answer is the same as it has been: No, it’s not working.
The nurse said it’s normal to struggle at first. I just have to keep trying.
The one thing I can’t afford to do is panic.
I pull my nightgown aside to bare a heavy breast. I feel the milk in here, in my body, straining beneath my skin. But when I circle her mouth with my nipple and feel her successfully latch, I also feel a throbbing pain surge through me.
“You okay?” Pasha settles onto the bed next to me, his gaze transfixed on the feeding.
Well, the attempted feeding.
“It hurts. A lot. But I have to keep trying because the nurse said it’s the best thing to do. Even if it’s a blocked duct or infection, getting her to feed from me will eventually ease the pain.”
He scrunches his face. “That can’t be right.”
“It is. Welcome to parenthood. It’s strange out here.”
What’s also strange is how normal this feels. Pasha reclining on the bed next to me, watching our baby girl suckle at my breast. No overtures, nothing sensual or sexual about it.
Just us, being a family.
Or so I assume. It’s not like I’d know what a real family is supposed to be like.
We sit there in silence until Taty falls asleep. I’m careful when I ease her away from my breast, and Pasha takes her into his arms to rock her, burp her, and lay her in the bassinet. He doesn’t look at me once the whole time he’s taking care of her, but I can tell he’s deep in thought.
It’s only when he finishes tucking her in that he sits back down on the bed with a sigh. His back is to me. I can sense the tension rolling off him in waves.
“What do you want to do about your parents?”
I’m legitimately surprised he’s asking me. After everything they’ve done to him, to me, and now, to our daughter, I expected him to go full force hurricane of fury on them.
Hell, I thought he already did.
He looks over his shoulder at me. Does he think I’m hesitating because they’re my parents? If so, I’ve got two words for him: Fuck. That.
“What do you think should be done?” I ask him.
Pasha snorts. “You don’t want to know what I think.”
“Yes, I do.”
“They’re your parents. I?—”
“No, they’re not.” I hug a pillow to my lap so my fingers will stop trembling. I’m literally shaking with rage remembering what happened today. “Family protects family. We look out for each other. Stewart and Ophelia Hamish are not my family. They’re kidnappers, plain and simple. They tried to take our fucking baby. Were they arrested?”
Pasha gives me a single nod. There’s a fire in his eyes I am trying to ignore, but the way he’s looking at me encourages me to keep talking. To keep being honest about everything I’m feeling.
“I share DNA with those two people, and that’s where our connection ends.” I look into his eyes so he sees how dead serious about this I am being. “What kind of mother would I be if I just swept something like that under the rug? I want them gone. I want them to pay.”
I can’t recall a time when I’ve ever heard my voice sound this cold. This calculating. But if it’s what I need to be in order to protect my baby, then so be it.
Even if it scares me just a little.
“I want to file a police report and press charges. File for a restraining order, too. For me and Taty, and you if you feel like you need it.”
Pasha chuckles wryly. “They need it more for their own sake. But yes, I agree. To all of it. And it’s easily done, too. There are a dozen witnesses who don’t need to be bribed in order to share their testimonies regarding the kidnapping. They’ll do it for free after seeing me pull a baby out of a duffel bag.”
I feel nauseous. “I still can’t believe she did that.”
“Taty’s fine.” He smiles at her sleeping bundle. “She won’t remember any of this.”
I guess that should be comforting. I’d hate to think our daughter’s first memories of being alive would be traumatizing. Didn’t they think of that?
Ha. Of course not. Why would they? That would require putting someone else’s well-being in front of their own.
They’ve never shown a capacity for doing that. Ever.
Tears sting my eyes. I don’t want him to see me crumble and break like this, but I can’t help it. Fat droplets roll down my cheeks as I try to choke out, “I’m so sorry.”
Pasha frowns. “For what?”
“For… for… bringing them into your life.” I hug the pillow closer to my chest. “For allowing them anywhere near our daughter.”
I feel the mattress dip and creak beneath me. A warm, heavy arm slips around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. I don’t know what he’s doing, what this is… and I can’t afford to look into it too hard. My heart can’t take it.
But it does feel good. To have him here. To feel him holding me.
“I know you didn’t call them,” he says.
I blink up at him. “You do? I mean, of course I didn’t, but…”
But I thought you’d blame me for it anyway.
Pasha shakes his head. “First of all, when did you have the time? Second, I haven’t left your side for longer than a few minutes since I got here. And third…” He tips my face up to really look at me. “I know you, Daphne.”
Everything that pushed him away for that horrible week comes flooding back. I want him to know me, to believe he knows me, because he really does.
He must see the pain in my eyes, because it suddenly mirrors in his own. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. I saw it. I know I did.
He lowers his fingers from my chin and looks away, but he doesn’t stop holding me. “You were right.” He takes my hand in his and stares at it absentmindedly. I try to hide the shiver he sends through me—the good kind—when his thumb strokes over my fingers. “You never actually lied to me. Not even about your name.”
“But—”
“You’re legally registered as Daphne Covington. That’s not a lie. Neither is the fact that your relationship with your parents is… How should I say it…”
“Toxic. Nonexistent. A thorn in my side.”
He smirks. “That and more. None of this is your fault.”
Relief washes over me. I lean into him, grateful for his physical support as much as his metaphorical. “And Mel… She didn’t…”
“I know.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “What I don’t know is how they found you here. Not just in this town, but in this room.”
My blood ices over, pooling deep in my stomach as the implication sets in.
“Are…” I swallow hard. I don’t like the thought; I hate voicing it even more. “Are we being followed?”
If I hate the notion, Pasha clearly despises it. With a vengeance. His whole face darkens and if I weren’t so confident in my status in his eyes as the mother of his child, I’d be scrambling for the door.
He is, in every sense of the word, dangerous.
“We shouldn’t be. I have people everywhere. But I can’t think of how else they’re pulling this shit off.” That vein in his jaw starts pulsing again. “It’s too perfectly timed. Too calculated.”
I stare at his hand holding mine. At the way his thumb caresses the backs of my fingers. I’m not sure he’s even aware he’s still doing it—just like I’m not sure he’s aware of how much he’s pulling me in right after shoving me away.
God help me, I want to be pulled in. I shouldn’t. But I want to feel safe for once in my life.
“I just want to go home,” is what comes out instead.
Pasha nods. “I’ll check with the nurse in the morning. The guest room isn’t ready, but my mother won’t mind?—”
“At your place?” I’m afraid to look at him; I’m afraid of the answer. Of the rejection I know is coming.
“At our place,” he corrects. “Of course. Home. Where else would home be?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. After everything… Shit, I don’t know.”
“It’d be a lot easier for me if my wife lived under the same roof.”
Is it possible to choke on your own spit? Because I think I just did.
“I’m sorry. Your what?”
Pasha blinks like I’m the one who’s saying crazy things. “You heard me. We’re getting married.”