Chapter Twelve
brENNAN’S CRIES PIERCED the air.
“Shh. It’s okay,” Emerson said for the millionth time, wearing a path in the hardwood floor as she bounced him on her shoulder and patted his back.
He’d been fussy on and off all day. If she wasn’t nursing him, she was changing his diaper or trying to soothe him. She’d tried singing to him, laying him across her lap, gently bouncing him as she rubbed his back. She’d swaddled him tightly and had even tried distracting him with a rattle and a stuffy. She’d taken his temperature, and he didn’t have a fever, which was a relief. She’d scoured the internet and had followed every reasonable suggestion, but nothing helped. At her wit’s end, she’d finally called Gwen. Her bestie had searched the internet for ideas, too, but she hadn’t found anything new, so Gwen had called her mother to ask for advice.
Asking Odette Vasiliou for parenting advice was like asking a duck how to roller skate. She wasn’t a very hands-on parent. Gwen’s mother’s sage advice was that parenting was hard and babies cried. She suggested Emerson do her best to grin and bear it and said he would eventually wear himself out.
The fact that she’d used the word grin proved how little time she’d spent with an inconsolable baby. Brennan’s shaky cries were breaking Emerson’s heart. She was so exhausted, she felt lightheaded and crampy, and on top of that, her milk had come in, and every time he cried, her body responded like a faucet, which made her feel like a cow.
A weeping cow. She kept tearing up, which wasn’t helping her baby’s mood.
What good was knowing she’d go to the ends of the earth for her son if she couldn’t even figure out how to get him to stop crying?
“I’m sorry, Brennan,” she said through her tears. “I’ll figure this out.”
What if she couldn’t? What if she was destined to be the most incapable mother on earth, and this was her best? Would this be all her baby had to look forward to?
No. She wouldn’t let that happen.
Brennan wailed.
“ Shh. ” She patted his back. “I know, Bren. I know.” She looked up at the ceiling, desperate to ease his discomfort. Please help him feel better. I’ll do anything. If he’s in pain, give it to me. That brought a wave of panic. What if she’d done something wrong? What if she’d somehow accidentally hurt him or eaten something that had given him a stomachache? She’d only had cereal for breakfast and a few bites of a peanut butter sandwich around lunchtime. She hadn’t even taken the time to put jelly on it. She’d read about all the foods to avoid when nursing, and peanut butter was not one of them.
She closed her eyes against a surge of tears, wishing her mother or father were there. They would know what to do for him. They’d always known how to make her feel better. She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to force her tears to stop. The roar of a motorcycle broke through her misery, and her eyes flew open as it pulled into her driveway. A river of tears flooded her cheeks as the engine silenced, and she watched black boots hit the pavement as a man climbed off the bike, his powerful movements striking a familiar chord. He took off his helmet, and Baz’s handsome face came into view. Her heart soared with relief, but as Brennan wailed, she instantly deflated.
She didn’t want Baz thinking she couldn’t handle parenting, even if she was having a horrible day and seriously questioning herself at the moment. Swiping futilely at her tears, she tried to regain control as he strode toward the front door. Their eyes connected through the window, and he lifted his chin in greeting, jaw tightening.
Shitshitshit. He’d probably heard Brennan’s cries through the glass. She turned away, squeezing her eyes closed, forcing her tears to stop. Bouncing Brennan on her shoulder, she swiped at her wet cheeks and took a few deep breaths before opening the door, doing her best to act normal despite her baby’s heart-shattering cries and the black hole the loss of her parents had left inside her.
“Baz, it’s really not a good time.” There was no missing the shakiness of her voice.
His gaze moved over her face, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing. We’re fine. He’s just…” She pressed her lips together, futilely trying to lock down a sob.
He stepped inside and slid an arm around her, pulling her and Brennan into him. “It’s okay, Em. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
His calm confidence, and the feeling of safety he brought her, broke the dam, and a slur of sobs and words flooded out. “ No, it’s not. I can’t get him to stop crying. I’ve tried everything. I’m doing something wrong, but you don’t have to be here. I’ll figure it out somehow.”
“I’m sure you’re not doing anything wrong, and I’m not going anywhere. Can I hold him?”
There was no stopping her tears or the thickening of her throat, making it hard to speak. She didn’t want to be more of a burden on him, but her baby was at his wit’s end, too, so she gave in, managing a nod.
He closed the door and took Brennan, cradling him in his arm. “ Shh , little man. Everything’s going to be okay. How long has he been like this?”
“On and off all day.” She sniffled, trying to rein in her tears as Baz’s serious gaze moved over Brennan.
“You both must be exhausted.” He pressed his lips to Brennan’s forehead. “He’s not feverish. Does he have a rash anywhere?”
She shook her head, relieved he was there, even if it meant he’d think less of her as a mother. “I checked every time I changed him, and I didn’t see anything.”
“Good. And his circumcision and umbilical cord? Any redness or inflammation?”
“Not that I noticed. Oh God. What if I missed it, and he’s been in pain this whole time?”
“I’m sure you didn’t, but I’ll take a look. Come on. I want you to sit down. You’ve got to be worn out.” He slid his arm around her waist again, guiding her to the couch, unflappable, even with Brennan’s shaky cries. When she sat down, he crouched before her and took her hand, calmly reassuring her. “Don’t worry, Emerson. We’ll figure this out. He’s going to be fine.”
His confidence drew more tears, but she nodded.
He laid Brennan on the changing table, and for a brief second her little boy stopped crying, but he must have been catching his breath, because he started up again. “At least we know his lungs work well,” Baz said, using a baby wipe to clean his hands before undressing Brennan. “Let’s see what’s going on with you, Little B.” He carefully inspected his belly button and his circumcision and pressed gently around his stomach. “You didn’t miss a thing, Em. He looks good. When’s the last time he nursed?”
“Maybe half an hour ago, but not for long, and that worries me.” She wiped more tears.
“That’s normal. Your milk has probably come in. It’s richer than colostrum, so he may not nurse as long or as often.”
“I should know that. I do know that. I just forgot. Ugh. What else have I forgotten? My brain is mush.” Tears welled in her eyes again.
“You’re exhausted. Cut yourself some slack,” he said as he changed Brennan’s diaper and his outfit, unfazed by his cries.
“I can’t . What if I forget something important and he pays the price?”
“You’re a loving mother. I don’t think you’ll forget the things he needs, like feeding and changing, but you might forget to take care of yourself.” He picked up Brennan and rested him on his shoulder, rubbing his back. “Okay, buddy, you’re clean, dry, fed, and not sick. How about we give Mama a break?” He turned a serious gaze on her. “Are you staying hydrated?”
“I don’t…I—” Sobs stole her voice, and she shook her head, feeling stupid.
He sat beside her on the couch, pulling her against him. “It’s okay. That has nothing to do with his crying.”
“But I haven’t had anything to drink since breakfast, and the doctor told me to make sure I did. Maybe I’m not producing enough milk for him. I did this to him, didn’t I?”
“ No. It’s only six thirty. That’s not enough time for you to get dehydrated enough to affect him, but it is enough to affect you, and your health is even more important than his because he relies on you. Dehydration can make you tired and dizzy.”
“Great. I made myself sick, and I suck at taking care of him.” She didn’t mean to raise her voice. More sobs broke free as she spoke. “I really thought I could be a great mother. But parents are supposed to be their children’s anchor in any storm, and I feel like a dinghy being tossed in the waves. Which makes sense, because what do I know about mothering? My mother died, and then I was stuck with Gwen’s mother. I’m grateful they took me in, but their housekeeper did more parenting than she ever did, which means I’m totally not qualified to care for my own baby.”
Baz held her tighter, and she buried her face in his chest.
“You are a great mother,” he said with unwavering confidence. “Every parent goes through this. Taking care of a baby is hard enough. Doing it alone is ten times harder. Leah and Chloe had tons of tear-filled days and nights. Tank and Maverick had their bad times, too. You met them. You know how tough they are. Tank called me one night at two in the morning because he and Leah were spent, and Leo was a crying mess. Tank had been up all night the night before because the club was handling a situation, and Leah hadn’t slept because Rosie, their youngest, had been sick. I went over to take care of Leo so they could sleep, and talk about a set of lungs. That boy could wake people three states away. I took him for a ride in my truck so he wouldn’t keep them up, and he finally fell asleep. I drove for hours so they could all get some shut-eye.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his warm lips surprising her, drawing her eyes to his. He wasn’t looking at her judgmentally or with pity. He looked at her like he truly understood, and that brought a modicum of relief.
“It’s not just you, darlin’. You’re a great mom. Brennan will be okay. Tell me what you need.”
Why did that make her cry harder? “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. I miss my mom and dad, and I miss my dog, and I miss Gwen. But most of all, I don’t want to screw up my baby.”
“You never will,” he whispered, Brennan’s cries turning to a whimper. He held her for a long moment. “I have an idea that might help both of you, but first you need to hydrate. What do you like to drink?”
“What do I like? Sparkling apple-cranberry juice. But I ran out. Water’s fine.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He went to the kitchen, and she tried again to pull herself together. When he returned with a glass of water, he sat beside her as she drank it. “If you’re anything like me, a visual reminder might help you remember to do certain things. Try to have a glass of water with you when you nurse him. When he eats, you drink. Think you can do that?”
She nodded. “I feel so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re a new mom. Your body’s been through a nine-month marathon, and you’re running on fumes.” Brennan was quiet, save for a whimper slipping out here and there. “Come on. Bring your drink with you.” He helped her up and took her hand, leading her into the bedroom. He took the glass and set it on the nightstand. “My old man always says a little extra love goes a long way. I want you to lie down with Brennan.”
“But you’re not supposed to sleep with a baby in the bed.”
“I know. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything happen to him. I think it’ll do you both some good. You and Brennan have a special bond that nobody else can ever come close to, but with that, you feed off each other’s energy. If he’s upset, you feel it, and vice versa. That’s one reason being a mother is one of the hardest and one of the most remarkable things a person can do.”
He pulled back the blanket, and she climbed in, lying on her side. He placed Brennan on his back beside her. She put her arm around him, and Brennan made a sleepy sound. Baz pulled the blanket up to her waist, then took his phone out of his pocket and poked around on it. The sound of ocean waves bloomed to life, and he set it on the nightstand and lowered himself into the rocking chair.
It had been so long since she’d been taken care of, her heart swelled, and fresh tears filled her eyes. She ached for comfort, and though she never asked for help, just this once, depleted of energy and patience and the strength she’d held on to since the day her parents died, she allowed herself to. “Will you lie with us?”
He clenched his jaw, but he nodded, leaned forward, and began taking off his boots.
“Is that weird? I don’t want to make things weird. You’ve been so nice to us. You don’t have to—”
“Emerson, stop worrying, and let that beautiful brain of yours relax.” He lay on Brennan’s other side, speaking gently. “There is nothing weird about this. I care about you and Brennan. I would have lain down with you right away, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You never make me uncomfortable. You make me feel safe.”
“I’m glad, and I’m not going anywhere, so close your eyes and let me stand watch for a while.”
He put his arm over both of them, pulling her closer so Brennan lay between their chests, their legs touching. He drew one of her knees up, moving it between his legs, and his arm circled her again. There was nothing sexual about the way he touched her or how he was holding her, cocooning her and Brennan within the safety of his body. Emerson closed her eyes, breathing easier for the first time in hours. Knowing she and Brennan were buffered from the rest of the world, she set aside the insurmountable weight of solo motherhood and surrendered to the bone-deep exhaustion dragging her under.