Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
AVERY
The first three months didn’t pass in a blur like people said they did.
Mabel was diagnosed with colic, with her constant crying ramping up the day after my mom and Maisie left. I was aware ‘colic’ was a catchall term for a baby who appeared to be healthy but was in obvious discomfort.
I tried everything. Nothing worked.
Every day dragged into an eternity of dirty diapers, of burp cloths, of milk-stained clothing, engorged breasts, crying and sleep deprivation.
And every day was a variation of the same. With the one key difference: what calmed the baby one day didn’t necessarily calm the baby the next day. More likely, it served to distress her more.
And although I thrived on routine, that was not any kind of routine crafted on Earth. Often, I would’ve sworn that in the middle of the night, amongst the cries and the grunts and the feedings, that that routine was crafted in the depths of hell.
Kane no longer had the magic touch. Because when you have a colicky baby, there was no magic except in the blissful fifteen minutes—if you’re lucky—we got a day when our baby was content, ready to look at us and occasionally even gift us with her precious smiles.
Aside from that, magic was somewhere else, at Hogwarts or wherever.
No, for all Kane’s considerable talents, calming the baby was not one of them. His magic was to stay calm when she wasn’t. To speak to her with adoration, kiss her head, rock her, walk around the house for hours. Not once did I see him get frustrated with her, lose his temper, look at all like he was going to go out for a pack of diapers and never return.
That was a feat in itself. Because in my darkest of moments, I’d thought about getting in my car and driving off. Not forever. Just for ten minutes.
Ten minutes of peace. Ten minutes when I wasn’t trying to stop the baby from crying or tense, knowing it was inevitable that the baby would start crying again.
I would look at her—her tiny nose, the cute fingers, the rosebud lips—and find it impossible to believe that something so perfect existed. That someone so precious was mine, ours.
And then I’d struggle to stand over the weight of it all, over the failure I felt because I couldn’t fix her. Not with a change in my diet, not with all the natural remedies, not with medications I hesitated to use because she was just so tiny. Not with the special exercises, ways to hold her, massages. Not with the swaying swing nor the vibrating contraption for the bassinet.
“How do people do this?” I cried, juggling the baby because when I spoke, I paused slightly, and therefore, her sleeping form registered the change in movement and decided to rouse to inform me of how I’d fucked up.
I held my breath as she fought against the swaddle for a moment then settled. I kept holding my breath to see if she was really asleep. It seemed, for the moment, she was.
I braved looking back to Kane, breathing again. “Like, seriously. People walk around with children every day, and I’ve never given it much thought. I hate to admit it, but I never considered that being a parent made you overly strong or special in any way. Now I think every one of them needs a fucking medal for dealing with these creatures.” I gestured to the baby with only my eyes, every other part of my body dedicated to the specific combination of movements required to keep her asleep.
Kane smiled, and I loved him for that easy smile. I also wanted to punch him in the face for that smile.
“Don’t you know, baby?” he murmured, reaching to take Mabel from me. I chewed on my lip as she moved, whined and then curled into her Dad’s chest. “I’ve already got medals.” He started to sway like the expert he was.
“I would say go nap, but I understand now that you’re physically incapable,” he said. “So how about you go sit outside, breathe the sea air and have a glass of wine. Or tequila.”
I would’ve rolled my eyes at him if I hadn’t been so tired. “It’s ten in the morning.”
He blinked, a slow blink, him looking at the clock in confusion the only signifier that he might’ve been as frazzled as I was. “I could’ve sworn it was five in the evening at least,” he muttered. “Oh well. Time means nothing, so have the tequila. Or a cup of tea, if you want to be more traditional. I don’t judge. Just give yourself a break.”
I gnashed my teeth at his suggestion.
Now that my mother and sister were gone, there was always something to clean up, something to do. Endless amounts of laundry; Kane was always folding something.
I itched to do something productive, to cook something. But my limbs were leaden, and my brain could not think of a single thing to make.
“Chef,” Kane urged, and though I stilled liked it, sometimes the title felt like a taunt rather than an endearment. “Go outside. Breathe. I’ll let you know when she needs you.”
A look passed between us. One full of knowing, yearning, exhaustion and longing. I longed for Kane’s arms around me and for my body to be able to appreciate the touch.
I imprinted the image of him standing there, cradling an exceptionally tiny baby against his chest, etched with exhaustion but also unflinchingly handsome.
Blanche, as always, was pressed against her father’s legs, as close to the baby as she could get.
For another moment, I lingered. All I’d wanted was a moment to myself, yet now I hesitated to take it.
But eventually, I did, walking outside and staring at the wide-open ocean. I hadn’t considered myself to be a beach person before I moved there. In fact, with rising sea levels and hurricanes, I thought it would be prudent to be inland when and if I ever settled down somewhere. Not that I ever considered settling down.
But there, in that town, with the rush of the ocean soothing the edges of my frayed nerves just a tad, I couldn’t deny I understood the appeal.
We had our first fight.
It was inevitable.
We were both criminally sleep deprived, both in raw emotional states, both still dealing with traumas that we hadn’t properly dealt with.
I felt Kane’s prison sentence seeping from inside of him. When he looked panicked every time he was in a room with a closed door. If the house got too warm. Sometimes just a faraway look in his eyes when he was holding Mabel.
I didn’t know how to talk to him about it. I felt guilt over that. Felt responsible. And I wanted to fix him, just like I wanted to fix Mabel.
But that was impossible. People couldn’t be fixed. Especially not babies. She was an intelligent baby with big feelings and only one way to communicate. I knew that logically. Yet every time she cried, I couldn’t help but feel like it was an emergency, like I’d missed something.
My nerves were frayed, and though he seemed to be hiding it better than me, I knew Kane’s were too. Without my mother and Maisie, the house descended into a disorganized mess of diapers, wipes, burp cloths and coffee cups.
We were constantly behind.
“Maybe we should hire some help,” Kane suggested one afternoon.
I stared at him, from where I was folding a onesie. I didn’t know why it needed folding instead of shoving it into the drawer. It’s not like Mabel cared if it was wrinkly, and we barely went anywhere for other people to see. “No.”
He paused from where he was piling our plates from lunch, preparing to take them to the kitchen.
My mother’s freezer meals were a godsend.
“Accepting help isn’t failing, Chef,” he said mildly.
My head snapped up. “I’m aware of that, Kane,” I spat. “But this is it. This is my job now.” I gestured to the onesies. “Plenty of women do it. Thousands. Without help, without a hands-on partner. I just have to … figure out how in the hell they did it.”
It seemed like some big secret everyone was hiding, how one survived the 1,001 household tasks that needed done plus the 1,001 baby care tasks while also eating, sleeping and personally grooming oneself. An unachievable equation.
“You don’t have to figure it all out,” Kane reminded me. “We have the luxury of differing schedules and financial security to design our own lives. We don’t have to be stuck in Groundhog Day forever.”
I paused, chewing on my lip as I weighed his words. “Is this because this is too vanilla for you?” I couldn’t stifle the snark suddenly coloring my tone, buried for who knew how long.
“What do you mean by that?” Confusion tugged down his lips.
“You know exactly what I mean by that, Kane.” I slammed a folded burp cloth down much harder than necessary. “We haven’t had sex. Not once, even though I was cleared by the doctor. You are stuck in a house most of the time. With a lovely yet constantly crying baby and a woman who does not resemble the one you crossed the room at a party for. This isn’t us fucking in a dive bar in New York,” I hissed, inexplicably furious at him although he didn’t deserve it.
I let out a hollow laugh. I’d gone off the deep end. This was a breakdown, one that had been slowly building and fueled largely by the knowledge of my father. Yet I couldn’t stop it. “We won’t be living like that anymore. Or I won’t be. This is our life now. Not an adventure for you. This isn’t going to be death-defying, full of excitement. Our lives now revolve around responsibility, bedtimes, naps, bathtimes… This is going to get boring for you. I am not the same person who can be led around on the back of a bike, a woman with freedom. I’m not her anymore. This isn’t going to be enough for you.”
I am not going to be enough for you, was what I left unsaid.
Kane’s face had been impassive when I started speaking, but by the time I was done, he was scowling, eyes blazing with fury.
“You really think that little of me?” he asked quietly. “Think that I’m so fuckin’ shallow that what I want for the rest of my life are empty adventures?”
I opened my mouth, realizing how cruel I’d sounded. He didn’t let me speak.
“You don’t get to say what you think isn’t enough for me.” I bristled at how cold he sounded, putting the dishes down on the coffee table. “You don’t even get to insinuate that a life where I’m a dad, where I get to watch our daughter grow, learn, laugh, discover is too fuckin’ ordinary for me. And you sure as shit don’t get to tell me that watching my woman become a mother, care for our little girl, isn’t fuckin’ enough just because I don’t get to fuck you in a bar anymore.” He stepped forward. His face was menacing, his wired energy practically oozing from him. “And, Chef, I don’t think my days of fuckin’ you in bars are done. If they are, that’s fine with me. Any way I get to be inside of you, feel you clench against my cock, is just fuckin’ fine with me. And on top of that, any day I get to wake up with you, drink coffee with you and our daughter is the best fuckin’ day of my life . You thinking that I need more than that, need more than you, is total fuckin’ bullshit.”
Again, I opened my mouth to say something, to say anything, but before I could, he walked away.
He didn’t slam the door shut behind him, but I got the feeling he would’ve if he could’ve.
Nor did I hear the sound of his motorcycle leaving.
So after calming myself down enough to breathe evenly, I went to look out the window to see what he was doing.
His bike wasn’t there.
He must’ve pushed it down the drive so the noise didn’t wake Mabel.
Even in his fury with me, he protected our daughter. Like always.
Regret, painful and all-encompassing, hit me then, the organ beneath my sternum aching. I’d just belittled him as a partner, and more importantly, as a father. I’d insinuated that he didn’t have the depth to love something pure and simply.
Yes, I’d voiced my greatest fears, but they were more about myself than Kane.
I wanted to race after him, wanted to crack open a bottle of tequila and drown my sorrows. I wanted to crawl into bed, cover my head and welcome oblivion.
With a squawk, Mabel not so gently reminded me I could do none of those things. I was a mother. So instead of immersing myself in the luxury of sorrow or any kind of breakdown, I tended to my daughter and hoped that Kane would come back.
Kane came back.
It was never a question, really. He gave no indication that he was going to leave us. He was not that kind of man.
Yet I was still off-kilter from the news of my father. He hadn’t seemed like that kind of man either. Not in a million years. Yet he left.
Add to that severe sleep deprivation, and I didn’t trust my own mind, let alone the mind of someone else.
Yet Kane came back. Less than two hours later.
My entire body relaxed, as did Mabel’s, but that could’ve been out of sheer exhaustion from crying every moment Kane was gone.
He sauntered through the door, anger still hardening his face until he saw our daughter. He took her from my arms wordlessly.
“She eaten?” he asked, his voice void of emotion.
That flat tone hurt me, but I deserved it.
I nodded.
“She slept?”
“Not a wink.”
“Okay, let’s get you to bed, little one,” he murmured, kissing Mabel’s head. Before leaving, he looked at me. “I love you, Chef. Still need time, but we’ll talk later. Then we’ll have angry makeup sex.”
On that, he turned and ascended the stairs with our baby.
“Are we going to talk?” I asked in a whisper, mindful of Mabel sleeping in the bassinet beside us. She’d grown accustomed to the noises of us getting ready for bed, but it was a crapshoot as to whether a whisper would wake her or she’d sleep through me dropping an entire glass of water on the floor. No rhyme or reason.
We’d gone about our routine after Mabel woke up from her last nap—changing her, entertaining her, me cooking while Kane walked with her out on the beach. Us sitting together taking turns holding a crying Mabel, me ending up breastfeeding her at the table while eating my meal one handed, quickly, barely tasting the food.
Then dishes, then bathtime with the calming music, massage and Mabel screaming on and off throughout the routine.
Then her bedtime.
Routine. A variation of the same every day. With Mabel keeping it interesting as to whether she treated us with dazzling smiles or informed us how pissed off she was with the routine or life in general.
It was why I was worried, terrified, of the future.
“Nah,” said Kane. “I’d rather fuck you.”
My insides somersaulted as I looked at his face, seeing naked hunger on it. All of the desire he used to look at me with was there, and more.
Suddenly, my heart was stuttering, and fear cinched my lungs.
I glanced over to where Mabel was sleeping, arms thrown up above her head.
“With the baby in the room?” I whispered.
He let out a low chuckle, yet it was sexual too. “Yes, Chef. Hopefully, she’s out for the count, and considering that’s how we made her, I don’t think she’ll mind.”
Though I had thought about sex often since Mabel was born, I hadn’t thought much about the reality of having sex in front of her. Granted, she was sleeping and had no idea what sex was, but still.
Before I could contemplate further, Kane’s lips were on my neck, hands on my hips, slowly moving me across the bed, away from Mabel while covering my body with his. The simple weight of his body on top of mine, his erection pressing against me was all I needed to remember that my body was more than a machine that created breast milk.
“I haven’t tried to fuck you, Chef because I’ve been waiting for you to come to me,” he murmured against my neck.
His hands ran down the sides of my body, making me shiver.
“You’ve gone through a change that I can’t begin to understand,” his hands continued moving up and down. Soft, tentative.
“Your entire life has been consumed by the needs of another human for the past four months,” he added, lips traveling up my jaw. “I didn’t want to be another person you felt you needed to give more to.”
He pulled back so I could see his face in the low light from the sound machine.
“I never thought you would equate that to me not desirin’ you.” His lips gently pressed on mine, his hands gliding underneath the hem of my tee to skim the bare skin of my hips then my stomach.
I tensed, knowing that that area was forever changed.
Surely, Kane noted my tensing, but maintained his slow skimming, up my stomach, over the parts that had stretched to accommodate Mabel, to the places where my insides had moved, where my abs had separated.
“I have never desired you more,” he told me, kissing me deeper.
There was no immediate fire, no overwhelming, desperate, animal need. That was there, kindling deeper down. This was a slower build, purposeful.
His palms grazed over my breasts, my nipples peaking at the light touch. I arched upward into his hands as I kissed him back, joyous to be awake in this way, even amidst my exhaustion.
Kane kneaded my breasts before bringing his hands back downward, to where I was wet for him.
“This, here, Chef is all I need,” he rasped, toying with me over my panties. Just as my toes began to curl, Mabel punctuated this by passing gas loudly in her sleep.
Both Kane and I froze, looking toward the bassinet, waiting for the telltale flail of legs and arms to announce she was awake.
But nothing happened.
She snuffled then went back to sleep.
Kane and I looked back at each other and burst out laughing. Muted laughter, of course.
When our eyes met, something passed between us. It wasn’t hot or electric, no inferno of carnal desire. But it was something deeper, simpler yet more profound. A recognition of what we were together, what we had together.
“I think maybe we should go to the bathroom,” I suggested, panting slightly. “I’m not quite ready for us to do that with her right there.”
Kane chuckled again, low and throaty, pushing his erection against my soaked panties.
I gasped.
He didn’t verbally respond to my request.
At once, we were no longer on the bed; we were up, my legs wrapping around Kane’s waist.
Our mouths met as he ambled quietly across the room, me rubbing myself up and down his length, his hand on my ass.
I detached from his lips only long enough to check on Mabel as we passed. Still sound asleep.
Kane grabbed my face, turning it back toward him so he could kiss me again.
We made it to the bathroom, Kane closing the door.
“It turns me on so much how quietly you closed that door,” I breathed against him.
Kane laughed. “So it’s not my muscles, tattoos or general air of danger, it’s my ability to shut doors quietly.”
I smiled against his lips. “At this point in our life, yes. That trumps them all.”
He pinched my ass playfully.
Then he set me on the counter of the bathroom. I gasped at the cold marble on my skin.
“Arch up, Chef,” he ordered.
I did as he asked so he could quickly slide off my panties before stepping between my legs, freeing himself.
His touches in our bed had been slow, unhurried, almost lazy.
Now he was moving much in the same way I ate my food—rushed, trying to get it done before Mabel started crying.
The urgency was strong within me too, knowing Mabel could awaken at any moment, and as desperate I was to connect with Kane, I knew I couldn’t continue through that.
I clutched either side of his head. “Slow.”
His ice-blue eyes found mine as I felt his breathing even somewhat, the frantic energy melting off him. He gave me a lopsided yet horny smile. “In case you were doubting how fuckin’ desperate I am to get inside you, Chef, it’s very fuckin’ hard to heed your command.” I watched the cords of his neck tighten.
“If it feels different—” I whispered.
“Stop right fuckin’ there,” he growled, pressing his cock against my entrance.
I gasped.
“It’s not gonna feel any different,” Kane continued. “Because it’s you, Chef. It’s my woman. Warm, wet, welcoming. My. Fuckin’. Home.” As he spoke, he slowly pushed into me.
I mewled at the intrusion, taut in preparation for pain.
That area had basically been beaten up recently. So I’d been afraid of this. Kane was not small.
The simple act of taking steps or using the bathroom had been painful. Sex felt dicey.
But beyond a slight tug of discomfort, there was nothing but soul-wrenching pleasure.
Kane’s forehead laid against mine once he was fully seated inside me.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t move straight away. “Does this hurt?”
“No,” I hissed. “Move.”
He made eye contact with me. “Yes, Chef.”
Then he did as I’d instructed.
Not as hard and furious as he had in the past. Instead, he gave me slow, deep, powerful thrusts.
I sank my nails into the skin of his back.
It felt like coming back. To a different part of myself. The sexual part. The desirable part. The part that was Kane’s. That deserved pleasure. Coupling.
It was exquisite.
It wasn’t the earth-shattering, erotic fireworks of before. It was something deeper than that. My orgasm didn’t take me apart and put me back together. It was warm, washing over me, melting all the tension in my body.
It was coming home.
And Mabel was kind enough to wait until we were done to wake.