Chapter 14
Rhyland
P ayton is out on a date with another man.
How the fuck did this happen? Oh, that’s right. I offered to watch Gabby so that she could go out…with another fucking man. I only have myself to blame.
Just like when I had suggested they move in here, I hadn’t thought before I was opening my big mouth to suggest it.
The look in Pay’s eyes after Sara Beth had walked away made me think we were going to have a chat when we got home, but it never happened. I guess maybe she did actually want to go. She’s young; she should be happy and out there.
When Payton came down the stairs, dressed in a slim-fitting dress, my first thought was No, no way. I should have thrown her over my shoulder, firefighter-style, and carried her to my bed and told her there was no way I was allowing her to go out with another man, especially dressed like that.
Instead, I took Gabby from her, told her she looked beautiful, and that Nixon was a lucky guy.
It took her almost an hour to actually get out the door with promises of texting and calling with anything that could go wrong—you know, like a volcano eruption, aliens attacking, and any other thing that had less than a billionth chance of happening.
Currently, Gabby and I are lounging on the couch after we both ate our dinner. There is no doubt in my mind that this girl and Oliver Mosby share DNA. Between the loud burps and farts she’s had all night, I feel like I’m hanging out with my friend—only a mini version of him.
Something plays on the TV in the background, but to be honest, my sole focus has been on this little one. I have my legs propped up on the coffee table with bent knees to create the perfect throne for the Princess.
“Do you think Mommy is having a good time? I mean, what kind of name is Nixon, anyway? He was a terrible president,” I scoff.
I know I’m being a little unreasonable here because, well, pot meet kettle.
What the fuck kind of name is Rhyland? What were my parents even thinking?
Did they ever realize the pain I would face every vacation when all my other friends were getting key chains with their names on it and I never could find mine?
It might seem minuscule now, but back then, it was everything.
I hold both of her little hands in mine and play a short version of peekaboo. She coos as I appear and disappear.
“And what kind of guy is okay with his date arriving via an Uber and not having the decency to come to her house and pick her up? An idiot, that’s who, Princess. Your mom deserves to be treated like the queen she is. She deserves everything.”
I continue our game of peekaboo before leaning forward and blowing raspberries on her belly.
The world drops out from under me when the most beautiful sound fills the room, and I freeze.
“Oh my God, did you just—?” No, there’s no way she just did that for me. “Did you just laugh, Princess?”
I repeat the action, and my heart swells.
Gabby does it again, letting out a tiny giggle, as if just to prove a fact that she was listening to me.
But then my heart drops to my stomach. She just laughed for the first time, and it wasn’t for Payton.
Shit, Payton wasn’t even here. She’s going to be crushed.
“Alright, Princess, let’s make a deal, okay?”
Gabby coos, and I’ll take that as an agreement.
“Now, you don’t tell mommy I’ve been struggling all night with her being on a date, and I won’t tell her you just laughed without her. Deal?”
Gabby coos again in response.
“That’s good enough for me. If you walk or talk before she’s back—well, then you’re on your own, missy.”
Look at me, having a conversation with a baby. Boy, life sure has changed lately, and I’m not even mad about it.
Two episodes into a new show, I glance down to find Gabby’s eyes closed and the softest and cutest snores coming from her button nose.
Careful not to disturb her too much, I slowly rise and make my way upstairs to Payton’s room to lay Gabby down in her crib.
I don’t think I’ve ever carried something with more gentleness, not even when taking a soufflé from the oven to keep it from falling, than when I placed Gabby in her crib.
Payton had warned me that sometimes Gabby can wake up when transitioning from one position to another.
I hold my breath and freeze while I wait to see if she stirs. Nothing. If I didn’t fear the fast movement would wake her up, I would throw my hand up in the air in celebration.
As I look down at the sleeping bundle, I totally understand why everyone is always staring at babies—especially her.
She’s captivating and doesn’t even realize it.
The number of people who she has wrapped around her finger—me, possibly, at the top of the list, well behind her mother, at least—is never-ending.
I’m not ready to walk out of the room just yet.
I know Payton told me I could just grab the baby monitor on her nightstand, but I’d rather just sit here and watch. Because that’s not creepy at all.
I take a seat on the bed and continue to watch Gabby as she sleeps. Being in Payton’s space has thoughts about her coming to the forefront of my mind.
Payton is currently out on a date. Is she going to see this guy again?
I’ve met Sara Beth’s boyfriend before when he’s come in to visit and when we’ve gone out as a group, and I’d like to think he has good judgment with his friends.
But how do we know he’s not some serial killer?
It’s not like they wear a sign on their shirt or have a blinking sign over their head that says “I kill people for fun.”
Alright, so maybe that’s a little extreme, but still.
How do we know he’s not a bad guy? Why do I keep thinking “we”?
It’s me. I’m the problem here, having all these concerns.
I know Payton has a good head on her shoulders, and if she felt uncomfortable, she would extract herself from the situation.
But how much can you really know about someone?
It’s not like she knew what Joel was like when she first started dating him, and look how that turned out.
Fuck that guy. Actually, fuck both of them. Joel and this douche bag.
I flop back on her bed, and the smell of lavender envelops me. Do not sniff her pillow. Don’t do it.
Here I am, worrying about all the awful possibilities about their date, but what if she’s having a great time?
What if she wants to see him again or bring him back here?
No, she wouldn’t bring him here with Gabby in the room, but fuck—one day, she might want to bring him here, or any other guy she’s dating. This is her home, after all.
Fuck. I run my hands down my face while trying to slow my racing heart. What am I doing getting so worked up over this—it’s not like she’s mine, no matter how much I want her to be.
Deep in my thoughts, I spring up from the bed when I hear a crash downstairs. What the fuck?
I double-check on Gabby, and thankfully, the disturbance downstairs didn’t wake her.
I find her still sleeping peacefully. Phew.
I grab the baby monitor from the nightstand and walk out of the room.
I won’t let anything happen to you, baby girl , I vow as I leave stealthily and walk down the stairs.
Another noise comes from the kitchen, followed by a curse in a feminine voice. Payton? What is she doing home already?
I round the corner and find her sitting on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth like a child. She hasn’t noticed me, but I notice the bottle of pinot noir in her hand that she is drinking straight out of. What the fuck happened?
Her palm is flat on the counter while the other one has a death grip on the bottle, now resting on her legs.
My eyes trail up her body, starting at her creamy thighs, which are on display thanks to her short dress riding up with her movement.
My jaw clenches in anger when I see the streaks of black makeup on her cheeks. Has she been crying?
She hiccups loudly, and if this had been any other situation, I would laugh, but concern fuels me forward.
And it couldn’t have been more perfect timing.
She hasn’t noticed my approach, clearly lost somewhere in her mind, but on her next hiccup, her hand slips off the counter, toppling her to the side, and I reach out, catching her in one arm and the bottle of wine in the other.
I couldn’t care less about the bottle falling, but I don’t want to risk her safety with glass breaking everywhere.
“Whoa there, Pay. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Rhyland,” she squeals. Yup, definitely drunk off her ass. Her eyes are red and glassy—I’m not sure if it’s from the alcohol or her crying.
“Yes, you’re Payton, and I’m Rhyland,” I confirm our identities as I brush a few fallen strands off her face.
“No, you’re hot, sexy even.”
I clear my throat. Remember, she’s drunk, but what’s that phrase? Drunk words equal sober thoughts. Don’t let it get to your head, Rhy.
“And you’ve been crying.” I move the bottle of wine out of reach and settle my hands on the counter, caging her in. “Payton, talk to me. Did that motherfucker do something? Did he hurt you?”
She hiccups again. Jesus, just how much has she had to drink? A tear slips from her eyes as she nods. That motherfucker. I’m going to kill him and kill Sara Beth for getting her to go on that date. And her boyfriend, while I’m at it—no need for witnesses and all.
“He ruined me for everyone. I’m just used-up goods now. I see that now. That’s how it will always be, thanks to him.”
What the hell?
She doesn’t give me a chance for her to elaborate on what she means by that and continues. “How could I ever trust someone when I thought I trusted Joel, and look how that turned out?”