Chapter 13
I lookaround the great room with satisfaction. My family, close and extended, all in one place. Under my roof. Mac, Brenna, Max, Cynnie, Austin, Dana, Hunter, Myles, and a surprisingly fresh-faced and smiley Cappa are clustered around the baby in Mac’s arms. Maude and Javier are in the kitchen with Manny, Jen, and Emmy. Everyone’s safe and accounted for.
I put my feet up on the long sectional, sip my beer, and watch the game out of the corner of my eye while keeping Livvy in view.
Manny plonks down on the couch next to me. “You cooked up a good one, Daddy Logan.”
“She’s cute, isn’t she?”
“Sure. They’re all little red aliens until they’re about six months. Then they become interesting.”
I punch his shoulder without any force. “Wait until I tell Jen that.”
He grins and takes a pull on his beer. “She’s pregnant again. Just finishing her first trimester.”
“Congratulations!” I slap him on the back. “A boy this time?”
Manny shrugs. “I’ve stopped caring. ‘Long as they’re healthy, I’m happy.”
Good attitude. I nod.
“Maxie mentioned something about Miranda coming to New York,” Manny says, his tone cautious.
“I haven’t heard anything from her but I’ve blocked her on every electronic avenue, so she’d have to knock on the door to contact me.” I look around for wood and rap my knuckles on the coffee table. “Touch wood, she’ll give up and accept defeat before it comes to that.”
Manny grunts. “You ready to get a restraining order if she don’t?”
My jaw knots. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes. She’s not welcome in this house.”
Myles sits down on the L of the couch, his profile to us. He snaps his fingers and after a moment, Cappa folds himself down on the floor between Myles’ feet. Myles rests his hand in Cappa’s glossy, black hair.
Manny eyes this display but doesn’t comment. “You comin’ to Mass with us?” he asks.
Myles shakes his head. “I’m out of town. Logan, do you want me to review your physical security before I go?”
“You met Miranda in England?” At his nod, I ask, “Do you think it’s necessary?”
“I think she’s determined,” he responds. “Happy to do it before I go.”
“Yeah, if it’s no bother.”
“It’s no bother.” He clears his throat. “I was hoping to come to the group again but I’ll be traveling. You’ll give my regrets to Ginger and the others?”
“I will.” I put away whatever concerns I have about Myles being around littles. “We’ll miss you.”
He nods but doesn’t lift his eyes beyond Cappa’s head. “You’ll keep an eye on this boy while I’m gone? Make sure he stays out of trouble?”
Cappa huffs. “I’m never in trouble.”
I snort. “I will. Cappa, there’s an outing after playgroup?—”
“Emily already invited me. Fleur’s coming, too.”
My baby doll. Her efficiency is terrifying. “Great. We’ll check your schedule and make any adjustments then. Myles, do you know when you’ll be back?”
He shakes his head. “It takes as long as it takes.”
I know those kinds of missions. “No worries.”
“Thank you.” He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I want you to try what we talked about for a week.”
Cappa turns crimson. He draws his knees to his chest. “Four days.”
“Five. If I’m not back by then, I’ll text to release you.”
Abstinence? Orgasm denial? Cock cage? I’m betting it’s one of those. Blood rushes to my groin at the thought. Emily hates orgasm denial but it’s a big turn-on for me. If Cappa’s going to be suffering this week, maybe my baby girl needs to suffer alongside him for a day or two.
“Five and I’m done at midnight no matter what.”
“Agreed,” Myles says. In the shadow of his hair, his smile flashes. “Logan, I’ll text you the extra rules Cappa’s agreed to.”
I give Cappa a slow, evil grin. “I’ll be rigorous in enforcing them while you’re gone.”
Cappa groans.
After dinner, and yet another Hearts Battle Royale, which Emily wins, people filter away, leaving Mac and me watching a match while Emily and Brenna lay on cushions at our feet. Bren’s got her tablet and digital pen and is working on a sketch. Emmy’s reading something on her phone while she rocks Livvy’s bassinet. I don’t quite understand the schedule Emily’s following but her friend Gracie swears that it’ll have Livvy sleeping through the night from seven to seven. Livvy’s down for the “little sleep” now. We’ll wake her at ten for a feed, a play, and a bath before her “big sleep.” Emily’s told me to block off an hour around ten p.m. every night for the next few weeks until Livvy settles into the seven-to-seven routine.
Since I was utterly gobsmacked at how well Livvy slept last night after hearing horror stories about newborns waking every hour, I’m not arguing.
The doorbell rings and I tap my phone to bring up the door camera. A heaviness settles in my gut when I see the face I least want to see.
I lift my eyes from the phone screen to meet Emily’s hazel eyes. “Miranda’s at the door. You do not need to talk with her, interact with her, or even look at her.”
She frowns briefly but her face smooths. Her lips move and I can see her subvocalizing her mantra before she says, “Yes, Daddy.”
Bren sets her tablet aside and rolls to her feet. She pulls on Mac’s shirt that’s been lying over the end of the couch. “I have something to say to the Mir-bitch.”
While I can only see the possibility of violence in Brenna confronting Miranda, I nod.
I climb off the couch, look down into my daughter’s peaceful face, and drop a kiss on the top of Emily’s head before I go to the door.
Brenna follows me. With her blue dreadlocks up in a wild topknot, she looks like Medusa but her attitude is one hundred percent Valkyrie. I’m a little surprised she hasn’t slung a flaming sword over her shoulder.
I close the door into the great room behind Brenna. If Emily wants to come out into the hallway, she can but Miranda’s not getting a view into my home, with my two girls nestled in its heart.
I open the front door but neither invite Miranda in nor make way for her to enter. I block the doorway with my body and put my foot behind the door so she can’t push it open.
“Miranda,” I say without any welcome.
Her eyes flick from me to Brenna, standing just off my shoulder, and back to my face. She looks bad. Her face is puffy but there are hollows under her eyes and cheekbones deep and dark enough to be bruises. She’s wearing a wool coat with the collar turned up around her throat, unbuttoned over a cranberry-colored knit sweater and dark trousers that hang on her; they might have been maternity wear. Her breasts and belly are visibly swollen under her clothes but her fingers and wrist, as she brushes a hank of hair back from her face, look thin.
“Logan, may I see Olivia?” she asks.
“No.”
She waits, like I’m going to elaborate. I’m not. When she realizes I’m not going to say anything she can turn back against me, she presses her lips together. “I’m still nursing her.”
“No, you were nursing her. You’re not anymore.”
Tears well in her big, blue eyes. “Please, Lo. She needs her mother’s milk. And I’m in agony without her. I’ve been pumping while I’ve traveled but it’s not the same. Please, I need my daughter.”
Knowing I’m going to sound like a monster not just to the woman in front of me but also to the one standing behind me and the one in the other room who I’m sure is just on the other side of the door, listening to every word, I say, “No.”
Miranda crosses her shaking hands over her breasts and rubs gently. “Please. Please, Lo. If you ever cared about me, please let me see my baby.”
Jesus Christ. “No.”
“Um,” Brenna says behind me. “Not to get into the middle of this but if you’re pumping, we could put the milk into Livvy’s rotation. Did you keep it cold?”
Miranda nods. “I have a cooler in my hotel room. I’ll bring it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll come get it.” Mac’s voice sounds from behind me. Fuck, he’s a ghost when he wants to be. I never heard either of the doors to the hallway open. “There’s no reason for you to step foot in this house again.”
Miranda shrinks back. “Mac.”
They’ve met a few times over the years. Mac was never Mir’s biggest fan but he wasn’t openly disdainful. He is now.
He moves up to stand behind Brenna, looping his arm around her chest. “Since what Logan’s saying doesn’t seem to be sinking in, I’ll repeat it,” he tells Miranda. “You’re not welcome here. This is our home. Logan’s. Mine. Emily’s. Brenna’s. Olivia’s. You don’t belong here. Am I understood?”
Miranda flinches. “Mac?—”
“Am I clearly understood?” Mac repeats.
“Yes,” Miranda says. “Please, Mac, I just want to see Olivia.”
“Logan already told you no. I’ll come back to your hotel with you and pick up the milk.” Mac pulls his jacket off the rack next to the door and shrugs into it.
Tears roll down Miranda’s face. She blots them genteelly with the backs of her hands.
Mac steps past me and steers Miranda around with a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” Brenna says. “I don’t want to kick someone when they’re down but I want you to know something, Miranda.”
Miranda and Mac pause on the top step. Miranda looks back over her shoulder, her eyes and nose red.
“You ever come near Emily again, and I’ll kick your ass. I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you how it’s going to be.”
Miranda’s face works but she doesn’t reply before Mac drops his hand to her elbow and ushers her down the steps.
I close the door and rest my forehead against it.
Brenna’s hand lands light and quick on my shoulder. “Good job, Daddy Lo.”
I roll my head until my neck pops, releasing some of my tension. “I hoped she’d stay away.”
“Maybe she will now. Maybe she won’t. What matters is that you’re a brick wall. You don’t react. You don’t lash out at her. You just block her from any aspect of your life, or Emmy’s life, or Olivia’s life. You stand. No matter what she throws at you.” Brenna sighs. “I know that sounds melodramatic. You’ll be surprised at what crazy people come up with and Miranda is certifiably crazy. But all you have to do is stand tall and let her break herself throwing herself at the brick wall.”
“You’ve seen this before?” I ask, turning to look at her, because she’s speaking with the ring of experience.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Guess I never told you how I got the scars on my back? I went into foster care when I was a kid. Bounced around a couple of homes. I’ll admit, I wasn’t an easy kid. I had some serious fucking anger issues. One of the group homes was run by a lady called Mother Kay. Other than Emmy, she’s the best person I’ve ever met. She got me under control really fast. But after I’d been with her for a couple of months, my social worker took me out of the group home and placed me with a couple who said they were looking to adopt. The lady of the house was a ticking time-bomb. Crazier than Miranda.” She shivers and wraps her arms around herself. “She caught me sneaking out. She had this clothesline she’d knotted up. She beat me with it until I passed out. She tried to hide what she’d done, telling my social worker I was sick. The social worker yanked me out of there and put me back with Mother Kay. Mother Kay never let me be moved again. My social worker tried a dozen times to put me in single foster placements. Mother Kay was my brick wall.”
I push myself away from the door and hold my arms out. “I know you don’t need a hug but I do.”
She smiles wryly before letting me pull her close. “Having Mother Kay be my brick wall made it okay. Having you be their brick wall will make this okay for Emmy and Livvy. Just stand firm, Daddy Lo.”
I pat her back before letting her go. “I’ll do my best. If you see any chinks in my wall, tell me so I can break out the mortar and trowel.”
“I will. I meant what I said about kicking her ass. Just so you know. Emmy’s gotten over what happened the last time Miranda was here, I think but the Mir-bitch doesn’t get another shot at her. Not while I’m here.”
“I’m not arguing with you. If you catch her sniffing around Emily, kick her ass.”
Brenna chuckles. “You got it.”
Emmy’s not waiting right on the other side of the door, as I’d anticipated. She’s all the way across the great room, standing by the back doors, looking out into the night. Livvy’s bassinette is at her feet. Emmy’s got her cat in her arms and has her face pressed to the top of Sable’s head, kissing him between his ears. Sable’s pretty cuddly but he’s not crazy about being picked up and held off the ground, so I’d expect him to be squirming. He’s not. He’s curled against Emily and purring like a motorboat.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. I rest my chin on the top of her head. “She doesn’t come in the house. You don’t have to talk to her. You don’t have to look at her. You don’t even have to think about her.”
“It’s hard not to think about her a little, Daddy,” Emmy says, her words muffled in kitty fur.
I kiss the top of her head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She sighs. “I’ve promised to always tell you the truth. But this isn’t a truth you’re going to want to hear.” She heaves a deeper sigh. “I think we’re being cruel, not letting her nurse her baby.”
I let her words sink into me. Roll around in my heart. I always take my baby doll’s feelings into account.
But I don’t always let them rule my decisions. Sometimes, I have to make the hard call. That’s what being a Daddy is.
“I understand why you would feel that way, my little wonder. I value your feelings and I appreciate you telling me. I always want you to tell me the truth.”
“You’re not going to let her nurse Livvy, are you?” Emily shifts in my arms so she can look up into my face.
“No, sweetheart. I’m not.”
She nods and sinks back against me. Although the thought of being cruel to Miranda is probably bothering her a little, she’s also much more relaxed than she was when I first hugged her. Keeping Miranda away is the right call, even if it seems cruel.
Mac returns in record time. He probably ran back. Emily puts Sable down and moves to help Mac label and store the packets of milk. They have a system I don’t pretend to understand. I just know to use the packets at the front of my beer fridge first.
When she’s finished, she comes back to me with her arms wrapped around herself. I know my baby doll. That’s please hold me, Daddy.
So I do. I wrap her in my arms and carry her over to the couch. I keep her on my lap, cuddled up against me, while I watch the end of the match. Then I take her upstairs and give her a bath. Livvy wakes while Emmy’s playing with the bath crayons, so I bring Livvy into our bath. She probably doesn’t get very clean but we don’t either. Bath time is about play. It’s about relaxing and being together, slippery skin to slippery skin. It’s about Daddy showing his girls how much he loves them.
Livvy’s fussing, yawning, and rubbing her eyes by the time we get her ready for her last feed and the “big sleep.” Emily rocks her in the rocking chair for barely five minutes before she’s out, her rosebud mouth open, lower lip puffing in and out with each breath.
I watch Emily as she rises from the rocking chair and carries the baby over to the crib. Emily’s face is shining with tenderness, her eyes misty as she goes up on her tiptoes to lay Livvy down. If I ever needed proof that motherhood isn’t only biological, it’s right in front of me. Emily’s already fallen for my daughter.
I hold out my hand and when Emily comes to me, I check her over carefully in the nursery’s dim light. There are faint purple shadows under her eyes and she’s working her engagement ring on her finger, which is one of Emmy’s tells. She’s tired. It’s been a long day. This is not a night for a milk and cookies date.
“Bedtime,” I tell her.
She gives me big eyes. “It’s only a little after ten.”
“And my little is tired.”
“I’m not that tired—” A yawn interrupts her protest.
“I’m not negotiating with you, baby. But I am in an indulgent mood. If you agree to go to sleep whenever we’re finished, I can see a good girl spanking while we listen to Storytime in your future.”
“And Wolfy Daddy after,” she says, immediately bargaining, the way she does, my imp.
“We’ll see if you stay awake,” I agree. “Also, De Leon’s asking something from Cappa this week while he’s gone. I’m not sure if it’s abstinence or orgasm denial or what yet but I think a day or two of edging and orgasm denial would help keep your mind off both your mother and Miranda.”
Her sweet face screws up ferociously. “Yuck.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s a yuck. I hate orgasm denial.”
“I know you do, my baby. Think hard about why Daddy would ask you to do something you hate at a stressful time.”
The face she makes is hilarious, adorable, and not at all contemplative. “Because Daddy likes yucky things.”
“Yes, that’s definitely the reason.”
“There are other ways to distract me,” she points out. “Lots of other ways. Like visiting the Rexes. Or the evil nubbly paddle. Or tying me up in a new way. Or drilling my teeth. All of those are substantially better than No O for a week.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t say a week. Can we agree to two days?”
“How about one?”
“How about two and a session with the new paddle at the end?”
“Thirty-six hours.”
“Forty-eight.”
Emily sighs and hangs her head. “Oookay.”
I kiss the top of those cute, droopy dark curls. “That’s my girl. I’ll give you a day’s warning before you become a No O Zone, so you can stock up.”
She giggles softly. “I want a dozen in the No O prep day.”
“Mmm, we’ll see if you earn them. Come on, my sweet baby. Let’s get you ready for bed and your spanking.”
She takes my hand and tucks herself into my side as I lead her down the hall to our bedroom.
Bravo has Storytime tonight and he’s reading from Shel Silverstein’s poems when we join, which Emmy loves. She recites them while I brush her hair and dress her in a soft cotton nightgown. I think this one is vintage. There are tiny pleats all across her chest and pink ribbons threaded around the neckline, sleeves, and hem. When she’s dressed, I stand her at the edge of the bed and kneel in front of her.
“Daddy?” She looks down at me wonderingly.
I cup her ankles. “This is my baby,” I say softly. “My darling girl.” I run my hands up her calves and tickle behind her knees until she giggles. “My sweetheart.” I continue up the backs of her thighs, squeezing gently. “The woman I adore.” I cup her round bottom, bare under the nightgown. “My little wife.”
“Daddy,” she breathes. “I love you too.”
“Every day, you delight me, Emmy. Every day, I love you more. You make even the hardest times easy.”
“Daddy.” A tear slips down her cheek. I push up to lick it away.
“You’re allowed to have rough days, baby girl. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to struggle with your feelings. But you’re not allowed to ever, for one minute, forget how much Daddy adores you.”
“I don’t,” she promises, her hands fluttering to my shoulders. “I won’t.”
“Good girl.” I draw her forward with my hands cupping her sweet, soft cheeks, and lift her as I stand, smiling at my ability to carry her again. I climb up on the bed and lie down on my back with Emily plastered to my front. She wraps her arms around my neck and rubs her cheek against my collar, settling onto me with a happy sigh. I usually like to see my target, and the effects of my spanking but tonight I want to feel my baby doll over every inch of me.
I ruck up her nightdress, tugging the fabric so the ruffle tickles the backs of her legs. To her magical giggle, I bare her bottom and rub my palms over her warm skin.
“How’s this little bottom?” I ask. When I dressed her this morning, she had a few fading bruises that I treated with arnica cream but sustained impact play like we engage in can leave deeper bruising, so I always check.
“Happy to have your hands on it,” she purrs, nuzzling and cuddling.
“Really? Did your bottom tell you that?”
“It did,” she says. I can hear the huge grin in her voice. “Do you know what else my bottom tells me?”
“Bottom-wisdom? I have to hear this.”
“My bottom tells me it would like wolfy loving even though we’re sharing all the feels tonight.”
A laugh ripples up through me. My adorable little love. “I see. Bottom dictates, hmm?”
“Yep.”
“Well, let me see what I can do about that,” I say, before I give my baby girl everything she’s asked for.