4. Kate
Kate
It was our fourth night in the motel, and I’d had about two hours sleep before Noah started screaming.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to Finn, who just shrugged and got up to look out the window.
An hour and a half later, I’d fed Noah, changed him, and bounced him until my arms ached, but the second I sat down, the crying started all over again.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whispered helplessly, bouncing him against my chest.
The motel felt too small, too hot, and my exhaustion was beginning to crush me.
Finn looked up from the chair by the door, eyes narrowing slightly as Noah’s cries got louder. “You slept?” he asked.
I laughed weakly. “Does it look like I’ve slept?”
Noah cried harder. My eyes burned as tears welled up and ran silently down my cheeks.
“I’m trying,” I whispered to Noah, even though it came out sounding more like I was trying to convince myself.
Finn stood slowly. I thought he was going to leave the room, or yell, but instead, he walked towards me awkwardly, stopping just in front of the bed.
“Lemme try.”
I blinked up at him. “What?”
His expression tightened immediately, like he already regretted offering. “Kid probably just wants somethin’ different.”
I hesitated, but not because I thought he’d hurt Noah. Handing my baby to someone else still felt wrong. I was Noah’s mother. I was supposed to be the one who comforted him.
Finn must’ve seen it on my face because he shook his head. “Forget it,” he muttered, stepping back.
“No, wait.” I carefully passed Noah over. “Sorry. I just . . .”
Finn nodded once like he understood more than he said.
The second Noah settled against his chest, the crying stopped. The room went completely quiet except for Noah’s tiny hiccupping breaths.
Finn froze.
I stared, my mouth slightly open.
Noah blinked up at him with wide eyes before reaching up and grabbing hold of his chin.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Finn muttered.
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it, half exhausted, half emotional.
Finn shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure what to do now that Noah had apparently decided he belonged with him.
“You were screaming two seconds ago,” he told the baby.
Noah answered with another tiny coo, still gripping Finn’s chin like he’d claimed him.
“Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “Guess we’re friends now.”
Another laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Real that time. It felt strange after days of fear and grief.
Finn shifted awkwardly, bouncing Noah once against his chest like he didn’t quite know what to do now that the baby had apparently decided he liked him.
Except he did know what to do.
I noticed it in the little things. The careful way he supported Noah’s head without even thinking about it. The slow sway of his body while he stood there. The way his voice automatically dropped softer when he spoke to him.
Like instinct had taken over before his brain caught up.
Caleb had looked natural holding Noah too.
That thought hurt, sharp and sudden. Finn must’ve seen something change on my face because his expression tightened.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” My voice came out thinner than I wanted.
His eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t push. Noah yawned dramatically against his chest.
“Oh, now you’re sleepy,” Finn muttered. “After terrorizing your mother for hours.”
I wiped quickly at my face before he noticed the tears gathering there.
“You don’t have to keep holding him,” I whispered.
Finn glanced down at Noah, who was already half asleep against him. “Yeah,” Finn replied quietly, “looks like I do.” He finally looked back up at me. “You need sleep.”
“I’m okay.”
“That’s a lie.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but a yawn betrayed me immediately.
One side of his mouth pulled upward. “Thought so.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “I can take him back,” I offered.
Finn adjusted Noah higher against his chest before I could reach for him. “I said sleep.” The words came out rough, but not unkind.
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed at me not to close my eyes. Not to let my guard down. Not to trust anyone enough for me to sleep while they watched my son.
But Finn hadn’t complained once. Hadn’t looked annoyed or acted like Noah was a burden.
He’d just . . . helped.
Slowly, I climbed back beneath the blankets.
Finn moved towards the chair near the door, Noah still asleep against his chest as he lowered himself carefully into it.
The bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room, catching the tired lines around his eyes and the neat stubble on his jaw. He looked dangerous even sitting there holding a baby, but somehow not dangerous to us.
“You gonna stare at me all night?” Finn asked quietly without looking up.
I blinked. “Sorry.”
“Sleep, Kate.”
I watched him for another few seconds anyway.
Watched Noah curled safely against his chest.
Watched Finn continue a slow rocking motion.
The last thing I remembered before sleep dragged me under was the sight of the big biker sitting guard beside the door with my son asleep in his arms like he belonged there.