Chapter Ten #2
I’m deep into a ramble about how I once stepped on one of my sister’s Barbie shoes barefoot and swore like a sailor in front of Clementine when I hear a soft laugh echo in the small space.
I turn toward the door and find Georgia leaning against it, arms crossed, a grin lighting up her face.
She’s smiling— really smiling —and it hits me square in the chest.
“You been standing there long?” I ask, bouncing Aurora a little more as she babbles into my chest and yanks on my beard.
My eyes stray to that little part in Georgia’s skirt that splits when she steps closer, showing off an inch of her thigh. That inch shouldn’t be so damn interesting, but for a second, it captures every ounce of my attention.
“Long enough,” she says, voice warm. “I caught the full length of the Barbie story and the tail end of something about stealing a pickup when you were fifteen.” She arches a brow. “It was riveting.”
“Yeah, well.” I shift awkwardly, my face on fire. “Thought I’d ease her into disappointment early.”
Her eyes drop to the baby, and I swear I catch the faintest flicker of sadness cross her face. It’s gone so fast, I might’ve imagined it.
“She looks better today,” Georgia murmurs, surprising me. “Yesterday, her bruise was a bit darker. I’m glad it’s fading.”
“You were here yesterday?” I ask, throat dry, stomach twisting.
She nods, giving me a soft smile and a shrug like it’s not a big deal. “Didn’t want her to be alone.”
Something in her tone catches me off guard.
It’s not just admiration—it’s longing. Like there’s a whole story hiding behind the curve of those two words. But she doesn’t offer more, and I don’t ask. Not sure I’m mentally equipped to handle much more today.
“She’s beautiful,” Georgia murmurs, finger ghosting across Aurora’s cheek.
My eyes don’t leave her freckled profile as I choke out, “ Yeah .”
We stand there a beat longer, the quiet stretching between us in a way that doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It’s nice, almost peaceful.
Until Aurora shifts in my arms and lets out a sound that’s anything but.
Loud. Wet. Impossible to misinterpret.
I gape. Full stop. Staring down at her like she just detonated a grenade.
Aurora giggles—an adorable sound completely at odds with the unholy noises that just left her small body at an insane octave—and claps her chubby hands.
Georgia snorts, inhales sharply, then bends at the waist with a laugh so pure and wild, I swear it shakes my bones. She clutches her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes as she gasps for air.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes. “The face you made—”
“She exploded on me!” I hiss, looking down in horror at Aurora, who’s now smiling like she might actually like me. “What the hell was that?”
“She’s a baby!” Georgia gasps, still cackling. “And she just introduced herself to you.”
“I think she introduced me to her entire digestive system.”
Georgia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, her grin softening as she straightens. “Well, Dad, it’s time you learn how to change a diaper.”
The word hits me like a punch to the gut.
Dad .
It echoes in my chest. My arms instinctively tighten around Aurora.
I glance down at her—chubby cheeks, cooing mouth, eyes sparkling like she knows something I don’t. She wiggles happily, kicking one foot against my side, hard enough to break a rib, and fists my beard like it’s her new favorite toy.
For some reason, it makes me proud.
Dad.
No, it doesn’t feel right yet. Not after everything. Not with how this came to be. But somehow… it doesn’t feel wrong either. Not when she looks at me like this. Not when she settles so easily into my arms.
And fuck, I can see it. Not just surviving this, but being good at it.
Happy, even.
I clear my throat. “I don’t need help,” I murmur, voice thick with emotion. “I know how to change diapers. I’ve got a lot of family younger than me. Not my first rodeo.”
Georgia tilts her head, amused. “You sure? She’s… potent .”
“I’m not afraid of a little shi—” I pause, my eyes going wide. “Crap. I meant crap.”
“Nice save.” She snorts and points between Aurora and me. “You know, she doesn't understand the curse words yet. You’re probably okay to speak freely until she starts talking.”
“She could start talking any day,” I murmur, frowning. “Actually, she could be talking already. Might just not be comfortable enough to do it around me yet.”
“Did you learn that from your sister, too?” Georgia asks, questions in her pretty green gaze.
I nod solemnly. “Gonna need to work on my replacements. Gemma’s kids repeat everything. I said ‘hell’ once and got slapped upside the head by a four-year-old.”
She laughs again, quieter this time. “She really is beautiful. And you’re good with her.”
Her voice dips, like it carries more weight than it should. There’s something in her eyes too—something deep and quiet and maybe a little broken.
But before I can say anything, before I can figure out what I’m supposed to do with that look, Aurora makes a face.
A very clear, very pissed face.
Then she opens her tiny mouth and wails.
I jolt like I’ve been shot. “Shit—uh, fuck— No ! Crap—what did I do?!”
Georgia steps forward just as the door swings open again and the nurse bustles in, smiling.
“She’s mad because she’s stewing in her own shit!” I shout over the crying, voice panicked. “I don’t know where the diapers are!”
“Kade!” Georgia chastises, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to admonish me. “Don’t cuss in front of the baby!”
“She’s literally marinating in it!” I hiss back. “I think it’s the perfect time to cuss! And you said she doesn't even know what I’m saying!”
“Sorry to interrupt, but that little one needs a change,” the nurse says, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. “And if you don’t mind an old woman’s opinion, you two are such a cute couple.”
Georgia and I snap in unison. “ We’re not a couple .”
I swear her voice goes up a full octave while mine drops to a growl.
She coughs, actually chokes, and presses a hand to her chest, backing away like the thought alone makes her sick.
“I’m sorry,” she rushes out. “I’m one of the social workers assigned to Aurora’s case.”
The nurse raises both brows but chuckles and waves her off. “Well, it’s good to meet you, then.” She reaches for Aurora, gently lifting her from my arms. “I assume we’ll be seeing you around a bit more while we’ve got this sweet girl here?”
I pale.
“Wait—sorry, does—do I have to go?” The words fall out before I can stop them.
The nurse’s smile dips into something sad. “Unfortunately, it’s not just the poo that’s got your girl all riled up. She’s due for pain meds. She’ll be fussy till they kick in, but after that, she’ll sleep for a good while. Probably out until morning.”
I nod, throat thick, eyes fixed on Aurora’s little face as the nurse soothes her. Her cheeks are still damp, her mouth puckering like she’s about to cry again.
“When can I—” I start, but she cuts in before I can finish.
“Visiting hours start at eight tomorrow morning, end at five. But since you’re the guardian—”
“Intended guardian,” Georgia says crisply.
I shoot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. She doesn’t flinch, just lifts one of those sleek brows and shrugs.
“I have to say it, Mr. Archer,” she murmurs, full of bureaucratic bite. “Until things are legal, they need to know the situation.”
“But she needs visitors,” the nurse says smoothly, saving me from snapping back. “All the love and cuddles she can get.”
Stepping forward one last time, I brush my finger along Aurora’s red, tear-streaked cheek. My heart’s damn near lodged in my throat.
Why does this hurt?
I just met her.
I shouldn’t feel anything yet. I shouldn’t care.
But the idea of leaving makes the room spin.
“Feel better,” I whisper, my voice too thick to clear. I meet her big, watery eyes and force a smile. “You sleep good, okay?”
She blinks once. Twice. A soft coo hums from her lips as she grabs for my beard like she’s saying goodbye, and my ribs cave in on themselves.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
I don’t even know where I get off making promises like that. But there it is.
The nurse untangles Aurora's fingers from my beard, so I step back and finally tear my gaze away before I do something stupid like steal a baby that’s not mine.
When I look at Georgia, her expression’s unreadable. She jerks her chin toward the door. We don’t speak. Not until we’re out in the parking lot where the sun’s sinking low and painting the sky a lazy orange. The air’s cooler now, wind curling around the edge of my collar.
I follow her blindly, my mind’s still a thousand miles away, stuck in that hospital room. Thank God Georgia doesn’t walk me into oncoming traffic, because I wouldn’t have stopped her.
When she stops, I drag a hand through my hair. “What now?”
She flips through her file and I catch sight of the paperwork I filled out at the courthouse the other day.
“I have your number and email address. I’ll send you the requirements the judge specified so you have a checklist to work through.
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be your point of contact, but you’re welcome to reach out if you need anything.
” The folder snaps shut. “You have less than a month, so please don’t waste it. ”
“Christ,” I mutter, irritation burning through me. “Despite the state I was in when you met me, I’m not completely fucking useless.”
This whole thing’s been one gut punch after another with no time to breathe. I feel raw. Exposed. Like my life’s been ripped open and set under a microscope, and she’s been the one reminding me it’s not good enough.
“I never said you were,” she whispers, throat bobbing.
My stomach twists as I glare down at her, holding onto the anger instead of the clawing ache in my gut to break down. “You didn’t have to say it. You’ve made it damn clear from the beginning.”
“I can tell you hate me, Mr. Archer,” she says quietly, surprising me.
“It’s not uncommon. People in my position usually become enemy number one.
Your whole life’s changing at a hundred miles an hour, and I’m right in the middle of it.
But I’m not trying to ruin anything. Believe it or not, I want a happy home for that little girl just as much as you do. Maybe more.”
I catch her gaze just as a sad smile slips from her face.
“I know the numbers,” she whispers, stepping back. “I know what happens to kids who fall through the cracks.”
A shadow flickers across her expression, gone in a blink, but it slices straight through me.
“I don’t want that for her,” she says. “Because most of them don’t come back from it.”
She turns before I can say a word, but the echo of her voice and the sadness in her eyes stick with me.
And for some damn reason, I hate that she looked so heartbroken.