Chapter Eight
Hazel
“I hate to do this, but I have to leave.”
It’s only been a couple of minutes since he left to answer his phone, but everything about him has changed. His hair’s still ruffled from my hands combing through it, but the look in his eyes has turned serious. Concern has me sitting up and reaching for my clothes. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s Tristan.” He rubs his forehead. “He’s sick and Wells is concerned.” Grant dresses quickly before cupping my face in his hands. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”
“You absolutely have to go.” There’s no hesitation behind it. If my nephew were sick and my sister called me for help, I’d be out the door in a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry.” He leans down to kiss me. “Could you stay here with Harrison? I can call Cole—”
“Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” I mean every word.
He kisses me again, not a quick peck on the way out the door, but one filled with care and longing. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”
Each time those words leave his lips I’m left stunned. Not only did I somehow manage to snag the hottest man on the planet, but he loves me.
Me.
I watch him leave, waving at him from the doorway before I head back inside. This isn’t how I saw our evening going, but a sick kid is far more important than what we had planned.
Now that we’ve finally taken the steps to introduce me into their daily lives, things come fast. We go from playing at the park to me watching him while his dad is gone in a single day.
Alright, it might not be that big of a deal—according to Grant he should sleep all night— but something inside my chest is gnawing away at me.
It’s not a big deal, I remind myself. It’s for a couple of hours tops. Harrison’s asleep. He won’t even know I’m here.
This is the first time I’ve been to his house since we started dating so I’ll take what time I have to do some snooping.
We meet at my apartment when we can because it’s easier when Grant has to drop Harrison off anyway.
The house is a charming two-bedroom with a large open living room leading into a galley-style kitchen.
It’s nice and lived-in, lacking a feminine touch, but comfortable.
Trying to get my mind off the weight of invisible responsibility, I walk around the living room looking at pictures. It’s clear that Grant loves his friends and family, their pictures line the built-in shelves around the fireplace. One in particular stands out.
A young Grant, maybe around Harrison’s age, holds a fish, looking up at a distinguished older man in green fishing waders. I’m guessing it’s from an infamous camping trip. I wonder if this is the same trip that he had to get stitches from when a hook snagged in the back of his neck.
I’ll have to ask him about it later.
There’s a whole corner of the living room dedicated to Harrison’s toys. Cars, trains, and robots litter the floor with nearly empty toy baskets dumped on their sides.
After all the things Grant does, the least I can do is clean a little.
I know he’s tired when he gets home from work and coaching, and staying up late to talk with me doesn’t help.
Sometimes all we can manage is a quick phone call with interruptions of him telling Harrison to clean up and get ready for bed.
I guess tonight was one of those nights Grant didn’t feel like messing with it.
It takes roughly two minutes to put the toys back in their bins and set them against the wall. I know it’s a small thing, but I don’t want him coming home after helping Tristan and hurting himself by stepping on something.
After looking around a bit more, I make myself comfortable on the couch.
A large yawn cracks my jaw and tiredness creeps in.
Before he left Grant told me to make myself at home and I was welcome to sleep in his bed, but it feels weird without him here.
So instead of closing my eyes, I pull out my phone killing time until Grant comes home.
The worn brown leather has warmed against my skin and I snuggle deeper into the fluffy Cars blanket. It’s been a while since Grant left and my eyes grow heavier with each minute.
Determined to stay awake until Grant gets home, I push myself out of the warm cocoon I created on the couch and head for the shelves to browse through his books. Volumes line the shelves and I run my fingers along their spines as I read their titles.
Only to grimace.
All non-fiction medical books. Go figure. Those would put me to sleep faster than a Benadryl.
My heel digs into the carpet as I turn to head back to the couch when I hear it. Faint cries slip from behind Harrison’s door and I freeze. Grant said he’d be asleep for the night.
He can’t be awake, can he?
Shit.
It’s one thing to babysit my nephew, but to be at my boyfriend's house with his son who barely knows me? Yeah, I’m scared of how he’ll react, but I can’t let a five-year-old cry all alone.
Light-footed, I shuffle down the carpeted hallway and come to a stop outside what I assume to be Harrison’s room. Sure enough, hiccuping sobs come from within and I suck in a steadying breath before twisting the knob and glancing in.
“Da-ddy?”
The sobs are gut-wrenching and I wish his dad was here to comfort him, but he’s stuck with me, poor guy.
“It’s Hazel, Mason’s aunt. Do you remember me?” There’s not a lot of light in here, but a night light glows on the wall next to his bed, so I inch closer not wanting to frighten him.
“Where’s m-my Daddy?” Harrison sits up in bed, little hands wiping the stream of tears from his face. He doesn’t seem scared of me, so I carefully perch on the foot of his bed.
I make sure to keep my voice low and calm. The last thing I need is to freak us both out more than we already are. “He had to go take care of Tristan. He should be back soon. What happened?”
At my question, fresh tears begin to fall. I might not be the most motherly person, but I can tell when a kid needs a hug, so I hold open my arms letting him decide whether or not he wants one.
Without hesitation, Harrison crawls into my embrace, burying his head in the crook of my neck, his little arms squeezing tight around me. His little body shakes, his chest heaving as he sucks in gasping breaths.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, rubbing my hand in soothing circles on his back. “You’re okay.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself.
Something close to panic settles in my chest. These are the situations Candice talks about that I don’t know what to do. I’m not trained, hardwired, prepared, whatever, for this.
All that goes through my head as I continue to do my best to comfort him, is that someone else should be doing this. I’m not qualified. Anyone else is better suited to comfort a crying child than me.
As we sit in the dim light of his bedroom, Harrison’s heaving sobs turn into soft hiccups. Little fingers play with a strand of my hair as he calms down. I feel so out of place like I’m doing everything wrong. “You ready to lay back down?”
“No.” His arms tighten around me.
Okay then.
“Um, do you want to go wait for your dad in the living room? I saw a very comfy blanket we could cuddle under.” I chuckle at his enthusiastic nod.
Harrison’s heavier than he looks. For someone so small, it feels like I’m carrying a bag of cement rather than a child.
He’s clinging to me like a koala, his legs wrapping around my waist the moment I stand.
When I try to set him on the couch, he refuses to disentangle his limbs from around me, instead clinging tighter to me.
What do I do now?
I stare awkwardly at the couch debating the best move. He doesn’t want down, but I can’t stand here all night. Not unless I want my arms to fall off.
Bending my knees to avoid being choked, I grab the blanket, balancing Harrison with one arm to toss pillows where I want them, and head for the corner of the sectional. This way I can have my head and neck supported and use the pillows as armrests.
Plus, the corner is the best seat of a sectional and I’ll die on that hill.
Harrison doesn’t make a peep as I adjust the blanket over us, but I know he’s awake from the slight pulling sensation coming from the hair he’s twirling in his fingers.
A deep sense of calm settles through me the longer we sit in the quiet and I let out an involuntary sigh. When Harrison does the same I can’t help but let out a small smile.
Time slips by slowly, my mind wandering as Harrison’s breathing evens. Sitting here with Grant’s son sleeping in my arms, I’m forced to think about things I’ve been pushing to the sidelines.
Like the fact that I’m dating a single dad and I’m not even sure I want kids.
Maybe it’s not that I don’t want them, per se, but more like I’m not sure how I’d handle it all.
Having a whole little person relying on you to take care of them, feed them, and keep them safe…
It’s a lot. I look at my sister and wonder how she balances it all.
How she doesn’t crush under the weight of the responsibility of motherhood.
I can’t imagine myself in her shoes.
There’s no way I can keep up.
I’m not sure I have what it takes to be a mother. I’m not Candice. I can’t patch up a boo-boo with a kiss. I can’t even comfort a crying child properly. All I’ve done is hold Harrison and tell him his dad would be home soon. Nothing about this says mother material.
All my internal ramblings and turmoil take up so much of my brain power that I don’t even register Grant's back.
Keys clack against the countertop startling me and I squeeze Harrison tighter.
“Sorry,” Grant whispers, “I thought you’d be asleep.
” His blue eyes are puffy, his face gaunt from lack of sleep.
It’s late and we’re both exhausted. With heavy steps he walks towards the couch leaning down and kissing me softly before whispering, “He woke up?”