Chapter 11
When I slipped back into my bedroom after getting Leena settled, Shannon was finally asleep, tablet still in hand. I placed it on the nightstand, then climbed in bed to resume my failed attempts at sleep.
With my back to Shannon, it should have been easy to pretend I was in bed alone, but I saw her everywhere. In the boxes stacked in front of the bookshelves. In the bathroom door cracked open, revealing a dark purple bag on the counter. The floral scent of her shampoo wafting through the air.
Every inch of me knew that I’d made a mistake in marrying Shannon. Not because I didn’t think we could do this, but because it was far too easy to imagine we could.
But Shannon hadn’t agreed to marry me because she had feelings for me. Hell, I didn’t even have feelings for her other than a bone-deep attraction I couldn’t ignore and an odd feeling that she was the right person for the job.
She’d agreed to this for Leena.
We’d agreed to this for Leena.
I needed to remember it.
The sun was almost up when my body finally gave in to slumber.
Luckily, my daughter wasn’t an early riser.
I got a few hours in before I heard her on the baby monitor again, then snuck out of the room with Shannon still sleeping soundly.
Her dark hair cascaded over the creamy pillows, pink lips pouty as she curled up on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Like this, she looked sweet.
Not the same fearless and selfless woman I’d married yesterday.
The late morning passed quickly as I took my parents to the airport, promising a weekly FaceTime date with them. Mom cried over leaving Leena, which I could understand. They wouldn’t be back until January, and it felt like my daughter changed every single day lately.
The penthouse was quiet when we got back home, the note I’d left letting Shannon know where we’d gone still untouched on the counter.
Leena squirmed in my hold until I set her on the floor.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she was off, heading toward her pile of toys in the living room.
I grabbed the remote and turned on a cartoon, watching as Leena danced around the room to the theme song I’d heard a million times in the last few months.
With her occupied, I headed to the fridge, pulling out ingredients and some meal prep containers. A yawn slipped through my mouth as I grabbed the apron hanging in the pantry and slid it on, getting into a rhythm I was used to.
It was lunchtime when Shannon emerged from the hallway, looking as gorgeous as ever in a pair of black leggings and a cropped AC/DC tee with a slit cut in the neck.
The easy expression she wore in her sleep was gone, that same guarded look in her eyes back in place.
She looked around the living room at Leena contentedly playing alone, then came to my side at the island.
“What are you making?”
“Lunch.” My knife slid through the last of the chicken breast I diced into bite-size pieces. “And some extras so you have food for the rest of the week.”
She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “What? Don’t trust me to feed your kid?”
I shook my head. “You said you don’t cook, so I’m taking care of you both before my schedule gets busier.”
“…Okay.”
“We can hire a chef or a meal service, if you’d rather.” I slid the last of the chicken pieces into a container, then put the lid on top. “But I don’t want to worry about you two while I’m at practice or appointments.”
“Because you think I’d burn the place down?”
I frowned, looking up at her. “I assumed you were exaggerating when you said that. But should I check the fire extinguisher’s expiration date just in case?”
She grinned, then pushed off the counter and took the containers of chicken, rice, and veggies from me. “No need to put 911 on speed dial for me, big guy. I promise I’ve got it. Thank you for this, though.”
I stared far too long at her ass in those leggings. Suddenly I was no longer dreading my first sports psychologist appointment later today because what was wrong with me?
“Leena!” Shannon called, and my daughter turned around to look at her. “Want some lunch?”
The moment Shannon held up the container she hadn’t put away yet, Leena dropped the toys she’d been playing with on the floor and came racing over to the kitchen.
This was exactly what I’d wanted, but seeing Shannon scoop up my daughter and get her settled in the high chair filled me with a sense of inadequacy.
This was my job, but I couldn’t do it alone.
“Plan,” I said, the word so loud and abrupt that Shannon jumped, then turned to look at me over her shoulder. “We need a plan.”
Shannon turned back to Leena. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Good.” I strode down the hall to the door across from the guest room and flipped on the light. A wide variety of exercise equipment filled the room, but I only needed the dry erase board. With one push, I lifted it off the nails holding it to the wall and carried it out to the kitchen.
Shannon and Leena watched as I set it on the island, then grabbed a wet paper towel to erase the workout I’d meticulously detailed on here.
“Your job.” I wrote her name on the top left side, then mine on the right. “When do you start?”
“Monday,” Shannon said, a hint of amusement in her voice that had me looking up. “A whiteboard?”
I focused back on the board, refusing to acknowledge how gorgeous she was like this. Casual, sleepy, a little rumpled. “I like order. To be in control.”
Rather than jab me about my overbearing personality, Shannon said, “Okay. Good to know. So this whole impulsive marriage thing is not your typical weekday?”
I huffed a laugh, then looked up at her smirking back at me. “First time.”
“Same.” She slid off her barstool by Leena, then held her hand out for the dry erase marker. “Pick your poison. To-do list? Calendar? Random list?”
“Events or appointments we need to work around, by day,” I said, then remembered to add, “Please.”
She bit the cap off the marker, then started scribbling under her name.
Monday
Speech Therapy Orientation - 8-2
Tuesday - Friday
Shadowing begins - 3 hours, I pick
Next Week - Forever
Virtual therapy/notes - 4 hours daily
One day in the office, I pick when
She snapped the cap back onto the marker, then handed it to me. “Your turn.”
I read through her list, the sense of dread I’d felt all morning disappearing now that I realized how flexible her schedule was.
I thumbed off the cap, then wrote my schedule for the next two weeks under my name.
Since I was on personal leave, my schedule was lighter than usual, but I still had practice most mornings, followed by sports psych appointments in the afternoons.
Those were virtual, but from the tense messages I’d received from Frankie, I knew they were mandatory.
“No travel yet?” Shannon said when I finished my list.
I put the cap back on, then looked at our combined schedules.
“Not yet. I have to be cleared by both the medical staff and the sports psychologist before they’ll let me return. I tried to negotiate it down to two weeks off instead of four, but that depends on how well this goes.”
Shannon’s brows drew together, and my stomach turned at the idea of having to explain to her how serious this was for my career. But at that moment, Leena put a handful of chicken and rice in her mouth and let out a little mmm.
Our heads whipped toward her.
“Does that taste good?” Shannon said.
Meanwhile, I was freaking out inside, no idea what to do with the fact that my daughter had attempted to make a noise other than incoherent babble or ear-splitting shrieks.
Leena nodded enthusiastically, then stuck her hand in the pile of food and reached for Shannon’s mouth.
“I use a fork.” Shannon grabbed a fork, then stabbed a piece of chicken from the container next to Leena. “Let me try the chicken.”
The moment she bit into it, she let out the same mmm Leena had, then smiled when Leena repeated the sound back.
Leena reached toward Shannon again, and as if she were some sort of baby whisperer, Shannon knew she meant she wanted the fork in her hand. Just like that, she passed it over, and Leena used it to clumsily pick up a piece of chicken.
“Good job,” Shannon said, her eyes on me. “Let’s try another bite.”
I sank down on a barstool as they went on like this, Shannon talking constantly to her like she was an adult, but slow enough that Leena could hear each word. Back and forth they went with their little mmms until one of them almost sounded like more.
To say that I’d lost sleep over Leena’s development was the understatement of the century.
Even before the panic attack in the locker room, I was prone to anxious spirals that led me to over-research and analyze everything.
So, of course, I’d read everything I could get my hands on about fetal alcohol syndrome and the effects of narcotics on development.
Leena didn’t seem to have any physical side effects—she was tall for her age and plenty coordinated—but no matter how many times I heard kids developed at different rates, I couldn’t seem to get over how behind she was verbally.
That little mmm meant nothing to most people, but considering she didn’t even baby-talk much, it was music to my ears.
“All done?” Shannon said, and Leena waved her hands above her shoulders.
I hopped up and unclipped her tray, then lifted her out of the seat. Rice cascaded in all directions as she kicked her feet, ready to move once more.
Shannon carried the rest of the food to the counter, eating what was left in the container that toddler hands hadn’t mauled. “She knows a lot of baby sign language. Did you do that?”
“I’ve been trying, yes.”
One dark brow raised, her mouth still moving as she chewed her food, then set the glass container next to the sink.
“Nothing to say?” I asked, feeling her focus even as she turned toward the living room to join Leena.
“Nah. Can’t have you getting a big head.”
I grinned. “That good?”