Chapter 2
KYLE
As always, I was up before six. My body had its own schedule, and it didn't much care what time I'd gone to bed.
Unfortunately for me, that was only five hours ago.
But I could already smell the coffee brewing in my automated pot, so I dragged my ass to the shower and quickly washed up to fully wake up.
By the time I got into the kitchen, the coffee was ready. Thank gods. Today I really needed it. I poured a cup and then moved to the table where my chest pump was always set up.
The new pumps were great, and unlike when I first started using them, they didn’t take forever. Back in my early twenties it took forty-five minutes just for the pumping, and now, in my late thirties, I could be out the door within an hour of waking up.
Only today, I didn’t need to rush out. With two months off for summer break, I didn’t have anywhere to be.
While the pump did its thing, I picked up my phone and started checking my inbox.
The Milkman app had been busy with a few messages from existing clients to confirm their weekly orders.
The Lactin Brotherhood office was also asking if I'd be at the drop-in session on Thursday. I didn’t love live sessions with strangers, so I responded that I couldn’t make it but I'd send product.
There were always first-timers who wanted to take a few pints home with them after.
It was a cottage industry that most people didn’t realize existed, but selling milk through the Milkman app was extremely lucrative.
I'd been on the platform for years and had built up a steady client list of both seasonal and long-term customers.
Sometimes families with infants needed my help for a few months at a time, but most of my milk went to adults using it for health or kink purposes.
As the director of Family and Consumer Sciences at the local high school, summers were a blessing and a curse.
I thrived on helping others and teaching life skills to the students, so teaching was the perfect career for me.
But I was officially vested in my retirement now, and part of me had been thinking of trying something different for my second act.
Maybe becoming a docent at the museum or trying my hand at selling some of my dry-wear designs would be interesting.
With more men lactating than ever, the need for clothing that protected against leakage and chaffing was only getting stronger.
I wore a lot of Xander’s Dry Wear, and it was great quality.
Xander was OG in the brotherhood and a pioneer in designing clothes specifically for men like me.
But having spent most of my life behind a sewing machine, I’d always imagined having a clothing line of my own.
And now that I had some time on my hands, it was something I might play around with.
When I finished pumping, I labeled each bag and packed them into my cooler in delivery order. I was about to close out the app when a message came through from a potential new client.
The new father named Joel had sent an unusually long first message, which usually meant something was wrong.
According to his request, his wife was on post-partum medication that could transfer through milk to their newborn.
They'd been using formula, but the baby wasn't tolerating it well, and their pediatrician had suggested trying donor milk. He’d found me through the Lactin Brotherhood referral page and was desperate.
He offered to pay any amount for enough milk to feed his daughter.
Well, damn. I couldn’t exactly ignore a plea like that.
I quickly responded that I could provide a gallon a week if he didn’t mind some frozen mixed with fresh and promised to have his first delivery done before noon.
I kept several gallons of frozen milk in my freezer for unexpected requests like this.
It took some rearranging to Tetris everything into the rolling cooler, but I got it all in and was on my way a few minutes later.
Most of my clients were as routine based as I was, so I made all my usual deliveries first before heading to Joel’s house on the other side of town.
He answered the door before I finished knocking because he’d been bird-dogging the driveway, waiting for me. “You must be Kyle.”
“That’s me.” I opened the cooler and pulled out the individually portioned bags of fresh and frozen milk. “Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.”
“No, don’t apologize.” He watched me with a weary stance. “I’m just glad you were able to bring me anything at all.” As if on cue, a baby started crying in the background. “Shit, I’ll be right back.”
“No worries.” I stayed on the porch for a minute until he returned with a tiny bundle in his arms.
He looked at all the bags and up at me. “Um…”
“I can put these away for you.” I smiled. “I can even prepare a bottle for you if you show me where everything is.”
The look of relief on his face made me wish I’d come first. “I’d really appreciate that, man.” He held the door open so I could enter, and I followed him to the kitchen. There was a burp cloth over his left shoulder and a tension in his movements that conveyed sheer exhaustion. Poor guy.
I washed my hands and then put the frozen bags in the freezer in order of when they should be used and did the same with the fresh milk in the fridge. “How much does she take?”
He grabbed a bottle from the sanitizer and handed it to me. “Five ounces would be great.”
“Warmed?” I emptied one of the bags into the bottle and turned to Joel.
“Yeah, four minutes in the warmer. Thanks.” The baby started to fuss, so he patted her back. “I hope she likes it.”
“Haven’t had a dissatisfied customer yet.” I set up the warmer and then washed my hands again. “Call me if you have any problems or need more. I’ve got plenty frozen and make more every day.”
He chuckled and his shoulders finally dropped. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. We were starting to panic.”
“Happy to help.” I saw myself out and headed to my last stop.
I had two packages to ship for my side business selling handmade spice blends.
My customer base was mostly former students and their families who'd started ordering them as gifts and kept coming back. It didn’t bring in a lot of money, but I enjoyed making them, and it gave me something to do with my hands on slow afternoons.
The post office wasn’t busy, so I paid for my packages and picked up a book of stamps while I was there.
The deli I liked was down the street, so I walked down to pick up a sandwich.
On the way back, I passed the empty building that was supposed to be a coffee shop.
A handwritten sign was stuck to the window that said The Daily Grind, and right below it were the words Not Open Yet.
But that sign had been up for ages, and I was starting to lose hope that a decent coffee shop was coming to downtown.
But this time, the front door was propped open. That was promising.
Curious to see if they had an open date in mind, I stuck my head in the doorway and stopped short. A man was crumpled in the middle of the floor with his face in his hands. His shoulders moved violently, and when I tuned out everything else, I could hear sobbing.
Fuck, he looked so…broken.
I stood there for a minute and weighed my options.
The Daddy in me told me to walk in there, find out what he needed, and get it for him. Solve the problem.
Except, he was a stranger in the middle of a private moment. Whatever had put him on the floor was none of my business. He hadn't asked for any help and would probably be more upset that I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong than grateful for the attention.
Dammit.
The curse of being a life-long caretaker meant it was really hard for me to walk away when I saw someone in pain.
I genuinely cared about people and wanted to end all suffering as soon as it began.
But over the years, I’d learned that caring wasn't always the same as helping…
and showing up where I hadn't been invited wasn't always welcome.
I couldn’t Daddy every broken man I walked past.
It wasn’t easy, but I backed up and went on my way. Whatever was going on in that coffee shop was not my concern.
But what I was definitely concerned about was the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about that poor guy for the rest of the day.