Chapter 11 #2
“Boy or girl? Do you know? Sorry, sorry, I get chatty when I’m nervous, and I’m nervous as hell.”
“It’s okay. I don’t know yet and probably won’t since I can’t get an ultrasound.”
“Oh! We have one! I mean, had…I mean, I…shit.” He rubs a finger in the space between his eyes. “I still say we. I dunno when that stops.”
“You have a machine?” Wyatt cuts in.
“We took it from a clinic before she was born. Sara kept thinking something was wrong, and I kept telling her it was fine. That it was the stress. We took it to ease her worries. Turns out she was right all along. There was something wrong.”
“How did she…” Wyatt trails off, asking the same question that Addison’s been wondering.
“Don’t know. She started bleeding right after and didn’t stop. It happened so fast.”
When he sniffles, she realizes they’re doing more harm than they need to, grilling him about his dead wife. His loss is still raw, and they’re rubbing at the wound, looking for answers or reassurance.
Jeff takes a deep breath, picking up the ‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting’ book and shoving it at Wyatt. “Here, you’ll need this one, man. I already have a copy.”
Wyatt takes it with a flustered look before he seems to remember that he claimed her as his wife in the heat of the moment. “Thanks. You got food? We can spare a few things.”
Jeff’s face lights up when Wyatt pulls out a few packaged snacks that he grabbed from the stash and hands them over. “It’s been rough lately. We’re heading to the coast before winter hits. Got family down there or at least, I hope we still do. Are you all aiming somewhere?”
“We don’t have a direction yet,” Wyatt lies. “We’ll have to see where we land. The whole world is wide open now, right? Plenty of options.”
“If by options you mean plenty of places to get eaten for dinner, then sure.”
Wyatt snorts.
“Are you um…staying the night here? For now?”
It’s a soft-spoken half plea that betrays how much Jeff doesn’t want to be alone. He’s not a fighter, that much is clear. He comes up to Wyatt’s shoulders and has a mild-mannered way about him. Not cut out for this world, Addison thinks sadly, knowing exactly what that feels like herself.
He wants safety in numbers. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he hasn’t slept much.
“We are staying.” She smiles. “Just tonight, though. Maybe we can all find a spot to rest in the study area? There are pillows and furniture in there.”
“But I thought we were—”
“It’ll be like camping,” Addison says, cutting off Emma, who has no idea why they’re not going back home, then turning her attention to Wyatt. “What do you think, honey? This is a good spot for now, right?”
He agrees right away, nodding softly while his eyes land on that baby laughing at her own hands. “For tonight.”
They’ll stay awhile and give someone a break because it’s the right thing to do. She could think of far worse places to sleep than in a library.
* * *
It’s getting cold at night. Emma runs hot, always has.
She’s already shucked the blanket Addison gave her before falling asleep on the floor beside her.
Addison, on the other hand, is freezing.
Her toes are numb, and her fingers are getting there fast. Not even stealing Emma’s discarded blanket is enough.
She shudders to think of how she’ll cope when winter truly hits.
She’s the only one with this problem tonight. Even Jeff and the baby seem unbothered, and Wyatt hasn’t made an effort to cover himself at all. Addison wants to grab the blanket behind him, but it feels selfish, so she stays put and tries not to shiver.
Wyatt takes one look at her and shakes his head as he grabs the lone blanket on a chair. “Here. I’m cold just watching you shake.”
“I’m fine,” she lies. Admitting a weakness is the last thing she wants to do when she’s already worried he’s about to leave them.
He levels her with a flat stare, holding the blanket out between them.
She only pouts, which is silly, but at this point, she’s hurt and confused by his recent behavior. Being stubborn is the only option, even if she longs for that extra warmth.
“I’m gonna put this on you.” It’s a warning that he’s about to be in her space, and if she has a problem with that, she needs to make it known.
She stays silent, eyes wide as he scoots closer and wraps the fluffy throw around her shoulders. Large hands give her upper arms a vigorous rub, encouraging her nerves to work again.
He’s matter-of-fact, but she’s touch-starved for affection.
Even this small amount is enough to leave her speechless.
It doesn’t help that they’re closer than they have been since the gun range.
Her mind starts to wander down dangerous paths, wondering if the slope of his neck is soft to the touch.
If he smells good because it’s true or because her hormones are compatible with his pheromones.
If he’d touch her gently in…other ways, or if he’d be as brisk as he is now.
She has no idea what her face is doing, only that something shifts and his matter-of-fact approach fades into a nervous, hard wince.
“Better?” he grunts, dropping his hands.
She’s quick to distract rather than confront the swirl of emotions flooding her. “Much. Thanks, Honey. You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.”
“The bar is on the ground, ain’t it?”
“Fair point. In my defense, I didn’t pick the first one.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was arranged. Every marriage was. No one got the chance to choose. It was only based on the likelihood of creating strong offspring.”
“Sweetheart, that’s the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long damn time. They just threw him at you and said here, take this one?”
Hearing him call her sweetheart in that half-whispered, gravelly tone is orgasmic all by itself, and in such a surprising way that she actually shivers.
“Yes, it was very much like that.” She’s starting to feel a little embarrassed having brought it up. “It was common. Acceptable.”
“Well, him fucking off elsewhere got you outta that arrangement, at least.” He pauses. “I shouldn’t be swearing around the baby, should I? Does it matter this early?”
It probably doesn’t matter at all anymore. A baby growing up to say a curse as their first word is far from the worst thing that could happen these days. Still, something about how concerned Wyatt is about being a bad influence on a random child sleeping a few feet away is endearing.
He frowns at her shivers before she can tell him not to bother censoring his mouth. “Still cold? Here, come on.”
He’s mistaken her reaction and gotten even closer, lifting his arm with a put-upon expression like it’s some sort of burden. She can’t tell if that’s actually how he feels about the whole thing, or if it’s an act.
The proper thing to do would be to refuse. Tell him she’s fine and stand firm. But she is weak, especially when she still isn’t sure if he’ll be around past tomorrow or next week. So she lets him think she’s only chilly and slots against his side.
“We have to stock up on blankets before winter really settles in down here,” he says absently.
The fact that he’s talking about the future in any capacity is a good sign, so she runs with it. “Start chopping firewood, too.”
“The fireplace doesn’t work. I double checked. The flue is broken, we’d burn the whole place down.”
Well, that’s not good. Now she actually is worried about winter.
“The dairy farm has two of them, from the looks of it,” he continues. “Something to think about.”
“You want to move to the—”
She’s cut off by Samantha fussing across from them. Her father’s snoring has woken her, and she wiggles on the ground, trying to free herself from the swaddle.
Picking up someone else’s child is a surefire way to make an enemy these days, but Jeff is out cold from sleep deprivation.
Wyatt scoops up the bundle and sighs, long-suffering and irritated, but damn if he isn’t a complete natural. He cradles the baby against his bicep like he’s done it all his life until her gibberish begins to quiet.
Gentleness looks far better on him than he knows.
Good thing she’s already pregnant, or the picture before her would have her begging to get knocked up. All his rough edges smooth out into a soft half-smile that he’s trying to keep off his face.
Would he hold her baby like this? Tender and sweet, rocking her until she falls asleep. Then she scolds herself for going there at all. She knows better. He can hardly tolerate her these days. She shouldn’t be wishing he’d play instant father when asking too much is how they got in this mess.
His attention flickers to her for a moment, confusion flashing in his eyes. “You’re making a face.”
“Am I?”
“Mhmm. I know I’m not good at this. Here you should take her.”
“Actually.” She refuses to take the offered baby. “This is my ‘you’re very talented at baby whispering’ face.”
“If you change your mind, she’s all yours. She’s heavy anyway,” he lies.
Addison leans her head against the chair seat, reaching out to rub Samantha’s chubby hand between her fingers. “Oh, sure, this one weighs a ton. I can tell. You’re really struggling.”
“Endless hardship.”
She laughs, hard to keep it in when his delivery is so dry and accompanied by that hint of a curve at the corner of his lips.
A scar on his thumb etched against dirty skin has her curious enough to ask, hoping she isn’t opening up something he wants to forget. “What is this from?”
“A saw in shop class my senior year. Lucky I didn’t lose the whole thumb.”
He offers her his hand to inspect, turning his palm over to reveal a myriad of other stories. She’s already tracing them with her fingertips before she can stop herself. She shouldn’t be so forward, but he hasn’t pulled away. If he’s leaving them soon, then she may as well indulge a little.
“How about you? Where’d this come from?” He rubs across a mark on her wrist, and there’s that shiver up her spine again, the one she blamed on the cold before.