Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
CAMERON
I'm a father again. The realization hits me like a tidal wave—exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
My fingers tremble as I think of holding another tiny hand in mine.
Brinley. Even her name feels different on my tongue than Stephanie's did.
It should. They're different souls, different hearts.
Steph will always occupy that sacred corner of my memory, just as Alecia does.
But now there's this new space opening up, unexpected and precious.
I run my hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.
Tally lied to me, yes. But that's pure Tally—all sharp edges and steel walls.
She'd rather cut herself than be caged. To her, having me thrust permanently into her life must feel like wearing handcuffs.
Tally chooses her people carefully, deliberately.
Being stuck with me because we had a kid together?
That's her worst nightmare. If circumstances were different, and she wasn’t forced into it, maybe she'd have chosen me.
But now? With a baby between us? I'm just another thing she didn't ask for.
Tally clears the table without a word. I watch her movements, the slight tremor in her hands, the dark circles beneath her eyes that even her careful makeup can't hide.
I have a proposition that might save her.
She's drowning—anyone can see it. The prescription I wrote should help with the postpartum symptoms, but medication alone won't fix the impossible schedule she's keeping.
Ten hours standing at her tattoo station, then home to Brinley's cries while her mother plays piano in smoky clubs until dawn.
No wonder she's running on fumes. But her business would collapse without her there every day, so she needs to keep a marathon schedule there at the studio. Her mother told me that Tally’s business secured a loan that was used as a down payment for this house, so if she takes a break from her business, she might lose her business and her house of cards would cave in.
Tally's situation is impossible. The tattoo studio demands long hours if she wants to keep the lights on, and her mother only helps with the baby until 7 PM before heading off to her piano gigs.
The second Tally walks through her front door, she's on full-time mom duty without a break.
Between running a business and raising a newborn single-handedly through the night, when is she supposed to sleep?
I could step in. With my six-month sabbatical, I could take Brinley, give Tally room to breathe.
But there's the logistics. Fifteen miles between Brentwood and Echo Park might as well be fifty in L.A.
traffic. Shuttling back and forth daily would exhaust us both.
And Tally needs the overnight relief most—those 3 a.m. feedings that leave her hollow-eyed and stumbling through her days.
I want her to bond with her daughter, not resent her. There has to be a better solution.
I reach for her hand. "Tally, let me help you."
She nods, her mascara tracking down her cheeks. This from a woman who once tattooed through a bar fight without flinching.
"I can't do this anymore, Cam," she whispers.
"Take her. Please. I feel nothing when I look at her, and I'm drowning here.
My clients are repeating themselves because I can't focus.
Yesterday I nearly passed out with the needle still buzzing.
My whole business—everything I built—it's slipping away. "
I squeeze her fingers. "I'll take her home with me if that's what you really want. But this medication will help, Tally. And when it does, you might see her differently. You might want to be her mom."
She nods, her hands trembling visibly. "What exactly are you offering here?"
I take a deep breath. She's going to run for the hills when she hears this, but here goes.
"Let me move in temporarily—just six months.
I've got time. Left the ER before Sicily, and my sports medicine fellowship doesn't start until next year.
" I lean forward. "You need sleep, Tally.
I can handle Brinley's midnight screams, diaper blowouts, all of it.
I can tell from a cry whether she's hungry or needs changing or just wants to be held.
You pump, I'll handle night feedings." I meet her eyes directly.
"And I'll be there for you too. Cooking, cleaning, whatever you need while you're working at the shop. No strings attached."
All I want is to support her and the baby, to make sure they have everything they need. Knowing Tally, she'll probably flip me off and insist she doesn't need anyone's help. Then what? I'd hate to involve lawyers, but I won't be shut out of my child's life. Not an option.
She inhales slowly, her shoulders rising, then falling as she exhales.
"I need some time to process this," she says finally.
I nod, relief washing over me. She didn't slam the door in my face.
It's something.
Not sure what, but it’s something.