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Fuck, I don’t. My fucking head is ringing. I sigh, going to Otto and resting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, not looking at him. “Make her happy,” I whisper so the others can’t hear.
“Don’t insult me.”
I look out the corner of my eye, smiling. And the overgrown, pierced, mean motherfucker smiles right back. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” he says quietly.
I climb the stairs on heavy feet and drag my tired bones down the corridor, my despondency increasing the closer I get to our room. And the louder Maggie’s cries get.
When I reach the door, I take the handle, resting my forehead on the wood, taking a moment. Breathe. It’s just one more night. It’ll get better. I open the door and find Rose standing at the end of the bed.
Floods of tears streaming down her cheeks.
Maggie’s in the middle of the sheets screaming the fucking house down—a high-pitched, distressed cry.
Rose sees me, her red, blotchy face a picture of equal distress. “She won’t stop,” she sobs, beaten. “She just won’t stop crying.” She points at our baby accusingly, like . . . look at her. “What’s wrong with her?” she cries, hands covering her face. “I’ve fed her, changed her, burped her. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
Even when I fucking hate my wife, I can’t bear to see her cry.
I push the door closed and go to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing my hands, brushing my teeth and unbuttoning my shirt halfway down before pulling it over my head and tossing it aside, the screaming continuing, making me work faster, more urgently, my mind spinning, my head ringing. I pull my phone out of my pocket as I pace back into the bedroom, opening the Sonos App, frantically stabbing at a track, any track, just give me music.
Love & Hate by Michael Kiwanuka fills the room, not too loud, but loud enough, and I scoop Maggie up off the bed, looking down at her little red face, her tongue quivering as she screams, gasping for breath. “Shhhh.” I hush her, rocking her gently, going to Rose and hooking my spare arm around her neck, pulling her into me, kissing her temple over and over as Maggie squawks and Rose jerks over her sobs. I clench my eyes closed, looking up at the ceiling in so much fucking pain. Not from my injuries, but because my girls are distraught. Both of them.
I swallow, feeling Rose’s hot tears on my chest, and breathe deeply, starting to rock us all, moving slowly in circles, hushing, whispering soft words of comfort. Holding them. Maggie persists. Rose continues to sob and shake against me.
But I don’t give up. Never will. Not until I’ve made everything okay.
“I love you,” I whisper in Rose’s ear, pressing my sore face into hers. She nods, snivels, shifting her arms to cling on to me, as she follows my moves, turning in constant, endless circles. “We’ve got this, baby.” She clings tighter, calming, but Maggie still cries, although not as violently, the ear-splitting sound slowly melding into a more tired cry, as the track plays on and we continue to turn on the spot in the middle of the bedroom. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’re okay.” I kiss Rose’s temple again, tasting the saltiness of her tears in her hair, feeling the aftermath of her sobs. Her breathing is becoming steadier. Her body settling.
I peek down at Maggie. She’s stopped crying, inhaling shakily every now and then. Looking up at me. My fucking heart cracks, watching her little lip wobbling. “Daddy’s here,” I whisper, raising her to kiss her forehead. “Always here.” Closing my eyes, I keep them in my arms, peace finally finding us and chasing away the chaos. I tighten my hold on Rose, feeling her stroking across my bare back with her warm palm, her feet tucked between mine, her body guided by my slow moves.
And I don’t stop holding them, moving them, keeping them close, safe, until the track’s finished and we turn to absolute silence, scared to stop. Scared they’ll get upset again.
I eventually breathe in and peek down. Maggie’s asleep. Calm. I release Rose, keeping our baby close to my chest, and take her to her crib, lowering her gently on a held breath, carefully releasing her and tucking her in.
I only breathe once I’m standing and she’s not stirred. Oh God. And now look at her. Peaceful. Oblivious to the bedlam around her.
I turn to Rose. She’s holding her breath too. It’s been the worst day. I help her undress, strip out of my trousers, and put her in bed, turning her back to me and crawling in behind her, my body curving perfectly around hers. I kiss her back. Lace my fingers through hers where her hand rests on her tummy. “You’re mine, Rose Lillian Black,” I whisper, pulling from our past to remind her of who we are. “You’re fearless, I’m fearless.” I kiss the back of her head. “Don’t cry, baby, it doesn’t suit you.” I hug her closer, feeling the last of her sobs leaving her body on air. “The only thing we’re scared of is each other.” I smile, but it’s sad, because that’s not true anymore. Both of us are terrified of the little thing in that crib and her big brother down the hall. The love you feel for your children is crippling. It’s a different kind of love.
And Rose and I are both in agony over them.
34
BRAD
* * *
How the fuck I stopped myself from putting my dick inside her I don’t know. I’ve snoozed occasionally throughout the night. Half hour here, half hour there. Then my mind would wake me up and shit would happen that I couldn’t stop. I can’t get enough of her. I woke her up endless times with my head between her legs, or my fingers inside her, or by moving her hand to my begging cock. I’m a glutton for her, and despite having her over and over throughout the night, I’m not sated. Not satisfied. Because I couldn’t be inside her. “Oh Jesus,” I whisper, feeling my cock waking up too. I’m just going to have to accept that when she’s naked and close, I’m going to be in pain.
I look down at the mess of red hair splayed across my chest, my arm holding her close to my side. Covered in scratches. I hum, finding one of her hands and lifting it to see her nails. Short, straight nails. Not short enough to be harmless, obviously. I should leave her to sleep. My face screws up in pain as my dick starts to throb.
What’s the time, anyway? I reach for my cell on the nightstand. Six. I groan, dropping my head back. She didn’t go back to her room. If I got two hours during the night, I’d be surprised. If I wasn’t indulging in her, I was thinking about what she might not be telling me.
But back to the matter at hand.
My overused, greedy cock.
Let her sleep. Get a few more winks yourself.
