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“What?” I ask, looking up at him properly. His eyes aren’t on me but on the haakaa, and honestly, I have no shame about doing this in front of him. We’re in my home, in my bedroom, and I did sort of just grind all over him a few minutes ago.
“What are you going to do with that extra milk that you’re getting?” He frowns. “Can she even drink it yet?”
“Not from an open cup, but if I put it into a bottle, she could.”
“Oh.” He genuinely seems so confused and out of place. It’s very sweet.
I explain how my supply is still in firm overproducing mode and how it hurts when I get engorged. The fascination from him, and attentiveness, has me talking a lot more than I thought I would and opening up about things I ordinarily wouldn’t share.
“So you were in pain because of your milk?” he asks once I’m done speaking. I frown. “When we stopped, earlier.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hungry little girl instead of acknowledging his question.
“That look shows it was not. Why the pain, Maia?” His tone doesn’t allow for refusal, even without him commanding me with his wolfy powers.
“I have stitches, Alex,” I mutter, lowering my head so that my hair will fall down to cover my face from him. “On my vagina. They hurt.”
“So when we were...” He trails off, and I still refuse to look at him. I hear his footsteps just before he crouches down in front of Phoebe and I. “You were in pain.” I nod as the pressure builds back in my chest. I count Phoebe’s milk spots and pretend the giant man in front of us isn’t actually there.
“Oh, Maia,” he whispers, squeezing my knee in an affectionate way. “I didn’t realise, little mate.”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s fine. Things are just a bit sore, and honestly, we needed to stop anyway. We got very carried away. I’m... I’m a widow, for fuck’s sake.”
Mortification fills me as I think about Ryan, about the way I’ve tarnished his memory. How I’ve betrayed him by kissing another man this soon. He’s been dead for eight months, and yet... I’m already moving on.
What kind of person am I?
I went through his things. I’ve spent my morning looking through the box of Ryan’s stuff, of the memories we shared, of the life we had together... and I didn’t even move far away from it before kissing another man.
“Do not feel guilty,” he hisses, but I shake my head as a tear drips down my cheek. Alex’s thumb darts out and wipes it away. “Ryan is gone. It’s devastating that he was taken so young, but you are allowed to live your life and move on. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t mean no longer loving. Moving past your grief just gives you the chance to experience your next stage of life without drowning in despair. Like a butterfly.” He clicks his fingers, startling Phoebe as a smile fills his face. “My beautiful little butterfly mate. Grief doesn’t have timelines, and it doesn’t just disappear. You’re allowed to be sad but never guilty, Maia. If Ryan was a good male, he’d want you to move on.”
“And you?” I ask, my voice husky from tears. I can’t acknowledge what he’s saying. Not right now. “Are you a good male?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that I can’t read, but he shrugs. “Depends on the definition of good, little butterfly. But to you, I’ll not just settle for being good—every single day I will strive to be better. With me, you’ll never need to settle for not knowing you are completely and utterly mine.”
Well, holy fucking fanny flutters.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, reading the letter that has been sent from the doctor’s office. Phoebe is strapped to my chest as I go through the letters that were delivered earlier.
“What’s wrong?” Alex steps towards me as if he’s going to use his body to protect me. I see his eyes flash silver in the mirror, and a smile tilts up my lips.
“I’ve got a letter from the doctor’s office about scheduling another appointment.” His brows raise, and his lips tighten. I sigh. “I’m not the biggest fan of my current doctor, and it’s annoyed me how fast he’s chased this up.”
“Who is the appointment for? You or Phoebe? If it’s just for Phoebe, we can get her in with one of our doctors.”
I bite back the scathing remark, knowing that Alex is just trying to help, and I’m pissed off at Dr Thomas and not him. “Both of us, I think.”
He nods. “Then can you not call the surgery and request another doctor for your appointment?”
“I suppose so,” I say, dialling the surgery. Phoebe is nestled against my chest, fast asleep, and the receptionist books us in for the day after Phoebe turns four weeks so we can see a different doctor—a female.
“All sorted?” he asks once I hang up. I nod, and there’s an aura of pride emanating from him. “Perfect. Do you mind if I run this out to the car and make a quick call before we leave?”
“Of course not. I want to clear out the fridge, anyway,” I murmur, and he nods, not even questioning me as he leaves. I got a grocery delivery only two days ago, and I want to bring any fresh food over to their house so that the food doesn’t go to waste.
As I zip the fridge bag closed, I spot someone outside the house, just in the garden. My eyes widen when I see the familiar head of blond hair, and I charge straight over there. I’ve missed him every other time, not able to see more than just him.
This time, that won’t be enough. I yank the back door open, and his eyes widen in shock as he sees me. But he’s the same as I remember. His blond curly hair is as messy as always, and his blue eyes are bright, showing no signs of the lifelessness I saw the night I identified him. He looks healthy, vibrant, full of life.
