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“You’re kissing my brothers?” he asks, and I don’t know him well enough to understand what he’s feeling. “I see.”
His face goes blank, his lips tightening ever so slightly, as he steps away from me.
“Brother, singular,” I whisper. I might not understand much, but I can see that hurt from a mile away. “Chris?—”
“I’ll be upstairs,” he says with a nod.
I sigh as he disappears, and I ignore the pang in my heart. I fucked up here. I, stupidly, thought they talked about me like that. Every night when I huddle upstairs with Phoebe, they’re often together late into the night, talking and laughing.
Why on earth would I presume that I was the topic even just once?
Phoebe starts to whine, so I head over to her and start to softly sing. Her eyes try to follow the sound, and it’s very sweet. She’s still so tiny . Even at only a week old, I can’t imagine my life without her in it.
She’s so unburdened by all the stressors and is just content to grow and develop, and it’s my job to ensure that it stays this way.
I don’t know what happened with the napkin from yesterday, but I did call the doctor’s office this morning just to double check my appointment was still scheduled with another doctor. I really, really don’t like Dr Thomas, and the way he said he’d see me in a few weeks has my skin crawling.
Seb didn’t mention the napkin to me, which isn’t surprising, but none of the others did, either. I don’t know how to bring it up without admitting I read the note, and honestly, I’m so scared to even find out the truth.
Once again, I find myself angry with Ryan for dying. Angry he left Phoebe and I behind, angry he lied to us, and even more angry that he’s no longer here.
Phoebe’s life is at risk, and I don’t feel like I’m equipped to help her.
But I’m all she has.
I hear Christopher’s footsteps upstairs and sigh. “Maybe… maybe she has more than me, too.”
“Where is she? She was meant to be here thirty minutes ago,” Christopher demands, coming down the stairs with a few heavy thumps. He left in a mood earlier after finding out about the kissing, and it’s clear that he’s sat stewing on it because he’s in an even bigger bad mood upon his return.
“I can tell the time,” I mutter with a deep sigh. Phoebe is nursing and has been pretty much since he left me to go upstairs, and I’m desperate for a wee. She’s not going to be happy to unlatch, and it’s not like I really want to leave her with the mega prick whilst I relieve myself.
So, misery it is.
“But I have no idea. Something may have gone wrong at her last visit, or maybe she crashed, or?—”
“You’re morbid,” Christopher says, somehow grinning nastily at me. “Have you tried to call her?”
“Not yet. I’ll give her another half an hour before chasing her up.” I rake my eyes over the man in front of me and appreciate the fact that he’s an identical quadruplet right now.
Christopher is very attractive, and the suit he’s wearing only highlights his broad body and his firm muscular components. But the sneer on his face is the biggest turn-off there is.
However, we’ll be going back to his place soon, where not one but three men await with identical bodies, and some of them have some very sweet smiles.
Why waste my time on the asshole when there are three—mostly—lovely men instead?
“What’s that look for?” Christopher demands, resting his hands on the back of the sofa. He cocks a brow, but his smile is replaced by a scowl. “She’s here. I’m heading upstairs. Try not to need me.”
“Asshole,” I hiss as the doorbell rings. I sigh, holding onto Phoebe to try and keep her latched as I head to the front door to let Polly, our community nurse, in.
“I am so sorry,” Polly says the moment my door opens. She’s wearing her usual navy work uniform, and her dark hair is thrown up in a messy bun. She’s at least ten years older than me, and whilst chaotic, she’s very nice and friendly.
I smile and lead her through to the living room. She’s carrying two large bags, one with the baby scales inside, and Phoebe starts to whine because she’s unlatched herself.
“Sh,” I soothe, bouncing on my feet as I rock her back and forth. Polly gets herself situated, completely at ease spreading all of her things around.
“So, how has she been?” Polly asks. She’s got a very strong Scottish accent, despite having lived in the north-east of England for the last fifteen years. “Is she still breastfeeding completely?”
“Good. She is. We’re doing pretty well with nursing for now. She’s feeding well and is mostly a happy girl,” I reassure her as Phoebe latches herself back on. Her hungry guzzles make me think it’s cluster feeding time, and I move to get myself comfortable on the sofa.
