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Reaching out, I place my hand on his arm. I wait for him to look at me before speaking. “Of course you can. You’re an amazing dad, Ridge. No one would fault you for needing a little help now and then. I could even. . . .”
“Thank you, but we got this,” he responds, looking into the back seat where Knox is now sleeping peacefully.
“So, how is the house coming?” I change the subject, not wanting to get him upset with me or just agitated in general. He seems calm and both he and Knox need that right now. We chat for another ten minutes about random things. It’s nothing and it’s everything.
“I guess I need to get you back.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Duty calls and all that.” He chuckles. I gather our trash and put it all in one bag, so I can throw it away at the office. Ridge starts the truck, pulls out of the lot and his hand, as soon as he has the truck in gear, rests on my thigh. It’s confusing and stressful, and I never want to leave this truck.
“Thank you for lunch,” I say, climbing out.
“Always, sweet girl.” He winks.
I give him a bright smile. “Give him a kiss from me,” I say and quietly shut the door. I turn and walk away before I won’t allow myself to. Ridge Beckett the man is tempting as hell. Ridge Beckett single daddy is almost impossible to resist.
The rest of my weekend flows by. Dawn and I just hung out Saturday night at the house. We had our wild days in college; now it’s Netflix and Ben and Jerry’s—at least that’s how it’s been since we moved here. We often go to my parents’ for Sunday dinner, but they’re still out of town until Friday. I haven’t talked to them, but Mom sent me an e-mail with a few pictures. They look like they are having a great time.
Today starts the work week. I’ve gone back and forth a thousand times on whether or not I’m going to stop by my grandparents’ on the way to work. Considering I was just there on Friday, and I spent time with him on Saturday, I’m going to wait until tomorrow. I’ll drop in on Tuesday and Thursday. Dad will be back on Friday, and then I’m off the hook. I have to admit that makes me a little sad.
“We riding together today?” I ask Dawn.
“Works for me. We are on the same shift right? Hell, I can never remember.” She walks to the fridge and checks the staff schedule we keep there. “Yep, we’re both eight to five today.”
“Even better. You about ready to go?”
“Yeah, just let me get my watch and shoes and I’m good,” she says, rinsing out her juice glass.
Work is uneventful, just the daily grind. That is until my phone alerts me to a text message while I’m sitting at my desk, working on the staff schedule for next month. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I see it’s from Ridge.
Ridge: Delivery.
Attached is a picture of several boxes stacked up in the living room.
Me: What exactly am I looking at?
Ridge: Cabinets.
Me: Right. I should’ve known that. Looks like a busy day.
Ridge: Busy is good. Keeps the mind occupied.
Me: My mind is plenty occupied. Staff schedule.
I’m not sure why I tell him what I’m doing. It’s not like he cares about my staffing schedule.
Ridge: Ahh. Good luck.
Me: Thanks.
I slide my phone back into my purse and try to focus on the schedule.
Distracting sexy man.
Chapter 21
Ridge
I jolt at the sound of my son crying. Looking over at the alarm clock, I see that he slept for six straight hours. My alarm is supposed to go off in ten minutes. Reaching over, I turn it off. I feel like a new man. Climbing out of bed, I pad to Knox’s room in nothing but my boxer briefs. As I get closer, his cries grow louder; when I open the door, they’re deafening.
I reach into his crib and pick him up. “Hey, little man. You’re belly feeling better? You hungry?” He continues to cry, which is not his usual MO; usually he quiets down when I pick him up. I lay him on the changing table, and as soon as I pull off his sleeper I can smell why. At least I think that’s why. I’m still learning all his cries. It’s so fucking hard when he can’t tell me what he needs. I have to guess and—let’s be straight here—I’m clueless.
I strip him out of his sleeper and see his diaper has indeed leaked. He has shit all over his legs.
Awesome.
“No wonder you’re so pissed, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I take off his diaper and he kicks his little legs, covering them in shit as well. All right then, looks like a bath is in order. I remove the shitty diaper and toss it into the . . . bucket . . . thing Reagan said I had to have to help with the smell. Not sure it’s going to be able to do much for the bomb I just gave it, though. Since the sheet on the changing table is shit-splattered already, I pull it off the rest of the way, wrap it around him and head toward the bathroom.
Although not as loud, the little guy is still pissed off. Can’t say I blame him; I’d be pissed too if I had shit all over me. Once in the bathroom, I turn on the water to let it warm, then grab his baby tub and the little yellow duck that tells me the water is the right temperature. Reaching down, I run my hand under the water to see if it’s close. It’s still a little cool.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you. We’re going to get you all cleaned up, and then get your belly full, I promise,” I try to console him. I’m gently bouncing him in my arms when I feel warmth and wetness on my chest. “What the . . . ?” Pulling him away from my body, I see he’s pissed all over me, all over both of us. Looking down at my son, mad-as-hell face scrunched up, red and wrinkled as he wails, I want to cry with him. Instead, I take a deep breath and slowly release it. “I got you, bud. Shhhh, I got you.”
I pull his baby tub out of the bathtub and set it on the bath mat. Checking the temperature with the little duck, I see the water is ready. I lay Knox down in his tub, which pisses him off even more. Quickly, I remove my boxer briefs, strip him out of his sheet, hold him against my chest, lift the lever to turn the shower on and climb in under the spray.
Holding Knox in one arm, I use the other to bring the detachable shower head down. I turn it to the gentlest stream option, using my leg as leverage. Once I have it where I want it, I slowly rinse us both off. Once we’re both free of the shit and piss we were coated in, I reach for the baby wash. “Looks like Daddy will be smelling powder fresh today,” I tell him.
His little lip quivers, and I’m not sure if he’s cold or if it’s the result of the cry-fest he just had. Either way, I work fast, lathering us both up as good as I can with one hand. I even manage to use it on my hair one-handed. Once we’re both soaped up, I rinse us off quickly and step out of the shower.
The lip quiver gets worse, so I wrap him in a towel and take off for his room. I’m dripping wet, but I didn’t bring a diaper and the little guy is cold. I have him dried and in a diaper in no time with no further mishaps. Dressing him in another sleeper because they’re easy, I use his towel to dry my hair and body.
“All right, little man. Daddy needs some underwear, and then we’ll get you fed.” In my room, I lay him in the center of my bed, making quick work of slipping into a pair of boxer briefs and tossing the towel in the hamper. “Let’s get some breakfast,” I tell him when I pick him up. I can still see the slight quiver of his little lip so I hold him closer, still not sure if it’s cold or sadness.
I’ve gotten pretty good at one-handed bottle-making, so I don’t even attempt to lay him down; I hate it when he cries, and right now he’s content. I hear the coffeemaker turn on just as I pull his bottle out to check the temperature. Perfect. My brew will be done just as he finishes his. I settle into the couch and the little guy begins to gulp. “Slow down, bud. You don’t want a bellyache. Take it from me, that shit is not fun.”
If Mom or Reagan were here, they would give me hell for cussing in front of him, but come on, he can’t repeat it. I look down at him while he eats. I’ve never known this feeling in my heart, the way it swells every
time I look at him. To love your child is a feeling that unless you experience it for yourself, you will never understand the meaning. It’s moments like these, like this morning, where he and I get through it together, which makes me think that although unexpected, my little man and I will learn to live with our new reality.
By the time he finishes his bottle, he’s sound asleep. I take him to his room and place him back in his bed so I can get us both ready to head out today. In my room, I grab the baby monitor and carry it with me as I get dressed, then head to the kitchen to get his bottles ready for Mom’s. Once that’s done, I go back to his room and as quiet as I can, pack his bag. Diapers, wipes, toys—not that he plays with them—clothes, and just for good measure I throw in extra of all of it. You never can be too careful. I throw his bag over my shoulder and gently lift him from his crib. Downstairs, I strap him into his car seat then gather the diaper and bottle bags. I tap my back pocket to make sure I have my wallet, then the front to check for my phone and keys.
I stop and take a deep breath, and that’s when the smell of coffee hits me. I dig through the cabinet, find the biggest travel mug I can, and fill it up. Not willing to leave him in the house alone, I throw both bags over my shoulder, picking up his carrier with the same arm. Taking my keys out of my pocket, I grab my large steaming mug of coffee. It’s a little challenging to get the door shut, so I end up setting Knox’s carrier on the front porch so I can pull it closed. Placing my coffee on the bed of the truck, I open the door, click the baby seat into place, and throw the bags on the floor. Checking the seat just to make sure it’s secure, I grab my coffee and we’re on the way to Grandma’s.
I arrive to the job site fifteen minutes late. Normally, this isn’t a big issue, but today it is. It’s a big fucking issue. When I pull in, I park behind Kendall. She’s here with them. Are they hitting on her? Did they see through my bullshit of saying I was staking my claim? Fuck! I throw the truck in park, pull the keys from the ignition, and stalk to the house.
What I find has me clenching my fists at my sides. I have to remind myself that these guys are my best friends, and she’s not mine. Kendall has her head thrown back laughing, my four best friends laughing and watching her like she’s the star of every fucking wet dream they’ve ever had. She has her hand on Tyler’s shoulder as if she needs him to hold her up. Fuck that, I should be the one holding her up if she needs it.
