Page 95 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

Fuck.

There’s something about that admission that almost means more to me than had she said she loved me.

“I’ll be quick and get him settled down so we can sleep.”

She nods and moves over to the bed to sit down and finish removing her makeup. I grab a pair of clean underwear and some sweatpants. Rory gives out a small cry, and I kiss the top of his head. “I know, buddy. Let’s get clean and then you can eat and sleep.”

Bertie gets up from the bed. “I’ll take him while you hop in and then I can hand him to you.”

“All right,” I agree. I’d like for her to be able to settle down and go to sleep, but realistically in our small space I know she won’t be able to do that until Rory’s down and I’m in bed too.

I turn the shower on and toss my clothes in the hamper before I step in beneath the spray and close the door.

A moment later the bathroom door eases open, and Bertie holds a squirming naked baby. I chuckle. They’re so fucking adorable, both of them. My two favorite people. I slide open the glass shower door and take him from her.

“The water’s not too hot, right?”

“It shouldn’t be,” I answer. “But you can double check.”

Biting her lip, she sticks her hand in and tests the temperature. “It should be fine.”

Her eyes linger on me, but I notice she doesn’t dare let her gaze dip below my waist.

“Checking me out, B?”

Her face goes from its normal shade to bright red in a second flat. “No.”

“Liar,” I tease. “It’s okay. Look all you want.”

“I … no … that’s not what I … never mind.” She whips around and storms out of the bathroom.

“Your momma is hilarious,” I tell Rory.

“Let me know when you want me to take him back,” she hollers from the next room.

I grab up the baby soap and one of his cloths and suds up his body, making sure to get in the crevices. I never realized babies had so many rolls before having my own. Rory seems to love water, so he’s not at all disturbed by the shower. I think he might like it more than his regular baths. He looks up at me with large blue eyes, his lashes long and dark. I haven’t been around babies, and I know I have to be biased, but I’m certain he’s the cutest fucking kid to ever exist.

It pains me, though, that so soon into his life I’m already on the road so much. I want to be with him all the damn time, but I’m not about to dare beg Bertie to tagalong. A life on the road wouldn’t be for her, and it wouldn’t be the best for our son, but sometimes I want to be selfish and ask anyway.

I rock Rory, letting the water gently pour over his back. His eyes are still wide open, looking up at me in wonder.

“Did you have fun at dada’s game?” I ask, making sure to keep a hand on his head since he keeps trying to pull away from my chest and look up at me. He blinks owlishly up at me. “You did, huh? I can’t wait to get you in your first pair of skates. I hope you like being on the ice as much as I do. It would great if you liked hockey too, but it’s okay if you don’t. I want you to have your own likes and dislikes. But if you happen to love hockey, that would be cool.”

He coos up at me, one tiny hand reaching out for me.

I feel eyes on me, and I glance over my shoulder to find Bertie peeking in through the cracked door with a reverent smile. I expect her to retreat at being caught, but instead she comes on in.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?” She slides her arms into a crossed position beneath her breasts. “I find myself wondering every day how I was so scared of this. Of him. Is it easy? No. But I was terrified for no reason.”

“He’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

I finish washing the soap free from his body and she grabs up his little towel, and I pass him off to her while I quickly finish up.

When I get out of the bathroom, Bertie is fixed in the chair feeding him. She rubs her index finger in soothing circles against his cheek. I know she was worried that she wouldn’t be motherly enough, but it’s one of those things she shouldn’t have dwelled on. She’s a natural.

When she’s finished, I grab a burp rag and scoop little Rory out of her hold.

“Come on, little man,” I encourage. “Give me a good, big burp.” He obliges a moment later. “That’s my guy.”