Page 61 of The Big Puck

“We have an appointment for Krissy Logan.”

“I know who you are.” She flashes a smile, and her gaze bounces between us. “Please come this way Mr. and Mrs. Logan.”

My attention, preoccupied with Krissy, snaps to the receptionist, my frown automatic.

“We’re not—I’m Mr. Logan and this is Krissy’s nanny, Lainey Hall.”

I don’t know who’s more taken aback, Lainey or the poor receptionist. Lainey’s eyes flicker to mine, unmistakable hurt in them, as the receptionist starts an apology. Fuck.

“Thank you, Monica,” I say, reading her name tag. She jumps to her feet and leads us down a hall. Lainey nudges me in the ribs. Technically, there was nothing wrong with what I said. It was true. Was I too abrupt? Too quick to correct the poor woman like she made a mortal error?

Shit. I feel like a heal. Did I make it sound like Lainey doesn’t measure up, like she’s less than adequate to be mistaken for my wife? It would be a completely irrational response, but that wouldn’t stop her from feeling it.

She should be used to my less than easygoing ways. It’s not like I was going to deflect with humor or laugh like she would. I don’t laugh easy, haven’t in months. Why should I start now?

In the examining room, I reluctantly hand Krissy over to the doctor, and he places her on the scale. She looks frightened for a moment, and when Lainey is about to jump in, I step up and takes Krissy’s tiny hand. The baby calms as she wraps her fingers around my index finger. I murmur to her soothingly as I feel Lainey hovering, there just in case. Knowing she has my back keeps me calm, gives me confidence. And God knows, I need it because this is all surreal to me, hitting home the responsibility I have for the health and wellbeing for this little girl’s life.

“This will only take a few minutes, Krissy,” the doctor says in the quiet confident voice of a person who works with babies for a living, and who miraculously isn’t jaded enough to treat them any less like individual little human beings.

He takes her weight and height measurements, examines her eyes, nose, ears, and throat and elicits a smile when he listens to her heart and lungs. When he’s finished, I take a deep breath, ready for this to be over.

He lifts Krissy and returns her to my arms.

“I’ll need a blood sample,” he says, producing a small needle. “We believe in thorough testing when a parent has a drug history.” I stiffen.

“Shit.” The word escapes in a soft huff from Lainey’s corner of the room. I second the notion.

“You’ll have to hold Krissy’s arm still.” He gives me a look as if to ask if I’m ready, and I nod. Fresh anger at my brother Neil bolsters me.

As soon the doctor pricks her skin, she wails while I hold my baby’s arm in a vice grip. I watch as her blood fills a small vile, and I hold my breath with the onslaught of Krissy’s whimpers and pain, grateful it’s short-lived, that this procedure is minor and routine, and there’s nothing wrong with her. Then as beads of sweat pop on my forehead, the doctor withdraws the needle, places a small bandage on her arm, and takes the test tubes with him as he disappears.

Krissy cries in pathetic sobs as I hold her close to my chest, trying to comfort her. “Please stop crying, Krissy,” I whisper in her ear. “I’ll do anything. Everything. Whatever it takes.” I rock her gently.

My chest tightens unbearably, and Lainey comes up behind me. I can feel her scorching warmth as I touch Krissy’s cheek. I turn to see her bemused smile. Her relentless sunny face triggers an explosion inside that I barely contain. The urge to grab her by the hair and smash my mouth to hers, to wipe the amusement from her face roars up from my core, straight from my stiff dick all the way up my spine until my chest is tight and my teeth are clenched with holding back.

“Jesus.” The hiss escapes my mouth, and I hand Krissy over to her, swiping my hair and looking away, resisting the need to adjust my pants and hoping like fuck she doesn’t notice my discomfort.

That’s a foolish wish. The unnerving woman notices everything.

She says, “You have to stop crying baby doll, because this man is turning into an adorable puddle before my eyes, and I don’t think I can stand it. Before you know it, all three of us will be crying our eyes out, sobbing at your hurt.”

I watch her as she talks to Krissy in a soft light voice, noticing the overly happy tone and the nervous tremble of her mouth. The urge to draw her against me wells up from my core, and she sways in my direction as if she reads my mind.

The doctor comes back into the examining room then, and she straightens away from me.

“Krissy looks healthy by all outward appearances at this stage. I’ll let you know the results of the blood tests in four to six weeks.”

“That was intense,” I say in the car on the way back home, and it’s the only comment I make about the experience with the tension tightening the muscles in my jaw. How can a simple check-up affect me to the bone—and not in a good way?

“As she gets older, she won’t cry,” Lainey says. “They’ll give her lollipops, and she’ll get used to it until before you know it, she’ll be driving herself to appointments.”

I level a sideways glance at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” My sarcasm isn’t lost on her and though my delivery of the line is perfectly straight, she breaks into a laugh, and all the tension disappears.

* * *

“It’s a shame you’re going alone to the gala,” Aunt Hildie says, looking between me and Lainey as we stand in the front hall looking like we’re on our way to the Junior Prom. Or at least, she looks like it.

Then, come to think of it, I don’t remember anyone in high school looking that hot. I rake my eyes over her, indulging myself for the last time.