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There’s a part of me that wants to know if I screwed up so badly that she’d never take me back.
There’s a part of me that wants to know if there’s any chance I could be the one who gets to love her.
But she’s saved from answering because Orlando starts crying. Instantly, we pull away from each other and hurry to his bedroom, where he’s sitting in the middle of the floor with his trains, but he’s sobbing. He’s holding a red train in one hand and a green train in the other.
“What’s wrong, muffin?” Alicia hurries to his side and squats down beside him. Our little boy looks up at her and shakes his head.
“I don’t have a blue train,” he says, sobbing.
“Sweetie, you have a blue train right here,” she says, picking one up from the floor.
“It’s not in my hand,” he cries, shaking his head. “I’m not holding it.”
“Do you want to hold the train?”
“No!” He yells, crying louder.
Alicia looks over at me and rolls her eyes.
“And this,” she says, hoisting Orlando up and carrying him over to his bed. “Is why we go to bed on time.”
Okay, burn. Yeah, she was definitely right about the entire “send-this-kid-to-bed-on-time” thing.
I’ll be the first to admit that.
I definitely shouldn’t have even tried to get him to stay up. I know that it just made things harder on all of us. Orlando is tired now, and cranky, and he’s not going to get to play as much because he’s got to sleep, and Alicia...
Well, now she has to worry about her kid’s mood and his attitude and his feelings, and...
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. She tucks him carefully into bed.
“Go to sleep, Orlando,” she says. “I’ll come get you when naptime is over.”
I think he’s going to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead, Orlando just rolls over, closes his eyes, and reaches for his stuffed teddy bear. He pulls it close to himself, wraps his arms around it, and gives it a big kiss.
“Teddy,” he whispers.
Then Alicia and I leave the room.
“I shouldn’t have pushed for him to stay up,” I admit.
“I know.”
“This dad stuff is all new to me,” I whisper.
Alicia reaches for me, pulls me close to her, and kisses me.
“Then we’ll figure it out together,” she tells me. “Now let’s go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Unless you want me to suck your dick right here,” she says, gesturing to the living room.
“Excuse me?”
“Cage, get your ass upstairs before I strip down right here,” she says. Then she turns and walks upstairs, leaving me staring at her tight, curvy but as she moves.
What the hell just happened here?
