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Cadence.
Hazel.
My girls.
Crying. Something’s wrong.
On my feet, I rush down the small hall and peek into her room. Her crib is empty but what I see just about brings me to my knees. Cadence is sitting in the white rocking chair in the corner of the room, Hazel in her arms. It’s not the two of them together, sitting in that chair, that’s affecting me, well it is, but not as much as the short shorts and sheer tank that Cadence is wearing. Or the fact that her full breast is bared as she feeds our daughter.
I don’t know if there are protocols for this kind of thing, but I need to be close to them. Both of them. My feet carry me quietly into the room, and I don’t stop until I’m standing beside the chair. I lower myself to the floor and reach out, offering Hazel my finger. My little girl looks at me through sleepy eyes, but her grip on my digit is tight. Not just my finger, but my heart. If you told me a week ago that this little girl would steal my heart in a matter of seconds, I would have told you that you were fucking crazy. Now, as I sit here on my daughter’s bedroom floor with her tiny hand wrapped around my finger and my heart, watching her eat from her mother’s breast, I know better.
This is love.
Is it possible for my heart to be too big for my chest? I feel as though it could explode at any second as I watch the two of them together. “She’s hungry,” I say, my voice thick.
“Yeah. We’re still working on the sleeping through the night thing,” Cadence replies, her voice soft. “She’s done it a few times, but this little stinker loves to eat.”
“I should have let you feed her,” I say, as the guilt washes over me.
“What? No, she would have done this if I would have breastfed her. She’s a little piglet.” There’s nothing but love in her eyes as she glances down at our daughter. “You’ll get it figured out, won’t you, baby girl?” she asks Hazel, with a small grin tilting her lips.
The room is lit with a faint glow of a small pink teddy bear lamp sitting on the dresser. It’s just enough for me to make out the features of the mother of my child. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than my memories painted her to be. Right here, in her tiny pajamas, her hair a mess, her eyes tired, and her breast bared as she gives our daughter the nutrients she needs to thrive, she’s never looked more beautiful. I know that in this lifetime, there will never be a moment that I will think that she looks better than she does right here. Right now.
I need to touch her.
Reaching out with my hand that’s not occupied by our daughter, I rest my palm on her bare thigh, tracing small circles with my thumb. Our eyes meet, and that same electric current ignites between us. The same one that was there that night in the club. The same current that led us to a hotel room for a night of passion that changed me.
No words are exchanged, but none are needed. I can see it in her eyes. They’re hooded, and the sleep is replaced with desire, and if I’m not mistaken, need. I see it in the way she shifts her position in the chair. She wants me.
I want her.
It’s as simple as that. I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to. Never in my life have I met a woman who affects me as Cadence does. I don’t know what it means, and tonight, right now, I don’t care. All I can think about is tucking our daughter safe into her crib and getting my hands and mouth on Cadence.
All. Over. Her.
I don’t have to wonder if she wants the same thing because when my eyes meet hers, her breath hitches. My cock stirs as the memories of our time together replay in my mind. This is nothing new for me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve taken matters into my own hands, literally, at the memory of that night. Now, here she is sitting before me with a piece of the two of us in her arms.
With each passing minute, the anger fades, and something else takes its place. That something causes a flutter in my chest. I’m as much to blame as she is. “We used protection,” I say out loud. “That night, we used protection.”
“We did. Every time.”
“Then how did we get this little angel?” I ask, nodding toward Hazel, whose eyes are growing heavy as her belly gets full.
“Condoms are not 100 percent effective.”
“Were you not on the pill?” I realize as I ask the question that we should have had this conversation that night, but I was too wrapped up in her and the indescribable connection to worry about the specifics. I suited up. I thought we were good. “Sorry,” I say when I realize how my question sounded. “I’m just thinking out loud. I don’t blame you, Cadence.” Her name rolls off my tongue like a caress.
