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My lethargic heart kicks up a notch when I peek into Aria’s room to check on her. I presumed Ali would be in her own room, more than likely napping, because despite what she says, I highly doubt she’s getting restful sleep on the clubhouse sofa. Yet, there she is, sleeping in the glider in the corner, Aria resting against her chest. Ali’s hand still looks small on my tiny daughter’s back, and I consider how natural this situation looks when I should be angry that Ali is in here to begin with. I don’t begrudge Aria having someone to care for her, but this situation should be less… motherly.
I inch closer with the intent to pull my child from her arms but stop short just a few inches away.
Dark eyelashes rest against Ali’s cheeks as steady puffs of air come from her gently parted lips. Focusing on that part of her body stirs something inside of me, and the urge to get closer to her hits me unexpectedly. Looking at another woman the way I’m looking at her makes me feel like a criminal, as if I risked being arrested if caught by anyone else. I’m a reasonable man.
I know deep down that there’s nothing wrong with finding another woman attractive. I can guess that everyone in my life would consider it a good thing if I moved on, that my reluctance to do so is also expected.
Lana wouldn’t understand.
Or would she?
I’d like to believe she would, but the thought of Lana being with someone else if the tables were turned makes my blood fill with rage. Someone else touching her, kissing her? I’d come back from the dead just to rip his head off.
Regardless of my wavering, unsteady emotions, I lean closer over the two of them, opting to brush hair from Aria’s head than press my lips to the sleeping woman’s mouth.
Dark eyes jerk open and stare up at me, the hand on Aria’s back tightening its grip protectively as if it takes a second for her to realize I’m not someone coming to hurt the two of them. The vigilant response tugs up the corners of my mouth.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
I can tell she’s trying to look around me, but I’m just too big. My entire body has to be taking up her full field of vision and I like that she can only see me.
“Nothing,” I say, my voice a low rumble.
I know I should step back and give her some space, but I just can’t manage to do so right now.
There’s a foot and a half of distance between our faces, but it’s still closer than anyone would consider socially acceptable for two people who hardly know each other. There’s an intimacy to our nearness and somehow it calms me, for a brief second, more than it freaks me out.
Kissing her is my immediate instinct, and my eyes drop once again to her lips. The attention makes her lick at them and my blood heats again.
It doesn’t take long for the guilt to take over once again, and I clear my throat and take a step back, straightening to my full height.
“How is she doing?”
“I think they caught the sinus infection early, but that means it’s probably going to get worse for a while before the meds kick in. She’s getting frustrated with her bottle because her nose is stuffy.”
My brows crease.
“Babies mostly breathe through their noses when sleeping and drinking,” she explains. “Holding her up like this helps a little. Breathing will be easier now that she’s fully asleep and not getting frustrated over the inability to breathe well through her stuffy nose.”
I take another step back as she makes a move to stand from the glider, keeping my hands locked at my sides when I really just want to reach out and help her.
“I’m going to go make dinner,” she says as she gently places the sleeping baby in the crib.
I open my mouth to tell her I’m not hungry, but she doesn’t give me time as she rushes past me out of the room.
I walk to the crib, leaning over to look down at my little girl. Things are supposed to get easier. I’m supposed to wake each day feeling a little less lost than when I went to bed, but I don’t feel that at all. If anything, I’m floundering even more. Babies are hard in a sense that they depend on every need being met by someone else, but it’s when she’s older, asking questions, that I anticipate being the most difficult. I pray I’ll be past the anger of Lana’s gut-wrenching mistake by then. I don’t want Lana’s memory to be tainted by my own blame of her actions.
I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them to the top of Aria’s head before leaving the room, but I find myself trapped in the hallway. I can’t decide which choice is worse—left to the kitchen that holds Ali or right to the room where I made love to my wife. The choice is between the emotional pain of memories or the physical pain I feel in my body when I look at the woman living in my house.
