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“I can take care of my own son,” I gritted out.
“I know that. But—”
“But nothing,” I growled. “I don’t need you. I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone.”
He sulked off after that. If he’s heard Benjamin’s endless wailing and the string of curses I’ve let fly every time he spits up all over another one of my shirts, then he’s wisely chosen to keep his distance.
I hold Benjamin up, keeping an arm’s distance in case he decides to erupt again. He’s in a blue thermal romper and the smallest pair of sweats I’ve ever seen. “There you are. Good as new.”
For the first time in hours, he isn’t crying. He just stares at me, his wide eyes curious. They flick from me to the ceiling and back again. He’s taking it all in: his room, his world.
His not-quite-dad.
“Between you and me, I don’t know if I’m cut out for this gig,” I whisper. “Dad. It feels wrong. Father? Maybe. Guardian? Sure. But being someone’s dad feels like a step too far. I’m not even sure if I’ve had one of those.”
His lips purse, and I think he’s about to let more body fluids fly. Instead, he screws his face up and then lets loose a wide-mouthed yawn.
“All that projectile vomiting finally worn you out?” I tuck him against my chest.
After a few laps around his room and two lullabies that I butcher all of the lyrics to, he’s sleeping soundly. I settle him into his crib and creep into the hallway.
Piper tried to give me some tips on what Benjamin would need before she left, but I couldn’t hear it. I didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Least of all about all the ways I remind her of her deadbeat father.
I wouldn’t mind talking to her now, though.
She’d hide a laugh behind her hand if I could tell her about Benjamin waiting until he was diaperless to finally shit for the first time all day. She’d laugh even harder if I told her I couldn’t find the clean diapers and temporarily had him strapped into an upside down onesie, which he promptly peed through.
I’ve faced enemy armies and the hail of gunfire, but nothing brings you to your knees quite like an infant.
I pull out my phone to check the time—to see if I can run to the kitchen and grab something to eat before Benjamin wakes up—when I see Piper’s name on my screen.
I forgot about the vibration from earlier. She called almost forty minutes ago.
Maybe she’s calmed down and is ready to hear my explanation for what happened with her dad. She probably understands why I did it now. We can talk it out and make up…vigorously…several times.
I’m about to call her back when the doorbell rings.
“Always something,” I mutter.
Usually, I’d let a maid handle it, but we’re operating with a reduced staff since Arber’s attack on the house. I’ve allocated more resources to security and cut down on the number of people in non-essential roles. They would just be more bodies if the Albanians chose to attack again.
Whoever is at the door, they made it through security without me being alerted. That must mean no one believes they are a threat.
The hope that it is Piper rises up in me so swiftly that I don’t have a chance to bat it down. She called, I didn’t answer, and now, she’s here. Right?
Maybe our reconciliation will happen even sooner than I thought. Preferably right on the tile floor of the entryway.
I check my shoulder for any lingering spit-up and then pull the door open. My hopes immediately dash against the rocks of reality.
“Hi, Timofey.”
Piper’s best friend is her opposite in so many ways. Where Piper is short and curvy, Noelle is tall and lean. Where Piper greets everyone with a nervous smile, Noelle eyes me with open disdain.
It’s that last one that has me already closing the door.
“Piper can come talk to me herself if she has something to say,” I start. “I’m not in the mood to be set upon by her flying monkeys. Tell her—”
Noelle catches the door with her hand. “This isn’t about Piper.”
