Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Fuck. These women will be the end of me. I love all three of them more than life itself, but why do I get the feeling they’re running the show in this house? Despite my orders, they’re going to do whatever the hell they please, and they’re making damn sure I get that.
Claire starts crying again, no longer content to be pacified with my rocking.
Point proven.
“I better take her to Anya,” I say. “She seems really unhappy.” And it hurts me to see her like this.
“I’m going to make some tea.” She asks sweetly, “Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?”
I hold Claire in one arm and use my free hand to lean on the cane. “I’m good, thanks.”
Anya steps out of the dressing room wearing an oversized T-shirt when I enter our room. Her red hair hangs wet down her back. We’re going to have a talk about drying her hair after her shower. I know she’s always rushed, but I don’t want her to catch a cold. A fresh bout of guilt hits me in the gut. If I were more helpful with Claire, Anya would’ve had more time to take care of herself.
“Poor baby.” She rushes over. “I’m sorry for making you wait, sweetheart.”
I place Claire in her arms, making sure Anya has a good grip on her before I let that tiny being go. Instead of going to the nursery, Anya settles down in bed with her back braced against the headboard to feed Claire.
She gives me an uncertain look. “You don’t mind if I feed her here, do you?”
“Of course not.”
I suppress a flinch as I put my weight on my leg. Using a cane instead of crutches takes its toll, but I’m impatient to walk on my own two feet again.
I go over and sit down next to them. Claire quiets immediately, greedily latching on to Anya’s breast.
Reaching out gently, I brush a hand over Claire’s small head. She makes little gulping noises, drinking as if Livy didn’t give her a bottle just four hours ago.
Anya lifts her gaze to mine and offers me the sweetest of smiles. With my hand on Claire’s head, the three of us are connected, and it feels so right, so precious, that unfamiliar emotions clog up my throat. At the center of those strange sentiments, utter contentedness settles in my chest. It feels a lot like peace. And it’s then that it hits me. I’ve never felt at peace before.
This is new, just like my perfect, instant family. This, right here—Anya, Claire, and Livy—is everything I’ve always wanted, and I’m petrified that they won’t let me keep them safe, that they’ll do something that’s going to allow someone to rip them away from me. The thought leaves me sweating, my skin cold and clammy.
Anya chuckles. “I think she fell asleep.”
Indeed. Claire’s rosebud lips are slightly parted around Anya’s nipple. Her long, rose-gold lashes brush her soft, white cheeks.
Despite the anguish, the picture of mother and baby mesmerizes me. It’s a pure and beautiful sight. Painfully so.
A smile splits my face. “I think you’re right.”
Anya lies Claire down in the middle of us, making a nest for her between our bodies. “Do you mind if I let her sleep here for a while? If she wakes up again, I don’t have to get up to go to the nursery. I can feed her here.”
And fall back asleep straight after without dragging herself between the two rooms.
It only dawns on me then how selfish I’ve been, how much easier I could’ve made things for Anya if I weren’t so fixated on my physical drawbacks. Claire could’ve slept here right from the start, protected between her parents. Anya would’ve been less tired, and she wouldn’t have had to worry that Claire wasn’t welcome in our room—in my space and in my presence.
I swallow away the thickness of my throat. “Let her stay as long as you like if it’s easier for you.”
Anya’s smile is grateful. She shifts down, settling on her side next to Claire with her hand resting protectively on her baby’s stomach.
I do the same, stretching out on the other side of Claire. Her soft, even breathing has a strangely calming effect on me. I’m not keen on disturbing the agreeable moment, but I have things to say, and Anya’s eyes are already drooping.
“Your mother came to the house,” I start carefully.
Wide awake now, Anya’s golden gaze flares with alarm. “What did she want?”
“To see you and Claire, but something about the whole thing seemed off.”
Anya frowns. “She probably wanted money again.”
“She said she had a job.”
“Really?” Anya raises a brow, a look of hopefulness flashing across her features. “Doing what?”
“Typing.”
She observes me for a moment. “You say that as if you don’t believe it.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of it.”