Out of the Ashes (Sons of Templar MC #3)(46)

“Stop apologizing,” I ordered, knowing how she was feeling far too well. “What’s your address?”

Gwen let out a sigh of relief and rattled off an address.

“Be there in five,” I told her before hanging up.

I grabbed my stuff and poked my head in Lexie’s room. Her entire wardrobe seemed to be scattered around the floor.

“I’ll be back soon, Dollybird. Got to go and take care of something,” I told her back. She was currently facing a nearly empty closet.

Upon my words she whirled, a look of horror on her face. “Mom! You can’t leave. You can’t abandon me. I have to find something to wear. I have nothing,” she declared dramatically.

“I think the clothes servicing themselves as carpet might disagree with you there, kiddo,” I told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me. She looked like she might try and tie me to a chair with a scarf at any moment.

“Relax, Medusa. I’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, how about you go and destroy my closet and then we’ll comb the floor for outfits. Deal?”

I didn’t wait for her to agree, knowing a teenage girl in the midst of an outfit crisis was not someone you could easily deal with. Heck, an adult Mia in an outfit crisis wasn’t easy to deal with either.

Five minutes later, I pulled up to a beautiful cottage on the beach with flowers dotting around edges. A frazzled, stressed-looking Gwen opened the door two seconds after I knocked with a screaming, red-faced toddler in her arms.

She moved aside to let me in. “I’ve tried everything. She’s not hungry, doesn’t need changing. I’ve walked around with her, played her favorite TV show, given her a bottle, teething ring. Nothing’s working. She’s never screamed this much for this long, I was seriously considering calling the doctor,” she babbled over the screaming.

I totally empathized with the look of sheer worry and exhaustion on Gwen’s pretty face.

“I’ve got her.” I opened my arms and gently pulled the little girl out of Gwen’s. “It’s okay,” I cooed, rocking her as the little toddler shoved her hands in her mouth in distress. “I know it hurts, sweetie, you poor little thing.”

I looked to Gwen, who was visibly shaken. “Can you grab me a cold washcloth and then brew some chamomile tea?” I asked her while swaying Belle.

She nodded and went toward what I guessed was the kitchen.

Being held by an unfamiliar person didn’t seem to do much for Belle, but I wandered around the beautifully decorated house with her, staying calm and talking to her in a low voice. My memories of a screaming Lexie and a very freaked out teenage me seemed to fly right back in. Although I wasn’t wandering around a tastefully and expensively decorated beachfront home. I had been pacing a small rundown apartment, fielding bangs on the wall from neighbors, scared out of my wits.

Gwen rushed back in with a washcloth and an expression that mirrored one I wore fifteen years ago.

“Here.” She thrust the washcloth at me. “I’m just waiting for the jug to boil,” she said. “Belle is never like this, that’s why I’m seriously worried. Should we call a doctor?”

I took the washcloth and shook my head. “No, she’s just having a tough time with the last of those teeth coming in, aren’t you. sweetie?” I asked as I gently put the cool washcloth in her mouth.

She struggled at first, then her little mouth registered the cool relief that came with the soft cloth. She started to quiet and sucked on the cloth, her little hands clutching the edges.

Gwen looked at me with wide eyes. “Seriously? A cold washcloth? Why didn’t I think of that? Oh my gosh, I’m a terrible mother,” she groaned with a hand on her head, the other cupping her small bump.

I shifted my grip so I could pat Gwen’s arm. “You are far from a terrible mother. You are a tired, caring and very worried mother,” I told her. I gazed at the beautiful little girl, who seemed a lot more placid.

I moved to a seat, which I nodded toward. “Sit down. Relax,” I instructed, my tone firm. If she didn’t sit she looked like she might collapse. Watching your child scream pretty much drained the life out of you.

She sank into the sofa and her face softened at the way the baby was happily suckling on the washcloth, the pain and screaming forgotten.

“Thank you so much, Mia. I seriously felt like I was at my wit’s end,” she declared laying back.

I smiled in understanding, sitting across from her. “I’m glad I could help.”

We sat there for a while, chatting and generally hanging out. I gave Gwen a couple more little secrets that got me through teething and the terrible twos without checking myself into a mental institution. Like soaking the cold washcloth in the cooled down tea, which made Belle drift off to sleep in my arms. When Belle was safely asleep, Gwen looked at me with a serious glint in her eye. “Can I ask you something?”

I sensed this question was not baby related. “Sure,” I replied easily.

Her question was silenced by a familiar rumble, one which made us both turn our heads the window.

“Well, looks like the menfolk are home, just in time to miss the tears and drama...typical,” Gwen declared on a grin.

I smiled back at the clear love and affection that lay behind that simple grin. The way her whole body had seemed to relax at the sound of those Harley pipes. I wished I could feel like that. Trust myself to feel like that again. But I was worried that that same love would blind me and a fist to the face would serve as a grim reminder. Or more dangerously, a figurative fist to the heart.