Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(93)

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Ruby



I wake from dreams of babies and Jem, immediately on alert for her cry, exhausted after the third night of parenthood. I’m surprised to see the sun shining through the window and the large bedroom missing Jem and our daughter; how did I sleep so late? I head out of the bedroom in my t-shirt and pants, and downstairs as I search for them.

The tiled floors of the old farmhouse are cool against my feet as I check the large kitchen, and the silence worries me; this hasn’t been a feature of our house recently.

Then I see them.

Stretched out on the long sofa in the lounge lies Jem, shirtless with his daughter resting on his chest. His tattooed arms look odd surrounding her pink suit, the girl tiny against his broad chest. She’s facing me, her cheek pressed against her dad’s skin and lips parted, sleeping as peacefully as him.

An overwhelming surge of love for both of them pushes through my heart and soul. The calm of the scene and the peace on Jem’s face removes any doubt that when the baby arrived, he wouldn’t cope with the reality. His constant attention to us both, the pure love in Jem’s eyes when he looks at her, at both of us, is more than any child could ever want. Jem can give his daughter everything; but the most precious thing he can give her is in front of me, all-encompassing, selfless love that holds us together.

Jem shifts and tightens his grip on her, a curl falling across his face as he moves. I cross and kiss his forehead and he opens his eyes, looking at me in sleepy surprise. “She wouldn’t settle and I didn’t want to wake you,” he whispers. “She likes to sleep like this apart from when she’s hungry and I don’t have the equipment.”

His mouth tips a smile at one corner and I kiss him. “Thank you.”

Jem cups his large hand around her head, stroking her face with his thumb. “Can we sort this name thing out, please? Bryn’s started calling her Diamond which is bloody stupid.”

I sit on the chair arm. “But we can’t agree and that never ends well.”

“Yeah, but this is one situation where we can’t give up; we have to agree. I don’t think she’ll appreciate the name when she’s twenty.”

“I know, but after my mother’s fail at my name, I’m cautious.”

“I had a thought, but I’m not sure what you’ll think.”

“A name?”

Jem nods and closes his other hand around mine. “I thought… Quinn.”

His words strike my heart. I haven’t heard anybody say his name for a long time. “Quinn?” I whisper.

“It’s a girl’s name too, and it’s pretty cool. He sounds like he was a cool guy.”

My eyes fill with tears. Stupid hormonal tears come so quickly these days; but despite the ache in my chest Jem’s suggestion causes, the name makes perfect sense.

“Ruby?” Jem’s tone is cautious.

“I guess…”

The little girl shifts and murmurs, rubbing her face against him.

“See!” he says triumphantly. “She likes it!”

“You’re funny. And yes. Quinn. You win.”

“Wow, I’ll add that to the short list of times I have.” He sits, carefully holding his daughter in place against his chest. “Come on, Quinn, let’s take a walk outside before your mum changes her mind, and wants to call you something boring.” He pauses. “What about her other name?”

“One thing at a time, Jem.”

The topic of marriage came up once and very briefly because I shot the conversation down before he got more than one sentence out. Not a proposal but one of Jem’s ‘we need to plan the future’ sessions. Jem bought me a ring and gave me it the day Quinn was born, insisting it wasn’t a proposal but a commitment that he’ll be here forever. I wish I could believe that in every corner of my soul, but I think it will take time before I do. Marrying Jem won’t take that doubt away; but I suspect my heart will win over soon enough. I twist the diamond and ruby ring around my right ring finger as we edge around the topic.

“She can have both surnames,” I say.

Jem smirks. “Quinn Butler-Jones. Makes us sound like landed gentry.”

“Says the man who bought a country estate!” I indicate the world outside the glass doors leading to the huge gardens. No longer city Jem, he’s moved us onto a property surrounded by fields, into a converted farmhouse and away from prying eyes.

Quinn begins to grumble and I recognise the signs, and what’s coming next. She’s calm for a baby according to Cerys, which amuses the hell out of our friends considering how they perceive us. But they don’t see how, most of the time, me and Jem operate on a calm and intuitive level; that our desire for stability in our new world sees conflict dealt with quickly, although occasionally, loudly. Quinn’s snuffling turns to whimpering and my hormones kick in. I hold my arms out to Jem and he reluctantly hands her over.

Jem bends his head and plants a kiss on her head. “You saved my life,” he whispers then looks to me. “Both of you.”

“No, we killed your old one,” I reply and sit down to feed Quinn.

“Yeah, I guess. Yesterday doesn’t matter.” He indicates my tattoo under my b-reasts, revealed as I position her.

“It’s gone.” I no longer regret choosing to etch the words from ‘my song’ onto my body. They are the truth and a connection to my brother, the part of yesterday who’ll never leave.