Drew + Fable Forever (One Week Girlfriend #3.5)(34)

“I love you, too. This is a miracle, Fable. We have a baby.” He shakes his head, settling his hand on our daughter’s back. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” I agree, gazing at her. I readjust her and try to bring her to my breast and she latches on just like she’s supposed to, her eager little mouth pursed around my nipple and tugging. My heart fills with love and joy and I trail my fingers across her soft cheek, feeling the tears fall.

“Are we still going to name her what we planned?” he asks.

I nod, staring at her. I’m fascinated with her sweet little wrinkled face, her wiggly little body. She feels good, nestled in my arms, snug against my bare skin. I don’t even know her, we only just met, but my love for her grows so big and bright it’s overwhelming. Powerful. I’d do anything to protect this little person. Anything. “Welcome to the world, Autumn,” I whisper. “Your daddy and I are so glad you’re here.”

She lets go of my nipple when I finish talking, her big blue eyes staring up at me. I see it all in her face at that exact moment. Autumn recognizes my voice; she knows I’m her mama and for whatever reason, I can tell she’s going to be wise beyond her years. She’ll probably give us endless grief. Stubborn like her mama and too quiet with her problems like her daddy. She’ll be smart and beautiful and strong and fearless. That’s what I want most for her. That she’ll be fearless and unafraid to face anything. Autumn will believe she can do anything she sets her mind to. Nothing will ever get in her way.

That’s what I wish for my daughter.

It’s the least that she deserves.

Chapter Eleven

Drew

I exit the bathroom wearing only a towel, the steam from my extra-hot shower billowing out of the open door, surrounding me like a thick fog. I head toward my dresser to grab something to wear when I stop short at the sight before me, my breath lodged in my throat, my heart stuttering in my chest.

Fable is on the bed, her shirt yanked above her full br**sts. She’s fast asleep, lying on her side, cuddling Autumn in the ring of her arm, who’s also asleep. Rosebud lips pursed, chubby cheeks pink, my girl must’ve been nursing on her mama and slipped into slumber.

Just like my poor, exhausted wife did.

I stare at them because I can, completely overwhelmed at the love I have for these two beautiful females in my life. Fable’s been going at it full force since we brought Autumn home over two months ago, taking care of our daughter’s every need while I’ve been a selfish jackass off playing football.

It’s your job, Fable tells me time and again. And Autumn’s my job. Don’t feel guilty.

But I do. I offered to hire a nanny but Fable refused. I offered to take them on the road with me because I miss them like f**king crazy, but she refused that, too.

Maybe next season, Fable told me. We’ll have more of a routine going by then.

I don’t know if I can wait that long. I miss them and the season has barely started. I want them to be a part of my routine. I feel like I’m losing out on all sorts of first times. How will I feel a year from now, when Autumn’s older and doing all of those momentous things no parent ever wants to miss? I don’t think I could stand it if I missed hearing her say her first word, seeing her take her first step.

Turning away from them, I go to my dresser and open a drawer, pulling out a pair of boxer briefs and putting them on. It’s my first day off in a while and I plan on spending every moment of it with Fable and Autumn.

“So. Not. Fair.”

Fable’s little groan makes me whirl around, concern racing through my veins. “What did you say?”

She’s awake, propped on one elbow, her hair in complete disarray around her head, falling past her shoulders. She tugs the T-shirt down over her chest, a grimace marring her delicate features. “Look at you. It’s disgusting.”

“What? Why?” Is she mad at me? Ever since she had the baby, she’s been on edge. Moody, weepy, determined, grumpy, happy, tired. Nothing out of control, but when I can’t gauge her mood, it’s a little disconcerting.

Fine. It’s a lot disconcerting. A moody Fable is a no-fun Fable.

A sigh escapes her as she shakes her head. “You’re beautiful, in the best condition of your life. I remember when we first met and I thought you were perfection then.”

I stand up a little straighter, giving a quick glance down at myself. She’s right. I am in peak condition. But I train my ass off. I should be in peak condition. “Uh, thanks?”

She starts to laugh. “You look scared. Don’t be. I’m not going all postpartum on you. I just … you look amazing and I look terrible.”

“Are you serious?” I’m incredulous. “You don’t look terrible.”

“I feel terrible. I rarely wear anything but yoga pants or sweats and T-shirts, and most of the time my clothes are stained with breast milk or spit-up or whatever.” She flops down on the bed, ever careful of the sleeping Autumn, who’s still tucked close by her side. “I’m scared, Drew.”

From misery to fear within seconds, her mood swings make no sense to me. Sometimes I have trouble keeping up with her. “Of what?” I go to the bed, scoop up Autumn, and settle in beside Fable, our baby resting on my chest. I can feel her warm little puffs of breath against my skin, her lips moving as she stirs and settles more comfortably against me, and I stroke her tiny back, reaching out with my other hand to cup Fable’s cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are right now?”