Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(21)

Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, I climbed into bed, killing the light on the nightstand. My head hit the pillow, and as a gentle breeze swept through the room, exhaustion won out.

But like it had for weeks, my sleep was broken by the wail of a baby boy.

I jolted awake and scrubbed a hand over my face before glancing at the clock beside my bedside lamp. Two fourteen.

He’d slept longer than normal. This past week he’d woken me up around one. Or maybe he’d been up for an hour and I’d just been too tired to notice.

I buried my face in the pillow, willing sleep to come again. But as the crying continued, echoing through the dark night, I knew I’d be awake until he stopped.

“Fuck.”

That kid was determined, I’d give him that. As I lay on my back, staring at the moonlit ceiling, he cried and cried.

If it was loud here, how loud was it in that loft? I hadn’t slept, but neither had Memphis. Though she tried daily, no amount of makeup could hide the dark circles under her eyes.

The image of Griffin holding Hudson popped into my mind. Then another baby, another set of arms from years past. A scene I didn’t let myself remember.

Drake’s cries built, one upon the next upon the next, louder and louder, minute after minute, night after night, until it was like he was screaming for me. Enough was enough. I couldn’t lie here and do nothing.

I flung the sheet off my legs and swung out of bed, stopping at the walk-in closet for a T-shirt. Then I headed for the door, pausing to step into a pair of flip-flops so I didn’t shred the soles of my feet on the gravel.

The night air was cool against the bare skin of my arms and legs as I crossed the driveway. I took the stairs two at a time, moving before I second-guessed my decision, and knocked.

A light flipped on, illuminating the glass window in the door.

Memphis’s face was in the glass next, her brown eyes wide and swimming with tears. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful. Except tonight she looked to be hanging on by her last thread.

She wiped at her cheeks before flipping the lock. “I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize.” I stepped inside and kicked off my shoes, then held out my arms, waving with one. “Hand him over.”

“W-what?” She shied away, putting a shoulder between me and her baby.

“I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to help.” Maybe what that kid needed was another pair of arms. Another voice.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Listen, if he sleeps, I sleep, you sleep. Can we just . . . try something other than this? Let me walk him around for a while. Probably won’t matter but at the very least, you can take a breather.”

Memphis’s shoulders fell and she glanced down at her crying son. “He doesn’t know you.”

“There’s only one way to fix that.”

She hesitated another moment, but when Drake let out another wail and kicked his tiny feet, she shifted my way.

The handoff was awkward. Her arms seemed reluctant to let him go, but finally, when I had him cradled in the crook of an elbow, she inched away. Her shoulders remained stiff as she wrapped her arms around her middle and barely gave me enough room to breathe.

“I won’t drop him,” I promised.

She nodded.

I stepped past her, walking the length of the loft. My bare feet sank into the plush carpet, and it wasn’t until I’d made it across the room that I finally took a good look at the kid in my arms.

Christ, this was a bad idea. A really fucking bad idea. What the hell had I been thinking? He kept crying, because yeah, he didn’t know me. And it was too similar. It was too hard.

The only thing that kept me from bolting was his hair.

He had his mother’s blond hair.

Not black, like Jadon’s. Blond.

This was not the same child. This was not the same situation.

I swallowed hard, past the ache, and walked toward the door. “Drake.”

Blond, baby Drake. It was a great name. He was a solid kid. That was different too. Drake seemed strong. Like Hudson, he had a good weight. And Memphis had been hefting him around on her own every night.

“All right, boss,” I told Drake. “We need to tone this down.”

His chest shook as his breath hitched between a cry.

“I need sleep. So do you. So does your mom. How about we quit the night shift?” I set out for the opposite end of the room again, passing Memphis, who still hadn’t moved. I hit the wall and turned, going to the door again. All while Drake cried.

“You’re okay.” I bounced him as I walked, patting his diapered butt. He was in a pair of footed pajamas, the blue print fabric full of puppies. “When I was a kid, I had a dog. Her name was Scout.”

I kept walking, slow and measured strides, to the door, then the window. “She was brown with floppy ears and a stubby tail. Her favorite thing in the summer was to run through the yard sprinklers. And in the winter, she’d jump in the biggest snowbanks, burying herself so far down we weren’t sure she’d make it out.”

Memphis finally unstuck her feet and walked to the couch, perching on an arm. She was in a thin black night shirt with sleeves that draped to her elbows and a neckline that scooped low. The hem ended at her thighs, riding up as she sat.

She wasn’t tall, but damn she had some legs. I tore my eyes away from the taut, smooth skin and shifted Drake so he was propped up on a shoulder. Then I patted his back, my hand so long that the base of my palm was at the top of his diaper and my fingertips brushing the soft strands of hair at his nape.