Ride Steady (Chaos, #3)(52)

We were in the handicapped dressing room of a store that I’d never been to.

All of us. Including Rider and Cutter, who had proved through a mannequin incident in a previous store that they needed constant vigilance.

And I was standing in front of the mirror in my jeans and a tube top.

It wasn’t your average, everyday tube top.

It was a muted forest green in a smooth, stretchy, but tight knit. It had a thin turnover lip at the top and a seam under the breasts. And it went down my midriff and lower, to tuck into my jeans.

It was a classy tube top.

And I couldn’t believe it with my bigger breasts, but it looked really cute.

Further, Tyra was right. I’d also tried on a black tank that had rectangular silver sequins stitched in an amazing design on the front, and although that wasn’t my normal thing either, it still looked fabulous.

It looked biker babe.

But biker babe chic.

I stared at myself wondering if I’d ever have the nerve to wear such a top.

Then I thought about Joker with his brunette and I wished I could afford it.

On that thought, my phone rang.

“I’m on it,” Tyra said, sitting on the shelf bench, before she dug into my purse, which was on the bench beside her.

I felt a little hand slap my thigh and looked down to see Cutter standing there, his head tipped way back, his mother’s green eyes in a face reminiscent of his father on me.

“Pretty,” he said.

Well, there was another vote.

I smiled at him. “Thanks, honey.”

“Says unknown number,” Tyra stated and I turned to her to see she had her arm extended, phone toward me.

I grabbed it, took the call, and put it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Teodoro?” a woman that sounded familiar asked.

“Yes.”

“Hold for Angie, please.”

Oh. My attorney.

I heard a click and then I heard, “Ms. Teodoro?”

“Hi, Angie. Please, it’s Carissa,” I corrected.

Or Carrie.

Or Butterfly.

But those were Joker’s.

I looked back to the tube top, thinking maybe I could afford it, if I could talk Sharon into giving me some overtime next week.

“Just wanted to touch base, tell you we got the files, and I’ve been over them. I’ll transfer you back to Leanne to set up a meeting but I wanted to ask you about breastfeeding.”

I stopped thinking about tube tops and my eyes unfocused as I gave my attention to Angie.

“Sorry?”

“Breastfeeding. There’s a note in your attorney’s file that says that Mr. Neiland refused your breast milk during his visitations with Travis and started your son on formula without discussing this with you. Is this true?”

It was, but I tried not to remember it because at the time I’d been so hurt, and so angry, I’d phoned my attorney and told him all about it.

That being that, in the beginning, when Aaron had Travis for only short periods of time, the fact that I breastfed him wasn’t an issue. I just pumped extra and handed it over when I handed over Travis, and, if needed, I would drop more by his house.

But when Aaron won half custody, it was harder for me to keep up with supply and demand, meaning I couldn’t hand over a week’s worth at one time. This meant that I had to pop by Aaron’s house more often, but also, because I worked and I couldn’t be at Aaron’s beck and call, Tory would have to come by my place or the store to get more milk.

Therefore, this had gone on for two visitations before they stopped setting up pick-up times for more milk, which obviously made me worry.

Then at the end of his time with Travis, Aaron handed my son back to me, telling me he was no longer feeding Travis my milk, but formula. He also declared it was better for Travis if I stopped breastfeeding and switched to formula, essentially ordering me to do so.

Now, I wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to breastfeed until my kid was five.

But I was the kind of woman who wanted to give my child the kind of nurture and connection he could get only from me until it was a healthy option to stop doing it.

So, of course, I refused. My times feeding Travis were mine. They were beautiful. There was no way to describe how significant that connection was, and I had no intention of giving it up.

Unfortunately, Aaron’s decision had a variety of ramifications.

The first being, since I was tossing a lot of milk down the drain once the freezer filled up (and had to take breaks from work to pump), this became onerous and disruptive, rather than necessary for my son’s nurture.

Still, I would have continued doing it, but then it came clear that Travis was having trouble coping with the constant change. He’d already suffered nipple confusion when the back and forth was happening between my breast and Aaron needing to use bottles. Not to mention just having to endure the back and forth between his mommy and daddy.

But then Travis started spitting up more, having trouble returning to the nipple when I got him back, was cranky and slept fitfully, and in the end, he wasn’t gaining weight the way he should.

Since Aaron flatly refused to put him back on my milk, I had no choice but to switch to formula.

And heartbreakingly, Travis’s feedings steadied, he was in better spirits, slept peacefully and looked healthier.