Tied (Tangled, #4)(9)

I tuck him against me and turn my body, like a football player trying to keep the ball from getting snatched in the pileup. “No, I got him. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

“He won’t settle down for you.”

“And he’ll never settle down for me if you’re the only one holding him all the time.” I kiss the top of his screaming head. “I got this, Kate. Go take a bath or something.”

Isn’t that what all new mothers want?

“Is that your way of telling me I smell?”

Guess not.

“No . . . I’m saying I stirred the shit, I’ll deal with the stench.”

Still looking unsure, she runs her hand down James’s back. “All right. Just . . . holler if you need me.”

I give her lips a peck. “We’re good.”

Finally she smiles, then she leaves.

Most men are inept when it comes to babies. Either from lack of experience or because they’re afraid they’re going to irreversibly screw something up. Give us an appliance that needs fixing, we’ll take it apart, figure it out, and put it back together again, even if we’re unfamiliar with it.

Babies? Not so easy to put back together.

And there’s all these perils we have to be mindful of—soft spots, necks that can’t support heads, nasty-looking belly buttons waiting to fall off . . . don’t get me f**king started on the circumcision. Men aren’t good multitaskers, remember?

So for most, infant care is an activity best left to the mothers.

Most—but not me. Because I cut my teeth on Mackenzie. When she was an infant, I wasn’t around for the nighttime routine stuff, but I learned a lot about everything else. If a man can change a baby girl’s diaper, there is nothing he can’t accomplish. So, because I have her infancy under my belt, and because I’m pretty much awesome at anything I do, I’m not intimidated by James’s crying. It’s not a fun part of fatherhood—but I can deal.

I shift him from my shoulder to cradle him in my arms.

“Whaaa, whaaa, whaaa . . .”

“Hey, buddy, what’s with the tears? You don’t have to cry—I’m gonna have you back to sleep in no time.”

I grab a pacifier off the dresser and tease it into his mouth. Whimpering, he gives it a few sucks before opening his mouth to screech because he realizes it’s not the real thing. I catch it before it falls to the floor.

Then I sit in the rocking chair. “Yeah, I know it’s not what you really want. And I don’t blame you—your mom’s boobs are spectacular. But . . . you gotta take what you can get. And right now, this little piece of plastic is the next best thing.”

I slide it between his lips again, and this time he doesn’t reject it. He sucks rapidly and his eyes fall closed for a moment before he drags them back open—a sure sign he’s exhausted but fighting it. I rock slowly in the chair and tap his ass gently in a steady beat.

In a soothing whisper I tell him, “You want to hear what your old man did today? I set up a fifty-million-dollar acquisition for a man who invented a new app. He’s kind of a tool. When you’re older, you’ll learn the world is full of tools. Anyway, this particular tool didn’t think the deal was good enough, so Daddy had to explain to him why it was. First I showed him . . .”

You don’t really want to hear the rest, do you? Suffice it to say, twenty minutes later, James was out cold. I kiss his forehead and lay him back in his crib. Then I go out to the living room looking for some quality time with my girlfriend. I find Kate on the couch, with a still-half-full basket of clothes next to her.

She doesn’t acknowledge me right away—and she’s not folding clothes anymore. She’s holding a pair of baby socks in each hand, unnervingly staring off into space. In deep thought.




Usually for guys, when our women are contemplating something serious? It’s a bad sign.

Cautiously I sit down next to her. “The baby’s asleep.”

Her blank expression doesn’t change. “That’s good.”

“Kate? You okay?”

Snapping out of wherever she was, she turns to me quickly and tries to blow it off. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Fine—a red flag if there ever was one.

I don’t waste time with pleasantries. “Fuck fine—what’s wrong?”

She focuses her attention on the socks. “I just realized . . . this is my life now.”

I try hard to decipher the hidden female message in that statement—and come up with zilch. “O-kay . . . and . . . ?”

“And folding clothes, dirty dishes, afternoon walks, naptimes, changing diapers . . . that’s my life. That’s what I have to look forward to.”

“Well . . . changing diapers won’t last forever. And in two more weeks I’ll be able to make you cum again in numerous, illicit ways—that’s something worth looking forward to.”

That gets a chuckle out of her, but it’s halfhearted. “I’m a terrible person.”

I rub her shoulder. “If you’re a terrible person, I’m in some seriously deep shit.”

This time her smile is a bit more genuine. “I love James, Drew. Love . . . isn’t even a strong enough word . . .”

I nod, because I and any parent know exactly what she means.