Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

I would be history.

She probably wouldn’t even remember me.

And as I buckled her into her car seat, driving us toward home, I couldn’t stop the fissure in my chest from cracking wide open.

A few minutes before we turned on our street, Brogan called my cell. I picked up through the car’s speakers, knowing Skye loved to hear his voice.

“Fiona?” he asked when I answered.

“Who else,” I teased, some of the tension leaving my chest.

“I got your text. Is Skye okay? Do I need to hop on a plane—”

“She’s fine,” I cut him off as we pulled into the driveway.

“Are you sure, because I don’t know what to do here. We take ice in thirty, and I just saw your text.”

“You get on the ice and play your ass off,” I said. “I just got back from Madeline’s. She checked her over, and she’s a perfectly healthy little demon,” I said, and I almost felt his sigh in my bones.

“Okay,” he said, almost as if he was trying to soothe himself. “She’s fine.”

“Yes. I promise. I was just keeping you informed. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” he said.

I chuckled softly. “She can hear you,” I said. “We’re in the car. We just pulled in.”

“Hey, little demon. I’ll be home soon,” he said in the voice that was just for her. And my heart did that straining thing it did any time he used that tone. Add that squeeze to the pile of emotions already brewing in my chest, and I was already planning to bake pity-party brownies once I got inside. “I’m going to score all my goals for you tonight,” he continued, and I grinned as if he could see me.

“You’ll do great,” I said.

“See you soon, Fiona,” he said. “Bye, little demon.”

The line went dead, but my heart?

It was in all kinds of an uproar over a man I most certainly couldn’t be attached to, let alone a little girl who would never truly be mine.

Four a.m., several brownies, and no sleep later, I wasn’t feeling much of anything beyond exhaustion. So, that counted for something. I’d tried singing to Skye, tried playing her favorite piano playlist, tried walking around the house with her in the wrap, all of it to no avail. She was just downright unhappy. Her fever had broken a few hours ago, and that was at least something to be happy about.

“I’d really love it if you’d tell me what you need, baby,” I said in a sing-song voice as I cradled a crying Skye to my chest. I paced the living room, turning on the fan to see if the noise would help soothe her. “You’re full, changed, bathed, and cozy. I’ve danced with you, cried with you, and read you as many stories as I can find. What do you need?”

She wailed in response, and I shushed in a repetitive motion, trying every trick in the book I knew to get her to relax.

“You need sleep, little demon,” I said, eying her. “That’s why you’re so grumpy. If you’d just sleep. I’ll even hold you the whole time, please?”

Great, now I was negotiating with a four-month-old. I’d definitely gone past sleep deprivation and into looney tunes territory.

“Whoa, what’s all the commotion about?” Brogan’s voice filled the room, and I whirled around, shocked I hadn’t heard him come in through the door.

“You’re here?” I half-asked, half-sobbed. I was that fucking tired.

“I caught an early flight,” he said, dropping his bags and hurrying over to me.

“Is she still sick?” he asked, and I shook my head while I kept bouncing his crying baby.

“No, she’s fine now. She’s just stubborn. And tired. If she would sleep, she’d feel better, but she’s not listening to me.”

Brogan eyed me, then Skye, then the mess I’d left in both the living room and on the kitchen island, which he could see from where we stood.

“I’ll clean that up, I promise,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I meant to have it cleaned up before you came home, but I didn’t expect you till nine a.m. And this one hasn’t slept all night, so I haven’t had a chance—”

“It’s all right, Fiona,” he said, his usual gruff tone switching to soothing just for me. He reached for Skye, gently taking her from my arms.

She settled against his chest, nuzzling against his shirt as she quieted down, then fell silent altogether.

I laughed a slightly disoriented laugh.

“She missed you,” I said.

Brogan visibly swallowed, carefully stepping around me and heading toward the glider. “I missed you both,” he said, and I blinked a few times as the words caught up in my sleep-deprived brain.

We hadn’t spoken about what had happened between us that night after the farmer’s market. And he certainly hadn’t tried for anything again. I understood why. The whole unprofessional line and all, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t desperate for more.