I'm in It (The Reed Brothers 10)

Anna nods and rolls so that her face is pressed against the pillow. “Good night,” she says.

Devon rolls in the other direction. “Night,” he mutters.

I go to the nursery and see Roxy sleeping on the toddler bed, but the crib is empty when I look into it.

I find Mick in the kitchen bouncing a baby on his hip as he prepares a bottle. “Here,” I say, holding out my arms. “Let me take him.”

He passes him over and I carry his chubby little body over to the rocking chair.

“Thanks,” Mick says, and he reaches for the baby.

“I’ll feed him.” I hold out my hand for the bottle.

“Are you sure?”

I take the bottle and tip the baby into the crook of my arm. His eyes close immediately. “What time is it?” I ask.

Mick glances toward the clock on the wall. “Two.” He yawns as he sits down on the end of the sofa closest to me.

“Do you think he always gets up at night?” I ask.

“God, I hope not.” Mick chuckles.

I hold Chase in my arms and say, “It’s not so bad. I’ve never been a good sleeper. At least with a baby in the house, I’ll have company when I’m not able to sleep.” I look at Mick and find his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the couch. “You should go to sleep. I can take care of this.”

He tips his face toward mine and looks at me from beneath lowered lids. “This isn’t so bad. I kind of like hanging out with you.”

“And him.” I nod toward the bundle in my arms.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Silence falls across the room. But this time, for the first time in quite a while, it’s not an oppressive blanket covering us both. It’s light and air and peace.

“Hey, Mick,” I begin after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm…?” he hums without opening his eyes.

“Thank you for being with me that night,” I say. A lump forms in my throat and I have to swallow past it.

His eyes fly open and he stares at me in the dark room. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.”

“It was a terrible night. I’m sorry I put you through that.”

Silence is his only comment. And just when I think the moment has passed, he says, “The only thing that makes me feel sorry for anything is that I didn’t hold on to you tighter, Wren. If I had, maybe it would have turned out differently.”

“You held on as tight as I’d let you.”

“Which was none at all. And I let you push me away. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was what I wanted.”

“No, it wasn’t.” His tone is sharp and angry. “It wasn’t what you wanted at all. You wanted to be held. You wanted to be loved. You just didn’t know how to ask for all that. I should have pushed harder.”

“I didn’t want to be pushed.”

“You can keep lying to yourself, Wren, but you can’t lie to me. Not about this. I know you care for me. I know you might even love me. But you’re so mired in guilt that this thing between us can’t go anywhere. I stopped pushing. I stopped calling. I just…stopped.”

“No.” I heave out a sigh. “I stopped.”