Ram Remy (Providence Family Ties 4)

Some fights we could ignore or put on a shelf until it was time to fight them. I had enough battles ahead of me, and I had to focus on the one that was most important—my son.

ONE

SANTANA

“Okay, Bub. We’re going to do the drunk guy walk.” Making sure I had a secure grip on Toby’s hands, I began moving him forward, one slow step at a time. “You’re not quite ready to do it yourself, but I reckon you’ll be running around and skipping out the door soon.”

Tipping his head back, he grinned up at me, gums and drool galore. I’d never seen a more beautiful sight in my life.

Sighing, I bent over so my hair tickled his face, making him giggle.

“You are the most precious baby I’ve ever seen. Don’t tell Sadie, though. She might get offended Bronte doesn’t have that title, even though she’s perfection in a diaper. You’re going to break hearts all over the world, though, Tobias Smith King. Just like your daddy.”

I had to say positive things about his dad to him. It wasn’t fair to tell an almost eight-month-old his dad was a dick, was it? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that.

God, what if it slipped out and his first words were “Dada, dick.”

No one would believe me if I said it wasn’t me or that the kid had the right to form his own opinion on people. Sure, the first amendment covered that, but a little baby wasn’t exactly going to know his rights when it came to free speech. Although, maybe I could recite them constantly to him if he did slip and call his dad a dick so his next words involved his rights?

Just as we completed a lap of the coffee table, the door opened, and the dick in question came in. As always, he didn’t wait to look around the doorway into the living room before he yelled, “Santana? Where’s Toby?”

Usually I’d give someone a sarcastic answer if they asked a question like that when we were standing right in front of them—and they hadn’t bothered looking before they’d asked it—but Remy was an overly anxious dad for a reason.

So, I’d learned to accept that I’d likely have permanent indentations of my teeth on my tongue from biting it to hold back sarcastic answers and to stop myself from accidentally saying something terrible to Toby about his dad. Even the thought of something like that slipping out made me want to kick my own ass, but sometimes Remy King just pushed the wrong buttons.

Self-control—I have it. At least, I hoped I did.

Pasting a smile on my face that was as fake as the large vase of flowers next to the door, I said loudly, “We’re in here walking around.”

Knowing that his daddy was home, the gorgeous little boy began jumping around and squealing out his favorite sounds. He could be reciting an encyclopedia page for all I knew, but the noises never failed to make me smile. Nothing about this little man did.

Hearing Remy’s footsteps getting closer, I kept my head bowed down and swished my hair over Toby’s face. I’d discovered how much he liked me doing this about two weeks ago, so now I kept my hair down for him to play with. Yeah, it’d led to some being yanked out at the root and some thinner patches, I was sure, but it was worth it. The responding squeal and giggle definitely didn’t disappoint.

“Should he be doing that? He’s not even crawling yet.”

My genuine smile dropped, and I had to force a version of it back onto my face as I tipped my head back to look up at him.

“It’s fine. Mom said she did it with me, Hart, and Croix when we were babies.” Knowing he’d have some sort of issue with that, I added, “But I checked to see if any updates had been found that advised against it since we were born, and I didn’t find anything online or in the books you’ve got. All of the baby specialists and websites said it was a good thing to build up the strength in his muscles and legs to prepare him for walking by himself.”

“What if he hits his head on something?”

I didn’t do what I wanted to do, which was to look pointedly at how baby-proofed the whole place was. Earlier, I’d stubbed my toe on the side of a tiled step and hadn’t even felt it because there was some sort of protective foam covering on every surface.

He even had coffee cups with suckers on the bottom of them now so Toby couldn’t grab one and tip it over himself. Had he warned me about them? Had he hell. I’d had to find out the hard way when I couldn’t get my cup to detach itself from the countertop and had dug out a straw to drink my damn coffee with.