Forever Us (Always and Forever 4)

ngston, I would have just stayed home, and this is our business.

“He looks so healthy. My goodness, he’s getting big.”

I smirk. “I know. He’s my little chunky monkey.” I contort my voice, sounding comical as I lean in and kiss his button nose. He chuckles, and I swear a fairy is born.

“That little laugh sounds like my little grandson,” Tom’s familiar voice announces as he comes to stand next to me. As I glance up at his wide grin, he stares down at Prince, and like putty in his hands, he melts when the baby kicks a little, reaches his hands up, and squeals. We all laugh, and Tom reaches for him. I feel my anxiety hitting its peak, but I remain as calm and reserved as I can. He undoes him from the seat and lifts him into his giant arms. I watch with intensity, keeping my eyes on his every move. When he takes a seat and cradles him deeper, I relax enough to order myself a small salad and water. I don’t have much of an appetite lately, especially after last night.

“How’s mommyhood, baby?” Tom asks, gaining my attention.

I lie, “Great, things are great.”

“Kingston talks about Prince all the time. I love seeing him grow up and be a dad. It’s a sight.” He winks at me, and I return it with a nod.

“Shayla and you both make such good mommies,” Kathy joins in. I just nod. Really, I’m far from a great mother. Even more so, I’m a terrible lover to my true soul mate.

“She’s a saint. I don’t know how she does twins,” I remark, giggling.

“She and Trey are a great team. They’re super supportive of each other.” I drop my head, taking the dig, even though I know she has no clue. I guess one could call it guilt.

I want to be a strong team with Kingston, but even I can’t psych myself out of all my mental head-trips. I envy Trey and Shayla. Where they’re the type to always have each other’s back and face hell hand-in-hand, Kingston and I are the type to put each other through hell.

“Yeah, they are. How’s being a grandma?” I address Kathy, and her smile transforms, broadening bigger than before, and Tom sits in awe over Prince.

“I love it. I feel overwhelmingly happy when I see Mason and Charlotte.” I think of little Mase and Char and grin. I love those two little buggers as much as I love my own—they’re perfect.

“What about you, Grandpa? Three babies, that’s a lot!” I tease. His eyes slowly gaze up at me and he winks. “I would take fifteen more. I love this.” He kisses Princeton’s head and I smile, knowing all the love my little man has. Between my parents, friends, and then all of Kingston’s family, our boy is spoiled.

We make small talk for a couple hours. I’m excited when Prince starts fussing and he takes my nipple, latching for the first time in days. Rocking him to sleep at the table under his feeding blanket before we leave, I settle him back in his car seat. With a sweet, genuine goodbye and a few shared hugs, I get us home.

Princeton’s asleep still, drunk in a milk coma when we get home, giving me some time to give Kingston a call. I storm my brain with each ring for a lame excuse to talk to him.

“Hey,” Kingston answers, his voice monotone, and my belly grows erratic with butterflies.

“Hi, I was gonna cook some dinner, so I was calling to see what you were craving,” I tell him, moving around the kitchen, nervously watching my feet as I do.

“I don’t care. Whatever you want, Lana.” The way he says my name sounds like it has a double meaning, a small word with every single ounce of resentment.

“Okay, I was thinking some steak and potatoes. Sound good?”

“Yup. See you at six.”

“See ya.”

We both hang up without saying I love you or goodbye. That space is seeming pretty empty right now, and I only have myself to blame.

The garage sounds and I look up at the clock. It’s just five after 6:00 p.m. when his car engine rumbles before shutting off. Peering over at Monkey’s playpen next to the kitchen island, I watch as he looks up at me and smirks when Kingston walks into view.

I keep my eyes on the potatoes as he puts his keys on the counter top. Walking around me, he doesn’t make any contact, just goes straight to Prince. “Hey, Lana.” He gives me a formal greeting, digging my own knife deeper.

“Hey. Dinner is almost done. You can shower if you want. You still have time.”

“No, I just want to hang out with Little Man. Can I take him to the couch?” he asks.

I nod. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

I really hate all this tension. Even though I was the one who told him I needed space, I didn’t mean for him to be a total dick to me.