Him holding our baby.
And he does it so well, too.
Like he knew right away, right from the beginning, how to angle his arm, how to hunch his shoulder, how careful he should be with her neck, how wide he should splay his fingers on her teeny tiny body to give her the maximum support and protection.
Maximum safety.
Her protector. Her hero.
Anyway, as soon as he took our Halo in his arms, she calmed down. She started flailing her fists too, making noises, kicking her tiny feet in those booties I’d made for her.
Like she used to do whenever he was near, even when she was still in my belly.
You know what, Shepard and Ledger and everyone else can go suck it.
I know, as I’ve always known, he is going to be her favorite.
There’s magic in him. Dark magic. All girls, including my four-week-old baby, can’t resist him. The one with the vampire skin and wolf eyes.
Reed Roman Jackson.
The guy who gave me Halo. She looks like him, actually. Except for my eyes, Halo got everything from him. Her hair, her nose, her chin. Her forehead. Even her ears.
She’s a carbon copy of her daddy.
And he’s just pulled into the driveway.
As usual, I hear the screech of his tires before his car door bangs shut. It’s not his Mustang though. He got a new, baby-proof car from the shop, his shop.
Auto Alpha.
Oh yeah, he told me.
The very next day, when I finally woke up and had enough sense to ask things and hear things and go see Halo. He told me that he bought the garage. It’s his now and he’s going to work there and I guess I was so emotional about everything, I started crying.
I sobbed and sobbed in happiness that Reed is free now.
He’s free of his dad. He has what he wanted. He has his dream.
He chose his dream. He chose the right thing.
That’s where he goes when he leaves for work every day. And that’s where he went today because they called him about some parts that were wrongly delivered.
So I’m happy now.
I have Halo. She’s finally at home and healthy. Reed doesn’t have to work for his dad anymore.
Extremely, excessively happy.
Happy, happy, happy.
So happy that when I hear his bounding footsteps on the porch stairs, I stand up from the cozy couch that I was sitting on and leave the room.
I go to the kitchen and busy myself with something.
Although there’s nothing that needs doing around here. Because the people who were here, my family and friends, cleaned up everything before they left. Because they didn’t want to bother me or stress me out with the new baby at home.
Ugh.
I hate this.
I hate that I have nothing to do and that my heart is spinning and spinning in my chest because he’s now inside the house. He’s just closed the door and he’s probably three seconds away from me.
I almost hope, almost, that he doesn’t come in here.
In the kitchen.
Where I’m hiding away from him.
Although to be very honest, this isn’t a good hiding place. I should’ve probably chosen the bedroom and locked the door. Barred the windows. Not that it would keep him out, but I’m too angry at him right now to do it anyway.
Yes, I’m angry.
I’m so angry that I could…
I spin around when I feel him at the threshold. His tall, big presence overwhelms everything else, and as soon as I see him, the space that was bright turns darker.
So much so that the only thing that shines bright is him in his light-colored t-shirt and dark jeans. There’s a strip of grease on his left bicep and also a smaller spot on his left wrist that makes my stomach clench, my chest heave with longing.
He’s usually super careful about washing up at work before he comes home. Something about not wanting to dirty things up. But sometimes he misses spots and I don’t know what it is about them, but I find them so masculine, so very, very sexy.
And I want them on me, those dirty, greasy, fascinating hands.
I clench my fists because it only makes me angrier.
When I look back at his face, I find that his eyes are taking me in.
They are glowing as he takes in my braid, my daisy-printed white dress.
I chose this dress today because it makes me feel like a fairy — courtesy of the guy I’m mad at — and since I was bringing my Halo home, I wanted to feel like one.
When he’s done, his gaze lingering on my stomach that’s more pouchy than flat for a second too long, and his eyes come back to mine, I blurt out, “Everybody left.”
“I see that.”
Of course he does and of course he’d use a voice, all deep and smooth, that goes down my spine like warm honey.