The Yeah, Baby Series

Turning away from him, I hummed to my baby boy, completely ignoring the man standing in the nursery doorway. I counted to twenty in my head as I got him situated on the changing table and unsnapped his onesie. A bright smile and delightful giggle were the reward for my patience as I tickled his belly.

I felt the warmth of Weston’s body against my back, but I refused to look up at him. Not yet. “I need to get him changed and fed before he shouts the house down. He’s not very patient when he’s hungry, but he loves to go into his baby swing after. Once he’s settled, we can talk about your ridiculous accusation and where the heck you’ve been for the last year.”

“Aspen—”

“No,” I cut him off. “I refuse to do this in front of Carter.”

“You named him Carter?” There was awe in Weston’s tone, and it made my eyes well up with tears.

Macy had insisted I was a pushover for naming my baby after his daddy’s father, even though he’d pulled a complete disappearing act on me. At the time, it had felt like the only thing I could do to give my son a connection to his daddy. “Yes,” I choked out. “His name is Carter Davis Kennedy.”

“Carter Davis”—his tone switched from one of wonder to a snarl as he repeated the last word—“Kennedy.”

“I said, not in front of the baby,” I bit out as I snapped his onesie back up again and dropped his soiled diaper into the bin next to the changing table. “I’d prefer if you wait in the living room, anyway. He needs to be fed.”

“No fucking way am I leaving this room, Aspen.” I felt his eyes on me as I made my way to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. “I’ve missed three months of my baby’s life. I’m not willing to miss another moment. Let me help feed him.”

A deep flush crept up my chest and towards my face. “There isn’t anything for you to help with because he doesn’t take a bottle.”

“Then I guess you’d better get used to breastfeeding him in front of me, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m not doing this with you in here,” I snapped.

He stalked towards me and nudged me into the chair by my shoulders, bending down to stroke Carter’s cheek. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your tits before, Aspen.” His gaze dropped lower and heated. “Although, I should have noticed the size difference right away. You’ve gone up at least a cup since I had my mouth all over them while you screamed my name.”

“Weston! Not in front of Carter,” I gasped, and then mumbled to myself. “And it’s more like two cup sizes, not that you’ll ever have the chance to touch them again.”

“Don’t bet your sweet ass on that,” he whispered in my ear. Rising up again, he prowled towards the door. “Women breastfeed in public all the time. You’ve got two minutes to figure something out while I get you a glass of water.”

Then he strolled out of the nursery like he owned the place. “Why, oh why, did I have to fall for such a conceited, arrogant man? Can you tell Mommy that?” I muttered while I lifted my shirt, unbuttoned the flap on my nursing bra, and pulled a blanket over Carter’s head while he latched on like the greedy little boy he was at feeding time.

I’d barely gotten the blanket in place when Weston returned. He placed the glass of water he’d gotten me on the table next to the rocking chair and dropped down onto the floor to sit, with his legs stretched out, directly in front of me. He was so damn tall, he practically took up all the floor space in the room.

“I don’t understand how this happened,” he mused absently, obviously not aware he’d spoken the thought out loud.

I shrugged. “Condoms don’t always work.” My tone was defensive, miffed that he might be blaming me for getting pregnant.

His lips twitched before he pressed them into a thin line, as though he was suppressing a smile and my eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had no right to be happy about that after ignoring the consequences of it for so long.

“When was he born?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Three months ago tomorrow.”

His eyes lit with excitement as they drifted down to the blanketed head of our son. “A milestone to celebrate.”

“Like you really care,” I mumbled.

“If you want to have this out now, I’m more than willing to do so,” he rumbled. “You’re the one who said we needed to wait until my little man was done eating. If that’s the way you want to play it, then you can’t lob accusations like that my way. Because I’m more than fucking ready to hear your explanation for how I’m just now finding out you had my baby.”

“Accusations?” I hissed, resting my hand over Carter’s head to cover his ear in a futile attempt to protect him from an argument that wasn’t going to wait because I couldn’t seem to stop myself from responding. “You’re the one who tried to insinuate I was never going to tell you something I’d tried telling you many, many times. I’m not the one who disappeared for a year and didn’t answer any of your messages. If either of us has the right to be pissed off here, it’s me, because I’m the one who was left pregnant and alone. You abandoned us, bucko. Not the other way around.”

“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me,” he groaned, his head dropping low while he took several deep breaths. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with a strange mixture of rage and regret. “You emailed me?”

“Of course I did!” I snapped. “You said it was the only way I could reach you while you were gone, and I stupidly believed you. I sent my first message a week after you left because I missed you. I wasn’t sure when you’d get it or be able to respond, but then I realized a couple weeks later that I’d missed my period. I sent the second one then. The third one had the news of my positive pregnancy test. I emailed the fuck out of you until I realized it wasn’t going to make you magically reappear in my life.”

“How many?” The words sounded like they were dragged from the depths of his soul.

“How many what?” I whispered back, starting to get the feeling there was something seriously wrong here. He wasn’t acting like a man who’d known about his baby. I’d been too angry before to stop and consider the why behind his accusation. But was it really possible he hadn’t known? That he’d never received any of my messages?

“How many fucking times did you email me?”

“You’re going to have to learn how to watch your language if you plan on spending time with Carter,” I chided. It didn’t do me much good because he just sat there, glaring at me from the floor. I wasn’t sure how honest I should be with him. The answer was kind of embarrassing when I stopped to think about it. I didn’t really want to admit to a number out loud. “Too many.”

He uncoiled from his position on the floor and stalked towards me, only to crouch down in front of me, his eyes drilling into mine. “How many times, Aspen?”

Carter came to my rescue and let out a little wail. He was hungry and didn’t mind my distraction until it interfered with his ability to eat. I switched him to the other side, and he latched back on and settled down immediately.

“Tell me, Aspen,” he rasped out. “I need to know.”

I closed my eyes in an effort to block out the tortured look in his. It didn’t help, and the answer spilled from my lips anyway. “Forty.”

“Forty fucking emails.” His forehead pressed gently against mine, and I squeezed my eyes even more tightly shut. “When did you send the last one?”