Nothing much had changed with daycare. Jill still irritated the hell out of me, but she worshiped Drake. So even though I had to tear him from her arms every evening, I forced fake smiles with gritted teeth.
This was the first time in weeks that I’d overheard her gossip. Probably because she was usually alone in the nursery.
I quickened my steps, making it to the doorway. “Hi.”
Both women’s eyes went wide. Guilt crept into their expressions. Yep, they’d been talking about me. Bitches.
“Oh, hi.” Jill had Drake on a hip, no surprise. She was always carrying him.
“Did he have a good day?” I asked, hurrying to collect his things.
“Yes, he was perfect.” She kissed his cheek. “Weren’t you? You’re always perfect. But he didn’t take an afternoon nap. So we just cuddled.”
Meaning she hadn’t laid him down so that he could take his afternoon nap. Meaning I’d have to put him to bed early and miss my time with him. My molars began their daily grind as I went to take him from her arms. “Hi, baby.”
He saw my outstretched hands and instantly began to fuss.
I am so fucking sick of this. What the hell? Did she feed him sugar and tell him I was the devil all day? He’d be fine in ten minutes, but it was like she brainwashed my baby every day.
“It’s okay.” Jill bounced him. But she didn’t hand him over. “Just one itty bitty sleep and then you’ll be back. I’ll see you in no time at all.”
I forced a smile and took him out of her hands. After a quick kiss on his cheek, erasing the one she’d left, I put him straight into his car seat. Then the crying started.
He just hated his car seat. That was part of the reason for the daily theatrics, right? Maybe that drive from New York had turned him against this seat for life.
“Oh, Drakey,” Jill crooned. “I know. I don’t like it either.”
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
The moment he was clicked into the harness, I left the nursery, not bothering with a goodbye.
Drake cried the entire walk to the door, and when we stepped outside into the snow, he just got angrier. Tears flooded my eyes as I hustled him into the Volvo. Then I was behind the wheel, reversing away.
One block away, I glanced in the rearview to see Knox’s truck close behind. In the disaster that was daily daycare pickup, I’d forgotten he’d been following me home. But as the roads turned icy and the blizzard seemed to intensify on the highway, I was glad to have his headlights each time I looked in my mirrors.
The wind rattled the car’s windows. The noise did little to improve Drake’s mood and he continued to cry. When I finally reached the turnout to Juniper Hill, I breathed. Almost home.
Except it wasn’t my home, was it? It was Knox’s home.
I’d come all this way to start a new life. I’d moved across the country. And just over two months later, I was living under a roof I did not own. To steal Jill’s words, I was shacked up.
What happened if Knox decided we were too much of a burden? That he wanted his single, easy life back?
Every doubt, every insecurity, plagued me on the drive home. Every day. My nerves shook like the trees in the wind as I drove down the gravel road. The house came into view and I hit the button for the garage, easing inside. I had Drake out and the handle of his seat over my arm as Knox parked in his own space.
“What’s wrong with Drake?” he asked, stepping out of his truck.
“Nothing.” I waved it off.
He knew it was a lie, but he stayed quiet, leading the way to his house and closing the door when we were all inside. “We’re adding on to the house.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t like having to haul him through the snow to get inside.” He bent and unbuckled Drake, lifting him out. Only when he was in Knox’s arms did the crying stop.
Of course he stopped crying. He was with his second-favorite person.
I was a reluctant third.
“Memphis.”
“Knox.” I walked past him, taking the car seat and Drake’s daycare bag to the guest bedroom.
My solitude was short lived. Knox’s footsteps came into the room. “You walked out of that daycare on the verge of tears.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I set the bag down and pulled out the dirty bottles. Heaven forbid Jill actually rinse them out for me. “That’s normal.”
“Why is that normal?”
“Because Jill, my daycare lady, loves Drake.” I threw up my hands. “She loves him. She spoils him. And any other mother would just be happy that her baby is loved and spoiled, but it hurts me. It hurts me that he’d rather stay with her than come home with me. And it hurts me that we don’t really have a home to come home to. This is your home. I have no home. And my only family member is a little boy who—”
“Loves you.” Knox stepped forward and handed me Drake, squashing the rest of my rambling outburst. Then he wrapped his arms around us both. “He loves you. Because you’re a good mother.”
I looked at my son, who’d stopped crying and was busy fisting a handful of my hair. His brown eyes were so big and expressive. His face so tiny and perfect. “He is my entire world. I just wanted to be his.”
“You are, honey.”
I met Knox’s blue gaze. “Am I?”
“Would I lie to you?”
No. The frustration seeped from my bones. “What happened to me? I used to be so confident. Now I question everything. I doubt myself constantly. And I hate it.”
“Hey.” He pulled me close and I burrowed into his chest, dragging in his spicy scent. His arms and that smell had been the only reasons I’d slept this week. He’d held me every night, our limbs twined, our bodies naked, until I’d shut down the fears and uncertainty to rest.
“Why do you want me?” I whispered. “I’m a mess.”
“Come with me.” He let me go and clasped my hand, leading us to the kitchen. Then he dragged a stool out from the island and patted the seat. “Hold Drake.”
I took my son and propped him on a knee, bouncing him gently.
On the weekends, it was easier to put him down. To let him chill on his play mat. Weekdays, after he’d spent eight or nine hours in Jill’s arms, it was harder for me to let go. So I held him and we both watched Knox round the island and pull food from the fridge and pantry.
He opened a package of bacon and set it in a frying pan, the fat melting and popping as it splattered. He took out a container of flour, dumping a scoop directly onto the counter. Then he made a well, cracking three eggs into the white powder before sprinkling it all with salt.
He worked the flour and eggs into a dough, his fingers messy as he kneaded it from a sticky mess to this perfect, smooth ball. Then he went to work with a knife, chopping the crispy bacon and then parsley before grating cheese.
He kept on working until he had filled two bowls with pasta carbonara, and when he set mine in front of me, he simply kissed my temple and handed me a fork.
Drake began to squirm halfway through dinner so I excused myself and escaped to the bathroom to give him a long bath. Then I sat with him on the guest bed and fed him his bottle. He fell asleep almost instantly.
Knox was exactly where I’d left him, seated at the island, scrolling through his phone. Surrounded by a mess. When he heard me, the phone was put aside. “He asleep?”