Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Speaking of.
Bane shifts beside me, his arm sliding around my shoulders, drawing me against his side like he can’t bear to have me too far away. Even now, after everything, he still touches me like I might dissolve into smoke at any moment.
To be fair, I did kind of pull a Houdini on him once. Can’t really blame the man for his attachment issues.
Kira returns with wine for me and Domhn, water for herself and Bane. Isaak is still occupied with Lily, who’s attempting to grab his nose with sticky fingers.
“She’s got your smile,” I tell Kira, gesturing at the baby with my wine glass.
Kira beams. “You think so?”
“Definitely. Look at those dimples.”
Shit, I sound like a normal human having a normal conversation. Progress!
Baby Lily chooses that moment to let out a gurgling laugh that does weird, squeezy things to my insides. Like my organs are being hugged.
“Do you want to hold her?” Isaak asks, and my stomach drops through the floor.
“Oh, uh—”
“She won’t break,” he adds with a rare smile. “Trust me, we’ve tested it.”
Kira slaps his arm. “Isaak!”
“What? She rolls off things all the time. She’s resilient.”
I glance at Bane, panicking. He just smiles, that knowing, infuriating smile that says I see you, I know you, and I love you anyway.
“I don’t think—”
But Isaak is already moving, and suddenly, there’s an eleven-month-old being deposited in my lap like a warm, squirmy loaf of bread.
Holy shit.
Lily stares up at me with huge, curious eyes. I stare back, frozen.
“Support her head,” Bane murmurs, his hand sliding beneath mine to show me.
His fingers are warm and steady against my own. I follow his lead, cradling the tiny human in a way that apparently won’t result in permanent damage.
Lily reaches up to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking with surprising strength.
“Ow, fuck—I mean—shoot!” I wince, trying to untangle her grip without hurting her.
Bane chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my side. “I think she likes you.”
“Yeah, she’s expressing it through violence. Takes after her dad.”
Isaak actually laughs at that, which makes me unreasonably proud. Getting the stoic giant to crack is my personal Olympic sport.
Domhn watches us from his chair, something unreadable on his face. For a moment, I wonder if seeing me—wild, unstable Moira—holding a baby is just too bizarre for his brain to process.
But then his expression shifts, softening. “You’re not awful at that,” he says, which might be the closest thing to a compliment he’s given me in years.
“High praise,” I retort, but my voice lacks bite.
The truth is, holding this tiny human is terrifying. And kind of amazing. And has my brain spiraling in about sixteen different directions.
Could I do this? Could I be responsible for a little life?
A month ago, Bane found me curled up in the bathtub at four a.m., weeping because I couldn’t remember if I’d taken my meds. I was convinced I’d taken too many, or none at all, and that I was about to either die or lose my mind completely.
He sat on the bathroom floor for an hour, just holding me, breathing with me, until the panic subsided enough for him to show me the pill organizer. Monday’s compartment was empty. I’d taken exactly what I was supposed to.
And then there was the day I ran out of the house in nothing but his shirt and my underwear because I’d seen a fox in the garden and was suddenly, irrationally convinced it was my spirit guide trying to tell me something.
Bane found me twenty minutes later, halfway down the lane, still trying to chase down and talk to the bewildered animal.
So, yeah. Probably not Mother of the Year material.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Bane murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.
I look down at Lily, who’s now attempting to eat my necklace. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I sigh. “Just... life stuff.”
His eyes soften, seeing right through me as always. “We have time,” he says quietly. “For all of it.”
He means kids. We’ve danced around the topic, never quite addressing it head-on. His gentle “we have time” is both permission to wait and the promise that he’s not going anywhere while I figure my shit out.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel stable enough, sane enough, to be a mother. If the meds will ever balance out just right, if therapy will finally click and make me whole. If the fear of passing on whatever genetic time bomb sits in my DNA will ever fade.
Other days, I think maybe I’m overthinking it. My own mother was a complete disaster, and I turned out... well, I turned out.
Lily suddenly decides my lap is no longer the place to be and makes a grabby-hands motion toward Kira, who swoops in to reclaim her offspring.
“She’s probably getting hungry,” Kira says apologetically.
I hand over the baby, ignoring the strange emptiness I feel once my arms are free again. “She’s amazing,” I say, and mean it.