More Than Need You Page 14

  capture sunshine and bend rainbows if he thought it would make you happy.”

  Keeley doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “One thing I do know? I don’t belong here. Mom and Phil plan to do Mardi Gras in New Orleans at the end of the month. They invited me to come along, but I feel like a third wheel who sits around with a long face and occasionally mooches food.”

  “I doubt you’re that sad.” I scoff. “I have an idea. Come home and get your things out of storage. You’re supposed to sing at Gus’s hole-in-the-wall on Sunday night, right?” When she gives me an affirmative murmur, I go on. “So come crash at my place. See Maxon and hear what he has to say. Sing on Sunday. If you still want to leave come Monday, then I’ll get you another plane ticket to Phoenix—or wherever. But at least you’ll have your stuff and some closure.”

  “When did you get so smart, Mr. Reed?”

  “Well, a few years ago, I met a really cool chick who was answering the phones for this worthless therapist who was supposed to be helping me sort through my personal issues…”

  She laughs. “Well, that girl was in need of a good friend, too. I just don’t know why you had to have a hot brother she’d fall for?”

  “Maybe…you were meant to be, like, my sister, huh?” I suggest. When she tries to poo-poo that, I lay out the truth. “Without you, Maxon and I wouldn’t be speaking. I’d have no chance at all of winning over Britta or my son. I mean, it’s still slim, but it’s more than I had. Thank you for helping me figure out how to be happy again. Maybe it’s time for me to help you.”

  “You’re entirely too silver-tongued, Griffin Reed. All right.” She sighs. “I’ll come home and see how I feel after the weekend.”

  Gotcha. I’ve heard Maxon’s plan, so I know that by Monday, she’s going to be so thrilled the last thing she’ll ever want to do is leave.

  I smile as we ring off, then answer some emails from my phone. About midnight, I’m winding down and ready to find my pillow when I hear screaming.

  I rush down the hall and fumble in the dark, stumbling into Jamie’s bedroom. The boyish space is illuminated by one low-glowing nightlight. I spot the little guy wearing a furious expression, fists clenched, in the middle of his room.

  Apparently, he climbed out of his crib. He’s big enough, so I’m not surprised.

  I drop to my knees in front of him and hold out my arms. He backs away and shakes his head. It’s like a dagger in my heart. But I’m pretty much a stranger, and he’s a little kid. I need to remember that.

  “Hey, buddy.” I try to soothe him in a soft voice. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “Mama…” Tears stream down his face.

  “She’s sick. I’m here. What happened?”

  He points at the crib and begins crying in earnest again, then picks up a stuffed animal at his feet. He flails his arms angrily, and the bear flops above his head, then swings against his leg a few times before I pluck it away.

  “Let’s not hurt the bear. Come here, big guy. Let’s talk this out.”

  This time, I manage to pull him into my lap and hold him. I try to convey calm and give him a sense of security. But I’m fully aware that I know nothing about easing a toddler’s imaginary fears.

  Across the room, I spot a rocking chair of some sort and lift Jamie, settling him against my chest as I sink in and glide in gentle strokes. It doesn’t take long before he sticks his thumb in his mouth, then lays his head on my shoulder and drifts off.

  I’m in his dark room, cleverly decorated in blues and woodsy accents, and I’m surrounded by his toys, his scent, his presence. He’s done nothing but go to sleep, as small children do. Yet it’s a profound moment.

  I really am a father. This boy is my son. And what’s happened between us is a small, fragile start. But it means everything to me to feel his heart beating against me, have his deep breaths heat my neck, to know he trusts me enough to simply relax in my arms.

  It’s unlike anything I’ve ever imagined. I’ve spent thirty ridiculously self-absorbed years on this planet being angry at my father for being an unfeeling asshole and my mother for being the sort willing to sell her kid out for a modicum of power. I took for granted my brother, my woman. I plowed through so much pussy and threw away phone numbers the next morning without even remembering their names or caring about the time I spent with them. I’ve done too many things I’m not proud of.

  But in this moment, I’m overjoyed because somehow, somewhere along the way, I did this one thing right. If I’ve contributed nothing to society except Jamie, then at least I gave my best.

  Now that he’s good and asleep, I should set him in his crib and leave him in peace. But I don’t want to let go. Just another minute.

  Silence seeps around me, broken only by the sounds of my son inhaling and exhaling. He’s limp weight in my arms. I’m not doing anything exceptional except holding him.

  Yet it’s so moving I feel tears sting my eyes.

  I see the fork in my road in front of me so clearly. Down one path lies more of this—moments with my son, with Britta, growing our love, expanding our family. Down the other…well, I know that road. More emptiness. More nameless hookups. More wondering what the hell the meaning of life is.

  Fuck no. I’m going to fight with everything I’ve got to hold on to this family that’s mine. It may get ugly and dirty before I’m through, but I will do whatever it takes to claim and care for them.

  I lay my son to sleep in his crib with his stuffed animal, a light blanket, and a kiss on his cheek.

  I seek my own bed but barely manage to sleep. Too much is swirling through my head.

  I jolt out of bed at seven, make coffee, then check on Jamie to find him stretching sleepily. I’m not sure what his morning routine is, but I’ll figure it out.

  For the first time, he comes to me right away. And when I lift him up, the first order of business is obvious. Jamie’s diaper is sloshy and wet.

  “Okay, big boy. Let’s do this together.”

  I’m damn glad I have my phone handy. YouTube is totally my friend, and within thirty seconds, I’m pulling up a video for men about changing a diaper. I would feel stupid…but nearly two hundred thousand other guys have watched this clip, so I’m clearly not the only lost sap.

  After that, I dress him in clean clothes, make a few eggs—and coffee for me—then I set him down to a cartoon and some toys. I’m struck by one vital question: how does Britta take a shower in peace with a toddler roaming the house who’s able to open doors, climb furniture, and maybe even start fires?

  Suddenly, Britta rushes into the family room in her oversized T-shirt with her hair in what was once a haphazard ponytail. She looks like hell warmed over, but she looks better than she did last night.

  “Morning, angel.” I sip coffee.

  Her stare volleys between Jamie and me in question. “Everything’s all right?”

  “Perfect. I just need a shower. Um…how do you watch him while you get cleaned up? Take him in the bathroom with you or…? I’d suggest a playpen, but he climbed out of his crib last night—”

  “Again?” She winces, then sighs. “He started doing that last week. Rascal. Any nightmares?”

  “One. I handled it.”

  She glances at him, all ready for daycare. To say she looks surprised is an understatement. “Thanks.”

  “As soon as we drop him off, I’m taking you to the urgent care clinic.”

  “No need. I’m fine,” she says, then almost instantly doubles over in a coughing fit.

  “Obviously, you’re not.” I want to wrap my arms around her, but I’m trying to respect her personal space while she feels crappy. “They open in ten minutes, so start getting ready.”

  Britta wants to dig in her heels but doesn’t have the energy. While she’s throwing on some clothes, she keeps one eye on Jamie so I can call Maxon to tell him what’s up and grab a shower. Twenty minutes later, we’re all heading out the door. Jamie goes happily to school, and Britta is grumpy a
ll the way to the doctor’s office.

  I smile. I probably have no reason to be this chipper. I barely slept. But I’m at peace. If I play this right, today could be the first day of the rest of our lives. It’s different. It’s hectic. It’s not perfect. None of that matters. I’m with the people who matter to me.

  “What’s this?” Britta asks as she plucks up the CD case I left in her car last night when I drove to get her food. I meant to listen to another track but I was enjoying my time with Jamie too much to let anything, even well-intended music, bring me down.

  I’m not sure how she’ll take this, but I can’t be less than honest. “You’ve met Keeley?”

  Beside me, Britta stiffens and sets the case down. “I have.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  She sniffles into a tissue and rolls her eyes. “It’s none of my business.”

  I want it to be her business. “What would you say to me if it was?”

  “That you’ve never been ‘just friends’ with a woman in your life.”

  “Until Keeley, no. But I swear I’ve never touched her. It would be like touching Harlow to me.” I recoil at the thought. “Seriously. I’m just friends with her the way Maxon is just friends with you.”

  She considers that with a frown. But given my history, it sounds farfetched. I know.

  “If you were feeling better, angel, I’d take you with me to the airport this afternoon to pick her up so you could see for yourself.”

  Now Britta looks alarmed. “She’s coming back?”

  I fill her in. “I’m hoping that she’ll give Maxon a chance to make her happy. They’re really in love.”

  Britta ponders such a long time I’m not sure she’s going to answer. “He’s been different since he met her. If what you’re saying is true, I hope everything works out for them.”

  But she still sounds a little suspicious. And glum. It’s going to work out for us, too. No matter what I have to do.

  The doctor confirms that she’s got an upper respiratory infection and gives her a prescription. After settling her at home, I pick up her Z-Pak, get her some lunch, tuck her in bed. She thanks me…and doesn’t balk when I kiss her on the forehead.

  It’s progress.

  Then I head to the airport.

  When Keeley hustles into baggage claim, she looks exhausted from traveling all day, but she’s also got a little glow that tells me she’s happy to be home. She sees me, then immediately starts looking around, her smile slowly falling.

  “Maxon isn’t here,” I say softly as I hug her. “I didn’t tell him in case you changed your mind.”

  In fact, I’ve been dodging his calls all morning.

  “Oh.” She frowns, but I hear the relief in her voice that my brother didn’t suddenly stop caring about her. As if.

  “He has something he wants to say when the moment is right. You’ll see.” I grin smugly.

  I take her to an early dinner so we can talk more, then get her settled back at my condo. She gave up her apartment when she moved in with Maxon a month ago, so she’s got no place to go. Keeley protests, but I tell her it’s cool. I’m hoping not to be there for a few days—at least.

  I must be watching the time a lot because she laughs at me. “You’re anxious to get back to Britta, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I feel my face getting hot. “Sorry.”

  “I need the rest,” she assures. “Go away.”

  With a chuckle, I leave her at my place. On the drive out to Britta’s, I call Maxon. The relief in my brother’s voice when I let him know Keeley is back in Maui would be comical if I didn’t understand how much it hurts when you have nothing but hope that your woman will come back to you.

  Finally, I arrive at Britta’s house. I’m ready to talk to her about allowing me to pick Jamie up from daycare. I’ve got arguments prepared. But when she answers the door, I see she’s already driven the nearly hour there and back and brought our son home.

  “I was going to get him for you. You’re supposed to be resting,” I admonish when she answers the door and I walk in to find Jamie on the family room floor, playing with some Lincoln Logs.

  “I’m feeling better,” she promises, but still sounds raspy as hell. “What are you doing here?”

  I scowl. What does she think I’m doing? “Taking care of you two.”

  “We’re good for tonight.”

  “The antibiotics will take twenty-four hours to kick in. It’s been what, eight? Jamie can be a handful and he doesn’t need exposure to your germs. You two still need dinner. So…here I am.”

  “You’re offering to cook?” At my nod, she frowns at me. “That’s awfully…domestic of you. When we were together, you never wanted anything to do with cooking or cleaning or—”

  “Or anything helpful. I know. I’ve honestly changed. A couple years ago, I realized how bad it is for you to eat out every night, like I did before I met you. So, out of self-preservation, I learned to throw together a few decent meals. I’ll cook tonight, angel. I’m not promising that dinner will be spectacular, but it will be edible.”

  She shuts the door and heads back to the sofa, plopping down like she’s exhausted. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Frankly, it’s what Makaio should be doing, but I’m not going to diss the bastard to her face. She’ll only feel compelled to defend him. And I want to avoid comparisons. Right now, this is about her and me, period. “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow. If you’re really well then, I’ll leave if you want me to.”

  Britta looks like she wants to accept my offer but knows she shouldn’t. “Really, you don’t have to. I already fed Jamie a cup of soup and a grilled cheese. I can whip up something for myself—”

  “You need rest and at least one more stretch of uninterrupted sleep. I’m going to take care of you two. Jamie and I were buds after his nightmare last night. I rocked him back to sleep.”

  “He let you?” She sounds stunned.

  “Yeah. Took a minute or two to coax him, but…” I shrug. “Look, just promise me we don’t have to talk about the papers now, okay? Let me show you I can be a good father.” And a good husband. But I don’t add that aloud. She’s not ready to hear it.

  “You win. I should say no but I don’t have the strength.” Britta drops her head back against the sofa, eyes closed. “Where’s Keeley?”

  “I stashed her at my place tonight. She’ll be with Maxon soon, I’m sure.”

  “And you’d rather be here?”

  I have to hold in a smile of triumph. The answer clearly matters to her.

  “Absolutely. Keeley helped me through a lot. She’s my friend, and I wish her all the best. But I love you. I intend to stay here as long as you’ll let me.”

  She lifts her head and stares like she’s shocked I confessed my feelings to her again. “Griff…”

  “You don’t have to say anything. For as often as you used to tell me and I stayed silent, I’ve earned it. But that’s not going to stop me from saying the words and trying to convince you I mean them. In case you’re wondering, I love Jamie, too. It was instantaneous. I never expected that.”

  After gnawing on her lip, she finally nods. “Isn’t that the craziest thing? I loved him before he was born, but when I first saw him…”

  “It was unstoppable. In that moment, he became my son. You thanked me for making him possible, but I’m the one who should be thanking you. You carried him, birthed him, nurtured him—all without my help. I’m never going to let you down again.”

  Britta presses her lips together and stares. I don’t know what’s running through her head. For once, I can’t read her expression or body language. I suspect she’s at least thinking about what I’ve said.

  “What can you cook?” she finally asks on a sigh.

  I’m disappointed at the change of subject, but I get it. Nothing with Britta is going to happen overnight. “What do you want?”

  “Something with chicken sounds good.”

&nb
sp; “That leaves my choices wide open.”