Page 34 of Surrender

“Better?”

“Y-yes.”

He straightens but doesn’t immediately release my hand. He twists his neck. “Better, Lucy?”

Her attention flickers to me. “Yeah-huh.”

I fight against hyperventilating. “I better finish dinner if we want to eat tonight.”

With a lingering squeeze, Jack drops my hand and returns to the sensory table with my little girl.

10

Jack

She’s so goddamn pretty.

The way the light catches her hair makes the strands appear almost like threads of gold. They seem artfully arranged around her face, but I think it’s just naturally her. I don’t know enough about girly things to tell if she styled it that way on purpose, but I’d guess not. With the way she’s had her hands full with her kids and this new adventure, she hasn’t even had the time.

I don’t even think she knows her allure. The way her jeans hug her curves, wrapping snug around her hips and ass. Soft. Womanly. Her body speaks to the most primal parts of me in a way I haven’t felt in, fuck, who knows how long.

“Jack? Did you hear what I said?”

Her voice drags me back like a siren’s song. I blink heavily.

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you have a colander?” She stares at me with a puzzled expression.

“Uh, cabinet to the left of the stove.”

“Thanks.”

Steam rises from the sink where she drains the pasta. A cry from the baby monitor on the counter infiltrates the sound of her cooking.

“Shoot. Bennett’s up from his nap.”

“I got him.” The legs of my chair scrape loudly against the floor.

His cries grow louder on my way down the hall. With my hand twisting the knob, I send out a silent demand to the universe to please not let the baby be covered in shit again. The meal Whitney is cooking smells fucking delicious, and I know, just know, poo-pocalypse 2.0 would ruin my appetite.

I push the door open a crack. A simple sniff test produces nothing out of the ordinary. A cleansing breath fills my lungs with fresh air and a small amount of bravery, allowing me to sweep the door the rest of the way and enter the room.

“Hey, bud,” I soothe gently, moving swiftly to the portable crib pressed along the wall. The wails stop at the sound of my voice. I don’t waste any time before I scoop him up and cradle him against my chest. We’re on our way to his mom in less than ten seconds.

“There she is,” I announce to no one as we return to the kitchen.

Bennett’s eyes are wide and watery as he studies my face in the light. He drops his head and rubs it against my clavicle. I meet Whitney at the edge of the island.

She bends down and kisses Bennett’s forehead. “Hey, baby boy.”

Her proximity brings the scent of her flowery perfume. Bennett’s round fists press tightly to his eyes, and he buries his face in my chest again.

A warmth spreads through me as he stops rubbing his eyes and burrows in, sagging his weight against me. An unusual emotion spreads through my chest. I have the strangest urge to sit in my recliner, flick on the television, and hold him for as long as he’s content.

Since when am I the type of guy who wants to hold babies?

Forcing the foreign sensation away, I settle back into my seat at the kitchen table instead. I help Lucy stack the bowls to make room for dinner while Whitney sets the food out on the table. Once plates and utensils are set, she hovers indecisively between her chair and mine.

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