Page 95 of Three of a Kind

Unfortunately, I don’t have her booster seat here with us.

“Why don’t you sit with me?” Maverick offers when I shove myself out of my chair to help her.

“Sit down, Mama,” Noble says. “Relax and actually enjoy your meal for a change.”

It’s crazy.

This isn’t real life.

Not for Libby and me.

I’m used to standing at the kitchen island while she eats. That way, if she needs something, I’m already up. Sometimes, I would bring everything to the breakfast nook, but then I’d have to put it all back after, and with it just being the two of us, it was easier to hover in the kitchen.

I slide back into my chair as Libby points at Maverick’s steak.

“I want some of that,” she says, nodding against his chest.

Gunner chuckles. “The dogs are going to be heartbroken. There will be even less leftovers for them to beg for.” He stretches a hand over, patting my thigh. “I’m only joking. Noble is right. Enjoy your food.”

I smile, trying to remind myself that we’re bonded.

They signed up for this craziness.

I just hope they knew what they were getting. It feels a lot like I got the better end of this deal.

My eyes widen, and I take a deep breath to center myself. Libby throws an absolute tantrum as I try to get her into her pajama pants.

I have no idea what changed between putting on her Pull-Up and trying to get her into the pants, but it feels like it was something drastic.

She’s normally very well-behaved. I think the changes are taking a toll on her.

She rolls around the bed, kicking and screaming. “I said no touch me!”

The baby flips or turns in my stomach, possibly reacting to the chaos unfolding in the room. The movements are becoming more noticeable with every passing day, but luckily, I’m not outnumbered just yet.

“Okay.” I toss the pants on the bed and take a seat at her side. “We don’t have to do that right now. Would you like me to brush your hair?”

“No,” she says, shoving at my thigh as she kicks at the blanket.

“How about I rub your back?” I offer, moving her still-wet hair away from her eyes.

“I said no!”

Sometimes, when she’s overtired, she turns into a tiny tyrant, but those moments are so few and far between that I tend to let her get her emotions out.

“How can I help you feel better?”

“I want my bed.” She cries even harder, and my chest aches.

“I know.” I sigh, stretching out to lie at her side. “We’ve had some big changes, but I’m right here with you. I love you so much.”

She rolls onto her back and crosses her arms over her chest. “Let’s go home. We can do it.”

“Sweet pea…” My stomach wobbles as she nods, like she’s trying to mentally will me to take her back to her bed in the apartment.

It feels like all my words disappear, and I don’t know what to say to make her feel better.

Omegas are notoriously sensitive to the emotions of others.

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