Page 143 of Things We Burn

Mabel settled back down after ten seconds. I counted.

“No arguing,” I whispered to Kane. “Sleep.”

He considered me, us. “Goes against all my better instincts to sleep while my woman is up with my baby.”

“Well, for once, go toward your bad instincts, and sleep.”

He shot me another troubled stare before he leaned in to kiss the side of my mouth. “Yes, Chef.”

My body warmed at the endearment, taking me back to who I was, who we were, for a moment.

He kissed Mabel’s head, curled up beside us, and was asleep within seconds.

It was a credit to how much he’d obviously been fighting against it.

I watched the two of them, my man and my baby sleeping peacefully, going over the past forty-eight hours in my head. The labor felt visceral yet blurry all at the same time. I stared at my phone, watching the time go by while forcing my eyes to stay open. Dawn. If I made it to dawn, then I had made it through the night. Then it would be morning. My mom would be up and Maisie would be there; there would be mothers to help.

Because me… I wasn’t a mother. I didn’t know what I was doing. This poor baby was trying desperately to drink from me, yet there was nothing there. I couldn’t do anything but hold her to my breast and watch the sun start to kiss the horizon.

Kane awoke with a start just after six. He jolted up, his hair askew, eyes wide. “What do you need?”

His hands rushed to Mabel’s head, which had begun moving around, her soft grumbles of disquiet calmed as her half-asleep father took her into his arms.

“Good morning, my pretty princess,” he murmured against her head, inhaling deeply. His eyes met mine, cataloging me.

“You didn’t sleep,” he deduced. “And I did. What an asshole. Fuck, I’m sorry, Chef.”

“You’re sorry for sleeping?” I asked, a hint of teasing in my tone. It felt forced, that lightness, battling against the weight that settled against my chest at some point in the night.

“I’m sorry for sleeping while my woman stayed up with the baby, yeah.” He brushed his hand through his hair, holding Mabel one-handed.

“I’ll get up, you don’t move a fucking muscle,” he demanded. “You sleep. Now.”

Without waiting for me to respond, he got up from bed with Mabel in his arms, walking in the direction of our bedroom.

“Kane,” I called.

He turned, baby against his chest. Our baby against his chest. “Yes, Chef?”

“You’re basically naked,” I pointed out. My skin prickled at the visual.

He was only in his underwear, Mabel nuzzled against his bare torso.

“So?” he shrugged. “She doesn’t care, and we know skin to skin is great for bonding these next few days. Plus, I like the feeling of her close.” He pressed his lips to her head. “And I know you don’t hate the view.” He winked.

“All of those things are true.” I was struggling to have what felt to be a normal conversation when my emotions were pinballing around my brain.

“And as long as you don’t mind my mother and Maisie enjoying that view too—which they will, I’m sure. They have no shame—then you go right ahead.” I shifted in bed, wincing at the small movement and the pain it sent radiating to my crotch area.

Though they were staying at the inn in town, both of them had slept on the pull-out couch last night, in case we needed anything. My mother planned on staying there for the rest of the week. I’d thought it was overly indulgent, but considering the way I was feeling, it wouldn’t be overly indulgent if she stayed there for the next year.

Kane stiffened as he clocked my wince. “What do you need? Painkiller?”

I scoffed as if the measly Motrin would do anything besides dull the edges of the knife carving away at my insides. “No, I need to use the bathroom.” He did not need to know that I alsoneeded to reassemble the pad and hemorrhoid patch concoction that the nurses had showed me.

Kane darted across the room, gingerly setting Mabel down in the bassinet beside our bed.

Her little face instantly screwed up as she made sounds of protest.

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