Page 144 of Things We Burn

“Daddy is going to be right back,” Kane told Mabel. “I’m just helping Mommy.”

I reeled at the labels.

“That’s us,” I muttered. “We’reDaddyandMommy.”

Kane grinned, his face light despite his exhaustion. “That’s us, Chef. Daddy and Mommy.”

He pulled back the covers, leaning down to put his arms behind my shoulders in order to help me from the bed.

“You don’t need to do that,” I argued, my voice strained with pain. “I’m capable of getting out of bed on my own.”

Mabel’s protests continued in the background, my teeth grinding at the sound of her displeasure.

“I watched you give birth without drugs.” Kane carefully helped maneuver me so my feet touched the floor. “I’m well aware that you can handle the simple act of getting out of bed. But my masculinity cannot handle that my useless nipples can’t do anything other than this.” He pulled me up to standing, again carefully.

When Mabel’s cries intensified, I felt it in my stomach. In my womb, cramping in sync with the wails. In my skin. My jaw clenched and every fiber of my being rebelled at the sound, something inside me screaming to go to my baby.

Despite the blood rushing to my already soaked pad, I made a beeline for Mabel instead of the bathroom.

Kane scooped her up before I could, one hand still on me.

How he could handle our newborn baby so confidently one-handed was anyone’s guess. I still had trouble moving her from one breast to the other—with both of my hands.

Mabel continued to whine, but she seemed to calm somewhat in Kane’s capable grasp. He then began to walk us to the bathroom.

“You need me to help in there?” He, to my mortification, nodded to the toilet.

I pursed my lips. “I think I can take it from here.”

He paused for a moment then nodded.

I closed the door firmly behind me, resting my back against it and closing my eyes for a second.

I wanted, very badly, to sink onto the cool bathroom floor and sleep. A subtle cry from beyond the door sounded, then a soothing, low, masculine whisper.

There was no room for luxuries like sleeping on the bathroom floor. I was a mother now.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to the toilet.

By the time I emerged, neither Kane nor Mabel were anywhere to be seen. A rush of pure, unhinged panic hurtled through me.

I rushed down the stairs—as much as one could rush with their vagina stitched together—and found Kane in the kitchen with my mother, Maisie and Mabel.

Maisie was holding Mabel, Kane with two cups of coffee.

He was somehow dressed.

The thought of getting dressed and dealing with Mabel seemed impossible to me. I guessed he was Kane ‘The Devil’ Rhodes, so he could do such things.

Meanwhile, I could barely make it down the stairs.

Then again, he’s not the one who just gave birth, I reminded myself.

“Chef, I was going to bring this up,” Kane chastised, frowning with concern. “The doctor said you’re not supposed to use stairs.”

I tore my eyes from Mabel, seemingly content with my experienced sister, my heart yearning to hold her even as I enjoyed the break. I blinked at the sun streaming through the windows, remembering my lack of sleep then Kane’s words.

I took the coffee thankfully. “Our bedroom is on the second floor; I have to use the downstairs,” I sipped the liquid, hoping to hell it would work its magic.

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