Page 40 of Knot Your Baby

It’s so silent—obviously she is asleep—but there’s something about her chatter that I find soothing. I can still hear her laughter echoing, punctuated by her silly sayings that light up the room.

I glance to the side of her, seeing a bottle of pills. I creep there and pick it up. My heart is pounding with concern. Is she okay? A wave of anxiety washes over me, and there’s an ache in my chest, like hands are squeezing my lungs, tightening with each passing moment.

Stone frets in my arms, a soft whimper escaping his lips. “Shh, let mommy sleep,” I whisper, cradling him closer. I just hope she has enough expressed milk in the fridge to feed him.

I take the pills and head to the door, slipping out of the room.

I sway him gently as I make my way to the kitchen, inhaling his sweet baby scent. It envelops my senses, grounding me and making everything feel right, as if he is mine.

When I open the fridge door, the sudden light is harsh in the darkness, momentarily blinding me. I squint and spot three bottles of milk nestled on the top shelf. I grab one, quickly shoving it into the milk warmer, just as I did last night.

When the light shifts to green, I reach for the bottle and sink into the comforting embrace of the armchair in the living area, its fabric soft against my skin.

“There you go, Stone,” I murmur, offering him the bottle. To my relief, he latches on with gusto, his tiny mouth working eagerly.

As he feeds, I take a moment to glance at the bottle of pills I took from Freya’s table; the label catching my eye.

Scent inhibitors.My heart feels like it’s a huge load settling in my chest.

They are not blockers, but still she is hiding again, retreating into herself. I thought her smell was different today.

Does that mean she doesn’t like my scent?The thought gnaws at me, a bitter aftertaste I can’t shake.

“Good boy,” I whisper when Stone finishes his bottle and I settle him over my shoulder. Stone lets out a healthy burp, his face scrunching up in that adorable way that makes my heart swell. “That’s my son.”

The words slip from my lips before I can stop them, but there’s something about saying it that feels right. Natural. Even if I have no claim to him or Freya beyond that one intense night in the delivery room.

I check the bottle. Empty. “I need a few more burps from you before you sleep again.”

Stone’s eyes are drooping as I sit him on my thighs and I hold his small chest against my large hand, gently patting and circling his back in a rhythmic motion.

He releases another burp; my nose twitches as his sweet baby scent mingles with traces of Freya’s scent.

I cradle Stone against my chest, his tiny fingers curling against my shirt. Rising from the chair, I pace the living room, studying the frames on the side table.

“Look at her, son. That’s your grandmother.” I pick up a silver frame showing an elegant woman in diamonds accepting some kind of award show. A younger girl stands beside her, poised and perfect. “And your aunt. They look nothing like your mom, do they?”

Stone burps in response, milk dribbling down his chin. I wipe it with the burp cloth I took which was next to his crib.

“Your mom’s different from them, isn’t she? All bright colors and laughter.” I shift Stone to my shoulder, patting his back gently. “Are you the black sheep of the family, Freya? Is that why they’re not here helping you?”

The questions hang in the darkness when I see a picture of Freya with her friend Harlow. “At least she has a good friend.”

Stone gurgles and squirms against my neck, his tiny breaths warm against my scars. For once, I don’t flinch at the contact.

“I’ll help you,” I whisper to myself as I rock from side to side to help Stone drift back to sleep.

I pad silently through the apartment and lay Stone back in his crib, tucking a soft blanket around him. For a moment, I just watch him and then her as a warm feeling fills my chest.

Her hair is still fanned around her head on the pillow, and she looks serene, beautiful. Nothing like the chaotic person she seems when she is awake.

But will Miller and Thorne like you?

Something in me aches.

Back in the living room, I take the scent inhibitors to the kitchen, ready to pour them down the sink. I tell myself she doesn’t need them. She needs to be who she is born to be. An omega. Yet the traitorous part of me knows I’m no better.

I can’t make that decision for her, not when I’m sick of people trying to decide for me.

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