Page 83 of Daddy's Muse
“You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will come between us. Pappa’s never letting you go.”
His breath hitched against my chest, damp warmth seeping through my shirt where his tears clung. I didn’t care; let him cry,let him scream. I’d take every drop of it if it meant he stayed pressed against me.
“Shh… Pappa’s got you. I’m right here.” My voice shook, and I forced it lower, calmer, a lullaby meant only for him. I buried my nose in his hair, breathed him in, and let his scent wash over me.
I couldn’t let him see me unravel, especially not when he was already slipping.
“You’re safe,” I whispered into his skin, slow and careful, like each word was another stitch holding him together. “You’re always safe with me. No one touches you. No one takes you. Pappa won’t let them.”
He flinched at that. It was tiny, but I felt it, like my words had cut instead of soothed. My arms tightened instinctively, protectively, possessively.
He had to believe me. Hehadto.
Please.
I tilted his chin up with my thumb and made him look up at me. His eyes—red, swollen, still shining with wetness—stared into me like he was begging for me to fix this, to rewind time.
“Listen to me,” I murmured, pressing my forehead against his. “Please, kanin. I’ll—I’ll try to stop… I’ll do better. Please just… I need you. I need you more than air.”
His lashes fluttered, another tear slipping free, and his lips parted like he wanted to answer but couldn’t.
So I kissed him. Just once. The barest brush, like setting a seal on the words I’d given him. He whimpered—a wounded sound, but he didn’t pull away. He melted instead, clutching at my shirt with trembling hands, burying himself deeper into me as if I really was the only safe harbor he had left.
And maybe that’s what I was. Maybe that’s what I’d made myself.
The world could tear itself apart outside these walls, and I wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t care. Because all that mattered was right here, shuddering in my arms, small and breakable and mine.
I continued to sway him gently back and forth, whispering nonsensical little endearments, anything to keep him floating. Anything to keep him from slipping back into the dark place where Bryan’s ghost might still linger.
If I had to hold him for the rest of the night, the rest of my life, so be it. I’d sooner weld my skin against his than lose him forever.
His weight was light in my lap, his body trembling against me like a leaf caught in the wind. I could almost feel him shrinking, retreating into that soft place inside himself where the world couldn’t reach.
Good. That was what he needed.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmured against his hair. “You don’t have to be big right now. Pappa’s got you. Pappa’s so fucking sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I swear, sweetheart.”
When his grip on my shirt loosened, I eased him up just enough to carry him. His head nestled against my shoulder. I pressed a kiss to his temple and took him into our bedroom, laying him down gently on the mattress. His stuffed animals were there already, waiting where he’d left them on his pillow. I tucked the raccoon into his left arm and the bunny into his right before going to fetch what I needed.
I paced around the kitchen, stopping when I finally found what I’d been looking for.
Colby and I hadn’t used a bottle yet; we had only used sippy cups and big kid cups so far. But if there were ever a time when a nice warm bottle of milk was needed, it would’ve been now.
When I came back to our bedroom, bottle in hand, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and tired, confusion fogging them. “Pappa?”
“I’m here, sweetheart.” I sat down beside him, my body dipping into the mattress, and gathered him into my lap again, tilting the bottle towards him so he could see it. “Look what Pappa’s got for you. Something warm and sweet.”
He blinked at it, hesitant at first, but the moment I brushed the rubber nipple against his lips, instinct took over. He latched on with a soft, needy sound, sucking slowly at first, then taking deeper, longer pulls. My heart ached at the sight of it—he was so trusting, so small, every ounce of his weight resting in my arms.
It would kill me to lose him.
I’d made him dependent on me, sure, but in turn, I’d become just as reliant on him.
I held the bottle steady with one hand and stroked his hair with the other, smoothing the damp strands back from his face. His auburn lashes brushed against his cheeks, the tension in him easing sip by sip.
“That’s my boy,” I praised softly. “My precious, perfect boy. Good job. Drink it all down. There you go.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, a faint hum vibrating in his chest like it soothed him. I let the silence stretch for a few minutes, the only sound his soft sucking, before I began to speak.
