Page 18 of Stowaway Whirlwind
Davis chuckles softly. Speaking just above a whisper, he says, “This is my room. It used to be Dad’s, but I moved my bed in here after he moved to his assisted living facility. You can have it, and I’ll take the couch until I can get a new bedroom set for my old room across the hall. I’ll stay in there when I’m home.” Before I can insist that he take the bed while I sleep in the living room, he says, “I’m going to get a crib for Lily tomorrow that we can put up across from the bed, but for now, I’ll get the cradle Dad made when my older sister was born from the garage.”
“Davis…you don’t have to do all that,” I say, twisting my hands, feeling like I’m taking advantage of his generosity after he’s done so, so much for us. “First the bedroom, now a crib?”
Davis walks to the left side of the bed to set down the bottles of water on the glass-topped matching nightstand, then holds up his hand. “Stop. If I didn’t want to do it, I wouldn’t. I’ve fallen asleep in the living room often enough to be comfortable. Besides, this room has an attached bathroom that’s bigger than the one in the hall.” He hikes his thumb over his shoulder toward the darkened open door behind him.
“This is too much,” I say feebly, and he shakes his head.
“Now, you take Lily. I’m pretty sure she needs a diaper change,” he says with a scrunched nose. “I’ll grab our bags from the truck, then get her cradle.”
Our hands brush as he passes her to me, and our eyes lock when I look up to thank him. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I also can’t look away. Standing close with Lily in my arms between us, he rubs his large hands up and down my upper arms. As if in slow motion, I tip my head back as Davis slides his hands up to cup my jaw, and he leans down to place a gentle kiss on my lips after tilting his head to the side so his ball cap doesn’t bump my forehead.
Almost immediately, he steps back and clears his throat. “Sorry, I…I don’t know why I did that.” He pulls his ball cap off to run his hands through his hair, shaking the flattened strands loose. Before I can tell him that I—for some strange reason—don’t mind, he turns and leaves the room.
After Davis returns with our bags and the wooden cradle he’s brought from the garage, he wipes it down with a soapy cloth and sets it up between the bed and the dresser on the right side of the room while I nurse Lily. Feeling totally out of my element, I very carefully give Lily a bath in the kitchen sink like one of the nurses in the hospital showed me how, much to Lily’s disapproval, while Davis takes a quick shower in the hall bathroom.
When I’m done, I stand in the middle of Davis’s bedroom, unsure what to do next. Lily is wide awake, though I’m dog tired, so I can’t just put her in the cradle while I go to sleep.Aunt Lydia would know what to do, I think, my heart sinking. It’s catching up to me, just in these last thirty minutes, how much of this I’m going to have to figure out and do on my own.
Davis knocks quietly on the open door, pulling me out of my depressing thoughts. His hair is towel-dried, sticking up every which way, and he’s dressed in black and gray plaid pajamapants, wearing a white undershirt that’s maybe a size or two too small, stretched taut across his shoulders and belly.
I can’t help but smile. “Seriously, you do know other patterns exist besides plaid, right?”
He huffs but smiles back. “Before I head to bed, how about I watch Lily so you can shower again? Get that smoke out of your hair.”
So. Maybe I don’t have to do this on my own. At least not yet.
Davis rifles through his dresser and walks back around the bed toward the bathroom. “I, uh, didn’t think to buy a second outfit, and I know you’re out of clean clothes. So you, um, can wear some of mine tonight before I show you how to use the washer and dryer out in the garage tomorrow.” He drops the pile on the bathroom counter that matches the long, sandy-beige granite countertops in the kitchen.
Our arms brush again when I hand Lily to him, but he lowers his eyes so we don’t share the intense eye contact that would possibly lead to another unexpected kiss. He rocks Lily side to side, then sits on the edge of the bed. I can’t help but watch for a few beats, my belly fluttering as he smiles and coos at Lily. Davis looks up and tilts his head in silent question, snapping me out of it.
Inside the bathroom, painted a pale yellow, I upend and arrange the small plastic bag with the postpartum care items the hospital provided me with on the counter. I stare at my heavy breasts and soft but still very swollen belly in the mirror while the water heats up. It’s such a bizarre feeling—feelingemptyafter carrying Lily for nine months. Almost wrong.
Davis had this look of marvel when he touched my belly before I gave birth, but I wonder what he would look like doing so now. Maybe his nose would wrinkle, same as my stretch marks.Not that he would have any reason to touch my belly now,of course.
I take my time in the shower, gingerly washing all my sore areas, and pull on the oversized plain white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants after hastily pulling a brush through my damp hair, which is sure to be a frizzy mess tomorrow. I return to the bedroom to find Davis dozing on top of the comforter, his head turned away from me on one of the plump pillows and his legs crossed at the ankles. He’s bare-chested now, Lily asleep lying flat on his chest, her cheek positioned right on top of his calla lily tattoo, with his hand resting on her back.
My breath hitches at the scene. My life may have gone to shit fast, but this…it’s a bright spot in the middle of so much pain.
When I gently move his hand so I can pick Lily up, he resists momentarily. “I was just resting my eyes,” he mumbles. It’s the same thing Aunt Lydia would say when I’d wake her up after she’d fallen asleep in her armchair.
“Sure you were,” I whisper with a quiet laugh.
He relaxes his hold when I gently raise Lily off his chest, check her breathing, and then place her on her back in the cradle. Once I’ve turned off the bedroom and bathroom lights, I survey Davis, asleep and snoring softly on the bed. The man has been mostly awake for probably close to forty-eight hours, and waking him up just to kick him out into the living room doesn’t seem fair. But I also can’t stomach the idea of sleeping in the living room so far away from Lily, who I’m sure will be awake in an hour or two for her next feed.
Figuring I can explain myself and beg forgiveness tomorrow morning, I slip under the comforter on the right closest to Lily, facing her on my side, and scoot back toward the middle next to Davis, finding comfort in his solid presence at my back. Right on the edge of falling asleep, Davis rolls over onto his side, too, anddrapes his arm over my waist, spooning me from behind. I smile just before slipping out of consciousness.
Davis
With her head tucked under my chin, I bury my nose in her hair—so silky and lush—and slip my hand under her shirt, over the side of her soft belly, and up to cup her heavy tit. I moan as I roll her nipple, my cock hard and aching with the need to bury it inside her, already dripping with pre-cum. I abandon her tit a few seconds later to slip my hand down under the waistband of her pajama pants to play with her clit with the pad of my middle finger as I hump her ass lazily.
Fuck yes. My wife is already wet and—
Wait. Since when do I have a wife? And what’s that sound? It sounds like my baby is crying…
Wait, wait, wait. Since when do I have a baby?
My eyes snap open, moonlight filtering through the blinds, and I fling myself out of bed when my bleary eyes adjust enough to see the shadowy figure of a woman in my bed, and just past her, a cradle with a fussing baby.What the fuck?I stumble backward into the bathroom and flip the light switch on to find my hand streaked with blood.What the absolute fuck?
I spin around when the baby mewls to find Goldie rolling onto her back with a small smile that slowly fades, her mouth falling open when she sees my hand and face. She makes a little whimpering sound in the back of her throat as she sits up.
