Page 15 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

Alana arches one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, again.

“Go, I got this. You shower, find something of mine to change into, then we’ll talk. I’m going to feed him while I’m waiting on you.”

Alana and I aren’t the same size, but she’ll be able to fit into my shirts and shoes. We differ in looks and height. I have a tan complexion where she’s fair. I have long, dark brown hair, and her blonde hair is cut at the nape of her neck with layered strands going upward and longer ones in the front. She’s taller than me at five-foot-eight. I’m on the short side at five-foot-four inches tall.

Alana spins, disappearing quickly down the hallway. When I hear my bedroom door close, I get up, standing with Gabriel in my arms. His cries have died down, but he’s still letting me know he isn’t a happy camper.

Nothing I’ve done for him seems to make him content. I never had these problems with Alana’s kids. Sure, I wasn’t playing the guessing game on what to do. Alana and Jackson had everything laid out for me anytime I kept them.

Maybe I’m overthinking this.

I don’t know, though. I’ve fed and changed him several times. He’s spit up his formula every single time. I know I didn’t give him too much, and I did the burping thing. I even gave him a bath, thinking it might soothe him.

It did not. He didn’t like the bath one bit.

On the flip side, I’ve become good at doing anything single-handedly in the last twelve hours.

When I walk into the kitchen, it takes less than two minutes to prep his bottle and then store everything away again. I grab a clean dishtowel on my way back to the living room for the spit-up I know is coming.

I bounce him lightly as I make my way back over to the sofa.

“Let’s hope this time’s a charm, little guy.”

I sit down, bringing my legs onto the couch and tucking them under me, crisscross style, for comfort.

“You need to eat and keep your food down. You’re too tiny as it is.”

This baby doesn’t feel like he weighs even ten pounds. He’s long, probably two feet if I’d have to guess, but I think he should weigh more. At least a couple of pounds more. Not that I’m an expert. Obviously, I’m not if I had to call my sister-in-law to help me with him.

Movement catches my attention at the same time Alana enters the living room.

“That was quick,” I comment.

“Yes, well, call me curious.”

She heads my way as I place the bottle in Gabriel’smouth, and he attempts to push it right back out as if he doesn’t want anythingto do with it.

Alana sitsnext to us.My condo isn’t big. I have a couch againstthe wall and one high-back chair next to it that’s directly in front of theTV screen I have hanging on the opposite wall. There’s a glass coffee table in front of the sofa and the chair as well as a matching glass end table that’s shared between the couch and chair.

“Ew.” Her nose crinkles. “One of you stinks, and I don’t think it’s him.”

She inches away from us.

“Yes, it’s probably me. He had a bath a few hours ago. I haven’t seen a shower since yesterday morning.”

There’s no telling what kind of baby goo I have on me—or where.

“Hand him over and go wash up. I don’t want to smell you.” Alana extends her arms in my direction.

“How do you know he’s a boy?” I ask as I lean forward, placing Gabriel in her hands.

“He’s wearing blue.” She shakes her head. “No one puts blue on a baby this young unless it’s a boy. Now, go bathe. You’re holding up telling me why I’m here.”

“Fine.” I get up, and as I walk past her, I hold the dishtowel out for her to take, which she does, and then cradles the baby in her arm. “His name is Gabriel,” I add before going down the hall.

“Got it,” I hear her tell me.

Not wanting to waste time, I head to my closet, doing a quick rummage, locating a cotton tunic and pair of blue jeans. I place them on the bed then move quickly into the bathroom to shower.

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