Page 127 of Alpha's Redemption

“You need to change her,” Valen demands, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Please!” he offers.

“No, you need to change her. I’m feeding these two,” I tell him with a smirk. I know he can change a diaper. I’ve seen him change wet ones; now he gets to change a shitty one.

Valen purses his lips, determined. I try not to smile and laugh as he sets her down on the end of the bed, gathering what he needs just as Valarian walks in.

“Ew, what's that smell?”

“That would be dynamite-butt,” Valen says, pointing to her squirming on the bed. He takes her onesie off, undoes the diaper, and heaves instantly. “Nope!” he says.

“Yep! You have to get used to it,” I tell him. He heaves again, which makes Valarian heave while I watch, amused. I'm not helping. He needs to get used to it. I am not being in charge of diaper duty for all three babies!

“I'll swap ya?” he pleads, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, you figured out how to breastfeed?” I ask and he mutters something, tugging his shirt over half his face.

“Why is it black like tar?” he chokes out. He cleans and wipes, heaving the entire time, his face turning red. When he’s finally done, he dresses her.

“Run this to the garbage for me,” he tells Valarian, dumping the diaper in his little hand. Valarian stares at it, horrified and I watch as he pales just as Valen picks up the baby.

“Valarian?” I ask a little too late because he throws up all over Valen's pants. I watch Valen's eyes widen, and he blinks a few times before quickly glancing down at his pant leg.

“Sorry, Dad,” Valarian says, gripping his father's shirt to wipe his mouth on. I press my lips in a line, trying to stifle my laugh as Valen sets the baby down before he gags, runs for the toilet, and throws up himself. I sigh.

Yep, this will be interesting,I think to myself.

ChapterFifty-Seven

Valen

“You need to take the batteries out. Why doesn't she stop crying?” I whine, hearing baby C scream for the hundredth time since we got her home.Either that one’s faulty, or she needs to be placed back on demo mode,I think as I roll over with my sandpaper eyes to retrieve her from her bassinet.

“Babies cry,” is all Everly offers as she shuffles up the bed and yawns. I peer at the clock. She wasn't even asleep for forty-five minutes this time. It’s 2:20 a.m.!

“You need to get that one checked. Something’s wrong with her,” I tell Everly as I hand her over. Everly flops out a boob while the baby opens her mouth like a fish, enjoyingmyfun bags. And Everly won't let me touch them either! I eye the baby with jealousy.

My balls are so blue they ache, and I know I’m never getting laid again at this rate, and here Everly is, flopping those big, juicy titties out in front of me every two seconds. Does she not know how full my balls are? They need emptying. Everly’s eyes go to me for a second. I wonder if she knows what I’m thinking.

I lie back down and just shut my eyes when another starts screaming. Oh, how I took sleep for granted! It’s our first night at home, and I’m already exhausted. No way I can survive this for… Wait, how many years do babies cry for?

I groan, and Everly snickers, and I swear if she says one more time, ‘you'll get the hang of it’, I will… I will… I will do absolutely nothing because I can't!

“Go to sleep, please! I need sleep,” I whine, pulling the pillow over my head. Everly nudges me with her knee and I sigh, rolling back out of bed to retrieve baby A this time.

I hand her over, and Everly tries to get her to latch. I watch my fun bags deflate as the baby gulps down the goodness.

“You may need to make a bottle. My supply isn't very good,” Everly tells me, and I nod while walking toward the door.

“Can you make me a cup of tea too, please?”

I yawn, and plod to the kitchen. My eyes are so blurry I have to squint at the formula can, checking the scoops and ounces before fixing a bottle. Just as I’m about to walk out of the kitchen, Baby B wakes with a loud scream. Then I remember I still haven't made the tea.

Torn, I look between the kettle and the hallway when Everly calls out. “She’s fine. It won't hurt her to cry for a minute or so.”

I’m halfway through making the tea when the crying stops. A sigh of relief leaves me. This is my life now; it will be filled with bottles and diapers, and the smell of dirty diapers in the air is getting on my nerves. It’s torture. Blissful torture, but still, torture.

By the time I get back into the room, Baby B has fallen back asleep in the bassinet, Baby A and C have fallen asleep in her arms, and Everly has her head back, resting on the headboard, also asleep.

“Looks like I made myself tea,” I whisper, walking into the room. I place the mug down, propping more pillows under her arms so they don't slip out. Everly has become a baby pacifier, and I’m not waking any of them.

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