by Nikki Ash
He might be holding her, but there’s no doubt that right now he’s at her mercy.
I notice as a single tear falls down his face, and I don’t even think twice when I raise my palm to his cheek and let my thumb swipe the corner of his eye.
He raises his gaze to mine, his voice nothing more than an emotion-filled whisper. “She’s beautiful.”
“Come and sit down,” I suggest, placing my arm on his shoulder and guiding him to the rocking chair that sits in the corner of the room.
He’s a complete natural, holding her with such fierce protection. When he sits down, Alessia opens her eyes, and I wait for her to fuss at Rio for sitting down, the way she does with me, but it never comes.
Traitor.
Not wanting to be apart from them, I kneel on the floor beside them, and Rio’s eyes follow my movements, still somehow managing to peruse my body in a way that makes me light up inside.
Surprising me, he bends his body, careful not to wake Alessia, and kisses me on the top of the head. “I’m so happy to see you.”
My tears from earlier return, the relief at seeing him in my doorway unable to be contained.
There’s no doubt that he and I have a lot to talk about, but right now, I want to indulge in his presence. In this overwhelming sense of security that I didn’t realize I was craving.
Seeing him again only confirms I was an absolute idiot for running out on him that day, and not because of the events that followed. But because whatever he and I have was never fleeting. It wasn’t a single moment; it was an introduction for the life we could have together.
I can see that now, even if I should’ve seen it then.
I’m grateful for the small cry that slips from Alessia’s mouth, allowing me to focus on something else, instead of all the time Rio and I could’ve been together if I hadn’t run.
“Is she okay?” Rio asks nervously.
“She’s fine,” I reassure him. Considering the time and the heaviness of my breasts, I know it’s time for her to eat. “It’s just feeding time.”
“Oh.”
I can’t help but laugh at the disappointment in his voice. “I promise you’ll get to hold her after. Let’s go sit out in the living room.”
Standing up, I put my arms out for Alessia, who's crying has now gotten significantly louder. Carefully, he hands her to me, and we both walk out of the room and settle on the large, suede three-seater.
I begin to unbutton my shirt when Rio clears his throat. “Do you want me to leave?”
“What?” I ask, completely oblivious to his question.
“So you can…” He uses his hands to gesture to my breasts. “So you can feed her?”
Amused, I raise an eyebrow at him. “Does breastfeeding make you feel uncomfortable?”
He shakes his head vehemently. “No, not at all. I just want to make sure you’re not uncomfortable with me in your space.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I admit honestly. “Am I allowed to say that?”
“You should always say exactly how you’re feeling.” Nervously, he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Does that mean I can ask why you didn’t tell me? About Alessia.”
Continuing to undress, I keep myself busy while trying to find the right words to say. Pulling the front of my maternity bra down, I angle Alessia’s head till she effortlessly latches onto my nipple and then look back up at Rio.
When our eyes meet, he swallows hard, as if he’s trying to push down his emotions, except there’s no use, they’re written all over his face.
Fear. Worry. Adoration. Love.
“I tried to contact you. Got your number and email address off Liza but…” I give him a shrug, trying to rid myself of the guilt that maybe I should’ve tried harder. “Your phone was never on. I couldn’t leave a message. I texted and emailed, and I never got a response.” My voice waivers as those horrible feelings of rejection return. “Time moves so fast, and before I knew it, she was here and I kinda didn’t have time to find you.”
Sighing, he scoots closer to me, grabbing my free hand and squeezing it. “If you hadn’t run from the hotel, I could’ve told you I’m a Marine.”
“Like in the military?” I interrupt.
He chuckles. “Yeah. Is there another type of Marine?”
“Sorry, that’s just not what I was expecting you to say.”
“Normally, I have my phone with me when I’m deployed, and when I get cell service or Wi-Fi, I can use it, but there was an incident and the phone was a casualty and it wasn’t a priority to get a new one,” he explains. “And I never received an email from you,” he says with such certainty. “Had I known there was someone trying to get in contact with me, I would’ve made more of an effort. If you gave me even a sliver of hope that we had a chance, I would’ve never fucked that up.”
Not ready to pick apart all the reasons why I left and all the ways technology actually made this situation harder, I focus on the other details. The ones that will impact my daughter in years to come.
“So, you were deployed?”
“Not straight away. I wasn’t scheduled to leave for another four weeks, and I got carried away that night. I don’t have any regrets on how we chose to spend our time, but I foolishly thought we’d be able to talk about whether we wanted to see one another again in the morning; when leaving one another was more of a reality.”
“And by the time I was ready to get in touch, you had already left,” I continue, the puzzle pieces slowly starting to fit together. “I set up a meeting with a PI last week.”
He smiles at this new piece of information. “You did?”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because it means you didn’t give up.”
“I wanted to,” I confess, looking down at Alessia and then back up at him. “I refused to send another email because I told myself that you’d already read it and you didn’t want anything to do with us.”
His face falls, and it’s the reassurance I need to know I was right. In the end, after I got over myself and came to my senses, I was right. Because there’s no way a man like Rio would ever intentionally miss being in his daughter’s life.
From the moment we met, I knew there wasn’t a single thing in this man’s life that he didn’t give one hundred percent to, and that included, if given the opportunity, being a father.
“Where’s your phone,” he blurts out.
“Huh?”
“I have a new phone and number. Have since I got back” he explains, lifting his backside off the couch so he can pull his cell out and hand it to me “Put your number in.”
Caught off guard, I save my number and return the cell. He looks down at the screen, his face screwed up in concentration. When my own phone pings from somewhere in the house, a look of satisfaction washes over him.
“Now you’ve got my number. And, please…”
He reaches over and runs a hand over Alessia’s head. “Please use it, Blake. Anytime and I’ll answer. I’ll be wherever you need me to be.”
“Okay.” Nodding, I realize I never asked the most important question. “Hold on. How did you find me?”
“I got your phone number from Liza.”
“But that still doesn’t explain how you’re here.” I wave a hand around the apartment.
“So, she swears it was an accident.” Without any further explanation, he’s back tapping at the screen of his cell again. When he’s found what he’s looking for, he hands it to me.
“Wait,” I say, raising a hand to stop him. “I just need to burp her and switch boobs.”
“Now that’s something you don’t hear every day.”
I can’t help but laugh, remembering how foreign it all seemed to me not that long ago. “You’ll get used to it soon enough,” I tell him.
His eyes bore into mine, with nothing but truth and honesty. “I really hope so.”
Butterflies I haven’t felt since the day we met begin to make themselves known in my stomach. Tuckin
g my breast back in my bra, I hand Alessia to Rio. “Put her over your shoulder and rub her back.”
He drops the phone and follows my instructions. “Like this?”
His movements are slow and careful. His hands so big and protective on her back. God, she suits him. “Exactly like that.”
Once he gets into a rhythm, he tips his head at his cell, bringing us both back to the conversation. “Pick it up. The code is two, six, two, six.”
Doing as he says, I’m surprised to see a photo from Alessia’s studio shoot on the screen. My head snaps up, annoyance in my tone. “How did you get these? Liza said it was an accident?”
“That’s what she said.” As if the thought just dawns on him, he stops mid-back rub, his eyes narrowed at me. “What? You don’t think she did it on purpose, do you? So, she knew Alessia was mine?”
“Of course she did. She looks exactly like you. Never mind she practically had a front row seat to her conception,” I huff. “I’m of the mind to call her and tell her off for sending these photos. It’s one thing to give you my number, but this…” I look back down at the photo. “This feels like a whole different level of unprofessional.”
“Just calm down for a second, and read the email thread,” he instructs. “She said she wasn’t meant to send it to me at all.”
My eyes fly across the screen, reading an exact replica of the email I received with Alessia’s photos, followed up by an explanation that doesn’t seem all that plausible, if you ask me. “So she’s claiming it was an accident? And her address book confused Alessia’s name for the Alessio in your email address?”
“That’s what she said,” he supplies. I want to be mad he’s not as enraged as I am, but watching how enamored he is with the simple act of burping his daughter, it’s easy to understand why he doesn’t really care that Liza’s intentions aren’t all that transparent. “If it’s any consolation, when I called to question her, she knew she’d fucked up and was extremely apologetic.”
A loud belch, far too big for the little body it came out of, interrupts our conversation, and Rio looks over at me, his face morphing from disbelief to pride. “Holy shit. That was so good.” He lowers her to his forearm so he can look down at her. “Huh, Picolina? That was a good one, wasn’t it? Do you feel better?” he coos. “Are you ready for more milk? Are you ready for more milk from your mama?”
Touched by the way he interacts with her, emotion wells in my eyes and swells in my heart. This is what I wanted for her. This is what I wanted for us.
When he raises his head, his eyes catch mine, vulnerable and earnest. “I’m sorry you’re mad, but I don’t care how we got here. The details don’t matter. You contacting me on your own didn’t work, so yes, I’m going to be grateful for Liza’s mistake. Intentional or not. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not turning my back on her.”
The words “what about me?” almost slip out of my mouth, but I control myself.
This isn’t about us. Not yet, anyway. It’s just about Alessia having the family and love she deserves, whether it be conventional or not.
She begins to fuss in his arms, the constant reminder that there’s always three of us in every conversation, and no matter how small she is, her needs and wants will always be the most important.
I take her out of his arms and quickly undo my bra and guide her to my breast. The ease of being able to feed and comfort her sitting or standing absolutely anywhere is my favorite thing about breastfeeding.
“I don’t think that’s ever going to get old,” he says. “Watching you with her.”
Knowing exactly how he feels, my heart squeezes and I smile. “So, you’re not freaked out by any of this?”
“I should be, but…” He shrugs. “I mean it’s different, but I don’t think I would say I’m freaking out.”
“What would you say then?”
He runs his hands over his face and exhales loudly. “There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know if I should.”
“You can tell me anything,” I encourage. “Whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush on my end, I’m just so glad you’re here and that you want her.” My voice cracks on the last few words, because the thought of anyone not wanting her cuts me to the core. “She’s your daughter, and the doors for a relationship with her are open. Always.”
“And what about you?” He surprises me when he steps closer, his eyes wholly focused on my face, completely unfazed by the baby sucking at my nipple. “What about a relationship with you?”
Chapter Eight
Rosario
There’s nothing but silence after my question, and unease begins to bubble at the pit of my stomach.
Was I too forward? Am I coming on too strong? This probably isn’t the best time to ask such a thing anyway.
“Sorry, that was stupid,” I say, trying to retreat. “You don’t have to answer that.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Which part was stupid? The question or the timing?”
“I want to know the answer,” I tell her honestly. “But maybe I’m a little off with the timing.”
“Let me finish up with this and put Alessia down first.” She catches my gaze. “I want to answer that question, I just want the conversation to have all my attention.”
Grateful that she, too, is aware of the importance, I feel less uncomfortable by the whole exchange.
“Come on,” she says. “This boob seems to have less milk, so it only takes half the time.”
Clueless, I just look at her and shake my head. “You know none of that makes any sense to me.”
Blake laughs. “I figured. But there’s time to teach you, right?”
My chest tightens at what she’s really asking, loving the clues that hint at her wanting me around. “Of course.”
Eventually, after a bit of small talk about breast milk and milk flow––things I didn’t even know would fascinate me––Blake heads to her bedroom with Alessia in hand and me quick on her heels.
Fed, burped, and changed, Alessia is a new baby. It’s crazy how quickly the time passes before she’s ready to sleep again. There’re so many details that go into her routine, and Blake does it all effortlessly, but it doesn’t take a blind man to see the toll it’s taking on her, doing it all by herself.
She’s exhausted.
“Do you want me to hold her? Put her to sleep?” I ask, wanting to show how much assistance I can provide, whilst simultaneously wanting to devour every second available to me with Alessia.
“Do you think you can manage?” she smarts.
“I’m a quick learner.”
“You know I’m not judging you on how good of a dad you are?” she asks more seriously. “Especially not when this is your first time with her.”
“I know, but I have nieces and nephews,” I counter, trying to sound confident and sure, yet still feeling completely out of my element. “I know the basics.”
“Okay, Mr. Hotshot,” she sasses. “Show me what you got.”
Blake hands me Alessia and then eagerly sits on the edge of the bed. I look down at my daughter, placing a soft kiss on her forehead and letting the fresh smell of new life overwhelm my senses.
“It helps if you tap her bottom,” Blake advises. “The constant rhythm lulls her into sleep.”
“And then you just put her into the bassinet?” I confirm.
“Yeah. All the books say not to let her get too dependent on falling asleep in my arms. But sometimes I just like holding her, you know?”
Instead of answering, I offer Blake a knowing smile. Of course I know what she means, because while this is all new, my attachment to my daughter is immediate. And I didn’t even need to hold her in my arms to feel that way. All I know is that if Alessia wants to sleep in my arms, I’m going to damn well hold her until she doesn’t fit anymore. Because one day, she won’t. She’ll be all grown up and these small moments will be nothing but a memory.
Without a care or worry for the time, I get caught up, rock
ing and singing to her. Eventually, she yawns a few times and her blinks become longer, her body relaxing in my hold. When she seems to have fallen asleep, I look up to Blake to check in, but she’s curled up on the bed, fast asleep.
My gaze lazily shifts between the two, my heart and soul feeling more content than they have in almost forever.
Wanting Alessia to be comfortable, I chance putting her down, and pray she doesn’t wake up.
Thankfully, the gods are on my side and Alessia doesn’t even flinch when I place her in the middle of the bassinet. Looking back at Blake, a rush of pride runs through me that I was able to hold down the fort and let Blake rest too. She needs it, that much is obvious.
Not wanting to leave, but not wanting to invade their space, I consider seeing if there’s anything around the house I can clean or wash or fix.
And because I can’t help it, in quick succession, I lower my mouth to Alessia’s forehead, kissing her softly and then move across the room, doing the same to Blake.
“Stay,” she whispers.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Lie down next to me,” she asks, her eyes still closed.
“Are you sure?”
“Please, Rio.” She opens her eyes and meets my stare. “Hold me.”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice. I kick off my shoes and climb onto the mattress. Lying down beside her, I wrap my arms around her waist and bring her close to me. Because I can’t help myself, I nuzzle into the space between her neck and her shoulder and breathe her in.
Loving the way she fits in my arms and how she feels against me, the request tumbles out of my mouth before I even have a chance to stop it. “Tell me why you ran.”
She turns in my arms and looks up at me. “Because of this.” She brushes her fingers down the side of my face. “It’s so easy between us. Almost too easy,” she says wistfully. “That night was perfect, and I was too scared of what the new day would bring. I don’t know if I was more scared that it would only ever be a one-night stand, or scared of the fact that we could have been more.”