Anguish
Page 48
“Jaylah,” Santana cuts in.
“He could have died, because of me.”
Tears break out and spill down my cheeks.
“Shit,” Maddox says.
I turn to Mack, and whisper, “You need to find someone else. I’ll find a way to pay you back, but . . . I can’t do this. I’m . . . not a nanny.”
Then I turn and run out of the room, down the halls and out into the parking lot. I go to my car, lean over it and start sobbing. He’s sick because of me. I didn’t notice the signs. I didn’t realize something was wrong. If I were qualified, I would have known. My body shakes with each sob, and I don’t even try to control it.
A firm hand curls around my shoulder, and I’m spun into a hard chest. It’s Mack’s chest; I already know that. I press my face into his shirt, and I cry. Hard, ugly and broken. “It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice low.
“I didn’t notice, Mack,” I croak. “He could have died because of me.”
“Not your fault.”
“I’m not a nanny.”
“And a mother isn’t a mother until she has her first child.”
I flinch.
“Do you think first-time mothers don’t make the same mistakes? Do you think they don’t have to learn and figure it out?”
“I’m not his mother.”
“No, but you’re the closest fuckin’ thing he’s got.”
I flinch and start crying again.
“He could have died.”
“He didn’t.”
“Mack, you should get—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
I shake my head in his chest, trying to pull back, but his arms tighten around me. “If it’s about the money, I’ll get it, and—”
“It ain’t about the money.”
“Mack . . .”
“It’s about you being the only one with the guts to push my son on me. It’s about you makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good when I’m inside you. It’s about you talkin’ to that baby in a sweet-as-fuck voice that shows me how much you love him. It’s about you bein’ perfect for us, because you’re not a nanny.”
I cry harder.
He holds me tighter.
“Mack,” I squeak.
“You’re not leavin’, Lah.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Now, pull back, get your shit together, and come and be by his side. He needs you.”
I pull back and look up at him. He leans down, curling his fingers behind my neck and he kisses me, hard and fast. Then he turns and walks back inside.
And I realize Mack touched me, held me, for the first time without hesitation.
My heart melts.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Hush, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking Diesel’s hair.
He squirms in my arms, croaking, his little cry hoarse. I press him closer to my chest, and he tries to nuzzle me there. I know he’s hungry, and Santana has gone to get him a bottle and find Mack.
“It’s coming, darling,” I say, rocking him.
It’s late, and I know everyone is tired, but they’re all being so kind, staying around with us. It’s been a long night, and we’ve all discovered a little something about ourselves tonight. What we’ve figured out, more than anything, is that Diesel is one of us. There’s no way this little man is going anywhere. He’s a member of the Joker’s Wrath Motorcycle Club, and he’s our youngest, most cherished member.
“Here we go,” Santana says.
She’s shaking the bottle, her finger pressed over the teat. Mack comes in behind her, and she doesn’t waste time. She hands me the bottle, flashes me a smile and disappears, leaving Mack and I alone.
“That was subtle,” I murmur.
Mack’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes are on Diesel, whose little arms are making not-so-subtle grabs for the bottle.
“He’s got an appetite.”
I snort. “That’s an understatement.”
I’m about to press it to his lips, but I stop and look to Mack. “You want to feed him?”
Something flashes in his face, and I can see he’s about to protest, so I say, “Don’t go back now, Mack. You’re better than that. He’s your son, and as hard as you are, we both know you’re not letting him go. So why not try bonding with him? He’s part of you.”
“He’s also part of her,” he says, his voice low.
“That makes him even more beautiful.”
His eyes flash to mine, and there’s something deep and warm in them. I stand and walk over, passing Diesel to him. He takes him awkwardly, and mutters, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Sit,” I order, my voice still soft. “I’ll show you.”
He sits down, and I adjust Diesel across his lap, propping his head up in the crook of his elbow. Then I hand him the bottle, and direct his hand in. Diesel latches on, and Mack smiles. He smiles, a beautiful, heart-wrenching smile that has me beaming.
“Jesus,” he says. “He’s goin’ to pop the top off this thing.”
I laugh. “No, but he’ll give it a good go.”
He looks at his son and my heart cracks.
“Why are we so fuckin’ stupid as humans?” he asks.
I look to him, tilting my head. “How do you mean?”
“We run from shit, but when it goes bad and we lose it, our first comment is ‘I wish I would have done that’.”
“He could have died, because of me.”
Tears break out and spill down my cheeks.
“Shit,” Maddox says.
I turn to Mack, and whisper, “You need to find someone else. I’ll find a way to pay you back, but . . . I can’t do this. I’m . . . not a nanny.”
Then I turn and run out of the room, down the halls and out into the parking lot. I go to my car, lean over it and start sobbing. He’s sick because of me. I didn’t notice the signs. I didn’t realize something was wrong. If I were qualified, I would have known. My body shakes with each sob, and I don’t even try to control it.
A firm hand curls around my shoulder, and I’m spun into a hard chest. It’s Mack’s chest; I already know that. I press my face into his shirt, and I cry. Hard, ugly and broken. “It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice low.
“I didn’t notice, Mack,” I croak. “He could have died because of me.”
“Not your fault.”
“I’m not a nanny.”
“And a mother isn’t a mother until she has her first child.”
I flinch.
“Do you think first-time mothers don’t make the same mistakes? Do you think they don’t have to learn and figure it out?”
“I’m not his mother.”
“No, but you’re the closest fuckin’ thing he’s got.”
I flinch and start crying again.
“He could have died.”
“He didn’t.”
“Mack, you should get—”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
I shake my head in his chest, trying to pull back, but his arms tighten around me. “If it’s about the money, I’ll get it, and—”
“It ain’t about the money.”
“Mack . . .”
“It’s about you being the only one with the guts to push my son on me. It’s about you makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good when I’m inside you. It’s about you talkin’ to that baby in a sweet-as-fuck voice that shows me how much you love him. It’s about you bein’ perfect for us, because you’re not a nanny.”
I cry harder.
He holds me tighter.
“Mack,” I squeak.
“You’re not leavin’, Lah.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Now, pull back, get your shit together, and come and be by his side. He needs you.”
I pull back and look up at him. He leans down, curling his fingers behind my neck and he kisses me, hard and fast. Then he turns and walks back inside.
And I realize Mack touched me, held me, for the first time without hesitation.
My heart melts.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Hush, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking Diesel’s hair.
He squirms in my arms, croaking, his little cry hoarse. I press him closer to my chest, and he tries to nuzzle me there. I know he’s hungry, and Santana has gone to get him a bottle and find Mack.
“It’s coming, darling,” I say, rocking him.
It’s late, and I know everyone is tired, but they’re all being so kind, staying around with us. It’s been a long night, and we’ve all discovered a little something about ourselves tonight. What we’ve figured out, more than anything, is that Diesel is one of us. There’s no way this little man is going anywhere. He’s a member of the Joker’s Wrath Motorcycle Club, and he’s our youngest, most cherished member.
“Here we go,” Santana says.
She’s shaking the bottle, her finger pressed over the teat. Mack comes in behind her, and she doesn’t waste time. She hands me the bottle, flashes me a smile and disappears, leaving Mack and I alone.
“That was subtle,” I murmur.
Mack’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes are on Diesel, whose little arms are making not-so-subtle grabs for the bottle.
“He’s got an appetite.”
I snort. “That’s an understatement.”
I’m about to press it to his lips, but I stop and look to Mack. “You want to feed him?”
Something flashes in his face, and I can see he’s about to protest, so I say, “Don’t go back now, Mack. You’re better than that. He’s your son, and as hard as you are, we both know you’re not letting him go. So why not try bonding with him? He’s part of you.”
“He’s also part of her,” he says, his voice low.
“That makes him even more beautiful.”
His eyes flash to mine, and there’s something deep and warm in them. I stand and walk over, passing Diesel to him. He takes him awkwardly, and mutters, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Sit,” I order, my voice still soft. “I’ll show you.”
He sits down, and I adjust Diesel across his lap, propping his head up in the crook of his elbow. Then I hand him the bottle, and direct his hand in. Diesel latches on, and Mack smiles. He smiles, a beautiful, heart-wrenching smile that has me beaming.
“Jesus,” he says. “He’s goin’ to pop the top off this thing.”
I laugh. “No, but he’ll give it a good go.”
He looks at his son and my heart cracks.
“Why are we so fuckin’ stupid as humans?” he asks.
I look to him, tilting my head. “How do you mean?”
“We run from shit, but when it goes bad and we lose it, our first comment is ‘I wish I would have done that’.”
