Craving Redemption
Page 100
“Hey, sweetheart,” I mumbled, swallowing hard.
I pulled her into my arms and hugged her around the baby as she sniffled into my neck. We could only hug for a minute—there were rules about that shit—so within seconds, I was tilting her face to mine so I could kiss her. I didn’t wait until we were feeling comfortable; we didn’t have time for that. I just tilted my head to hers and pulled her bottom lip into my mouth a tiny bit and ran my tongue across it before pulling back.
I couldn’t kiss her like I wanted to. I couldn’t put my tongue in her mouth, or pull hers into mine, and it fucking killed me.
The guard at the edge of the room cleared his throat, so I pulled away and grabbed her hand. She still hadn’t spoken by the time we’d sat down, and I couldn’t think of a fucking word to say.
I was just staring at her. Soaking it all in.
“Hey,” she whispered, looking at my face and rubbing her thumb over my palm.
“This is fuckin’ awkward, right?”
“A little.” She smiled gently, and I wanted to pull her over the goddamn table. “You wanna meet Will?”
For a second, a fraction of a second, I’d forgotten he was there as I’d stared at her.
“Ye—” I cleared the nervous knot in my throat. “Yeah. I do.”
She unwrapped him from a dark green blanket, and the first thing I noticed was a little fucking black Mohawk down the center of his head. He was sleeping—his fist by his face—and the sight of him was like a punch to the chest.
“You wanna hold him?” she asked, looking anxious. “I checked the rules and I think you can hold him.”
Before I could answer, she’d leaned across the table and laid him against my chest so I had no choice but to put my arm under him. He was so fucking tiny; my empty saddlebags must have weighed more than him.
“Holy fuck,” I gasped, trying to figure out the best way to hold him so his head wasn’t flopping around.
My head snapped up when I heard her giggle, and when I met her eyes, something just clicked. We were parents. Holy shit.
“I’m not writing that in his baby book,” she told me with a smile. “The first time your dad held you, he said, ‘Holy Fuck’. It was a tender moment…”
I huffed out a laugh and felt my throat start to close up.
I reached my hand back to hers and she caught it instantly, watching Will and me with a soft look on her face. “He looks like you,” she murmured.
“Naw, he’s all you. Look at that hair!”
“I know, right? I couldn’t believe he was born with it like that. Gram says it’s pretty normal and it might even fall out.”
“What color are his eyes?” I asked softly, looking down at his little face, his mouth smacking like he was trying to eat or something.
“They started out this dark grey color, and I thought for sure they were gonna turn blue, but he got your brown ones. They’re getting more like yours every day.”
“I can’t believe we made him,” I whispered softly to myself, but knew she heard me when her hand squeezed mine.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“He’s fuckin’ beautiful,” I told her seriously, lifting my face so I could focus on her again.
I was holding my son in my arms and holding hands with my woman, and it was the best thing I’d felt in months.
“I can’t wait until you’re home.”
“Me either, Sugar.”
We lapsed into silence again, but it was comfortable this time. I was soaking that shit in. I could smell her lotion from across the table, and I prayed that I’d be able to smell it on my clothes after she’d gone. She’d just arrived and I was already dreading her leaving so much that I was having trouble breathing.
I wanted to walk out that fucking door with her. I wanted to carry my son to the car, buckle him in, and then kiss the hell out of his mother. I wanted to hold her hand as I drove her home, watch her feed Will, give him a bath, and change his shitty fucking diapers. I wanted it all and it hurt so goddamn bad that I couldn’t have it.
“I signed up for cosmetology school,” she told me abruptly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Farrah and I are going to go together.”
“Is that doing makeup and shit?”
“No, it’s mostly cutting and coloring hair—stuff like that.” She was looking nervous and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
“That’s great, Callie. Are you excited?”
I watched her shoulders deflate in relief. “Yeah, I am. I’m excited to learn a bunch of new stuff and be able to get a good job.”
“Then what’s wrong? Why’re you strung tight as shit?”
“I just wasn’t sure what you’d think,” she mumbled, looking down at the table.
“Hey, look at me,” I whispered softly as one of the guards called a motherfucking ten minute warning. “I’m so happy for you, baby. You’re gonna do so good.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure. It’s gonna feel good when you can get a sweet job, not have to work at a fuckin’ fast food place forever, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m stoked that I’ll be able to support us.”
I jolted in my seat at her words and instantly felt uncomfortable. “Why do you need to support yourselves? I’ll always take care of you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she backpedalled, making my anxiety ratchet up a bit. “I just don’t want to have to depend on you for everything. It’s not fair to either of us.”
I pulled her into my arms and hugged her around the baby as she sniffled into my neck. We could only hug for a minute—there were rules about that shit—so within seconds, I was tilting her face to mine so I could kiss her. I didn’t wait until we were feeling comfortable; we didn’t have time for that. I just tilted my head to hers and pulled her bottom lip into my mouth a tiny bit and ran my tongue across it before pulling back.
I couldn’t kiss her like I wanted to. I couldn’t put my tongue in her mouth, or pull hers into mine, and it fucking killed me.
The guard at the edge of the room cleared his throat, so I pulled away and grabbed her hand. She still hadn’t spoken by the time we’d sat down, and I couldn’t think of a fucking word to say.
I was just staring at her. Soaking it all in.
“Hey,” she whispered, looking at my face and rubbing her thumb over my palm.
“This is fuckin’ awkward, right?”
“A little.” She smiled gently, and I wanted to pull her over the goddamn table. “You wanna meet Will?”
For a second, a fraction of a second, I’d forgotten he was there as I’d stared at her.
“Ye—” I cleared the nervous knot in my throat. “Yeah. I do.”
She unwrapped him from a dark green blanket, and the first thing I noticed was a little fucking black Mohawk down the center of his head. He was sleeping—his fist by his face—and the sight of him was like a punch to the chest.
“You wanna hold him?” she asked, looking anxious. “I checked the rules and I think you can hold him.”
Before I could answer, she’d leaned across the table and laid him against my chest so I had no choice but to put my arm under him. He was so fucking tiny; my empty saddlebags must have weighed more than him.
“Holy fuck,” I gasped, trying to figure out the best way to hold him so his head wasn’t flopping around.
My head snapped up when I heard her giggle, and when I met her eyes, something just clicked. We were parents. Holy shit.
“I’m not writing that in his baby book,” she told me with a smile. “The first time your dad held you, he said, ‘Holy Fuck’. It was a tender moment…”
I huffed out a laugh and felt my throat start to close up.
I reached my hand back to hers and she caught it instantly, watching Will and me with a soft look on her face. “He looks like you,” she murmured.
“Naw, he’s all you. Look at that hair!”
“I know, right? I couldn’t believe he was born with it like that. Gram says it’s pretty normal and it might even fall out.”
“What color are his eyes?” I asked softly, looking down at his little face, his mouth smacking like he was trying to eat or something.
“They started out this dark grey color, and I thought for sure they were gonna turn blue, but he got your brown ones. They’re getting more like yours every day.”
“I can’t believe we made him,” I whispered softly to myself, but knew she heard me when her hand squeezed mine.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“He’s fuckin’ beautiful,” I told her seriously, lifting my face so I could focus on her again.
I was holding my son in my arms and holding hands with my woman, and it was the best thing I’d felt in months.
“I can’t wait until you’re home.”
“Me either, Sugar.”
We lapsed into silence again, but it was comfortable this time. I was soaking that shit in. I could smell her lotion from across the table, and I prayed that I’d be able to smell it on my clothes after she’d gone. She’d just arrived and I was already dreading her leaving so much that I was having trouble breathing.
I wanted to walk out that fucking door with her. I wanted to carry my son to the car, buckle him in, and then kiss the hell out of his mother. I wanted to hold her hand as I drove her home, watch her feed Will, give him a bath, and change his shitty fucking diapers. I wanted it all and it hurt so goddamn bad that I couldn’t have it.
“I signed up for cosmetology school,” she told me abruptly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Farrah and I are going to go together.”
“Is that doing makeup and shit?”
“No, it’s mostly cutting and coloring hair—stuff like that.” She was looking nervous and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
“That’s great, Callie. Are you excited?”
I watched her shoulders deflate in relief. “Yeah, I am. I’m excited to learn a bunch of new stuff and be able to get a good job.”
“Then what’s wrong? Why’re you strung tight as shit?”
“I just wasn’t sure what you’d think,” she mumbled, looking down at the table.
“Hey, look at me,” I whispered softly as one of the guards called a motherfucking ten minute warning. “I’m so happy for you, baby. You’re gonna do so good.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure. It’s gonna feel good when you can get a sweet job, not have to work at a fuckin’ fast food place forever, yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m stoked that I’ll be able to support us.”
I jolted in my seat at her words and instantly felt uncomfortable. “Why do you need to support yourselves? I’ll always take care of you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she backpedalled, making my anxiety ratchet up a bit. “I just don’t want to have to depend on you for everything. It’s not fair to either of us.”
