Page 6 of The Sacrifice
“There’s nothing to fix.” I spin her carrier around and motion down at her with my hand. Her lips pucker in her sleep. “She’s mine. Look at the birthmark on her forehead. All my baby photos look just like this. If you don’t see the resemblance, look at the baby photos of my niece and nephew on the refrigerator.” I scrub my hands over my face and slump back into the cushions. “I’ll call Spencer and set up a DNA test, but she’s going to come back as mine. Now, I’ve got to figure out what to do with her. I don’t know the first thing about changing a diaper, feeding from a bottle, changing clothes, or sleep schedules.”
I clutch my head. What am I doing? Is she better off in foster care? I’ve screwed up almost everything I’ve ever done, except playing football which I almost managed to do. What makes me think I can raise a kid on my own?
Andrew squats down and studies her. “You’ve got a valid point. She does look like you.” He inhales and arches an eyebrow. “And smells like you.”
“Shit.” I groan and throw my head back onto the sofa cushions. “Did she poop? God, I don’t want to change a crappy diaper. What was I thinking?”
He rocks the carrier. “She’s innocent and sweet, and you thought she deserves to be raised by her parent.” He smiles. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you.” Diapers. Clean diapers. Where in the hell is the diaper bag? There’s nothing next to the carrier, or where Roxanne stood, or next to the door. “For fucks’ sake, she didn’t even have a diaper bag. Remind me never to get that drunk again.”
“You’re on.” He stands and clears his throat. “You know Mia needs something to do besides clean my pantry. I could ask her to nanny for you until you get things figured out.”
“Fuck, no.” I brush my hands over the thighs of my sweatpants to dispose of the flood of moisture collecting in the crevices. “Your sister is the last person I’d want to be involved in this situation. She hates me and thinks I’m a total fuck up. I’m going to have enough issues with my parents as it is. I’m not borrowing more trouble. I’ll hire someone. Money isn’t an issue.”
“But you know her. Who else will you trust to come into your home and watch your kid on short notice?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” My stomach drops to my feet. Someone coming into my home and snooping in my dresser drawers. Digging up dirt. Looking to sell my secrets to the tabloids. Trying to climb into my bed. When my stomach returns from my feet, it fills with nausea.
“Crap.” Andrew glances at his watch. “I’ve got a house to show in fifteen minutes.” He marches to the door. After he clasps the doorknob, he turns and gives me a worried look. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Sure.” I shrug and drag my ass off the sofa. “Everything is fine.”
The second the door shuts, I brace my hands on my hips. What in the hell am I going to do? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. It makes the mannequin joke look like a kindergartener’s attempt at fucking up his life. This. This takes the cake. I inhale and stare at the ceiling. The swirls in the plaster don’t have any better answers than I do.
Moments later, a rustling sound comes from the carrier, drawing my attention. I walk over to the car seat. Her dark eyes blink up as the black lashes sweep up and down. My heart skips a beat. She’s gorgeous. But what do I do with her? Her face turns red as her little hands clench into fists.
Oh, fuck. Here it comes.
Chapter Four
Mia
Is Jade right? Should I move back to Kansas City for good? Or somewhere close by.
Being near my family has been a blessing. During the four years I was gone, I rarely saw them. There wasn’t time to get away. If the Wrights took a vacation, I went with them. Most of the time, I only had a few hours off a week.
But another city? Kansas City is small compared to New York City, but I was looking forward to blue skies and rolling hills. Or some mountains. Maybe even some horses grazing in a pasture.
I place the cinnamon and nutmeg containers next to each other. It’s rare when you’re cooking not to use the two spices together. I stop with my hand on the lid.
Were Warren and I together so long because we never saw each other? I thought we were the perfect match just like the cinnamon and nutmeg containers. We both liked keeping things organized. We were both workaholics. We even wore matching workout clothes when we went jogging together. I shove the drawer shut, causing the bottles to clatter against each other.
Crap.I yank open the door and re-organized the spices. That’s better. I re-shut the door with less force. But there was no spark. No passion. We stopped going out after the first few months and rarely had sex. Even when we did have sex, it was nothing to write home about.
“Stop. Stop wishing for things that aren’t practical.” I cringe and glance around ensuring Andrew didn’t sneak in the house. Everything is quiet.
Excitement and fun are for kids. Responsible adults have jobs and don’t sneak off having sex in the alley or in a theater. I shiver as goosebumps scatter over my arms. But damn, it would be fun to give it a try. At least once.
The front door snaps open, and Andrew rushes inside. I step to the doorway between the kitchen and living room, relieved to have someone else around so I can stop talking to myself.
When he sees me, he stops in the middle of the room. “Good, you’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Don’t tell me you were organizing something.”
“Your spices were a mess.”