Page 8 of The Sacrifice
“Okay.” I nod as tension makes the muscles in my back ache.
What am I getting into? Me working for Jackson. My younger brother’s best friend. The guy who doesn’t want me helping him. This has shitshow written all over it.
Chapter Five
Jackson
The baby in my arms stares at me with what must be the equivalent of abject horror. Not that I blame her one bit. My T-shirt is plastered to my chest with tears, spit-up, and profuse sweating. So far, the tears and spit-up are not mine, but I’m not promising what the future holds.
When I took Hadley out of her carrier, I found a bottle and a packet of formula tucked beside her. We’ve made it through our first meal and diaper change. We’re winning at this father/daughter thing with a washcloth and a two strips of duct tape.
I glance at my phone sitting on the coffee table and pat her back. For the love of all things good and holy, go to sleep so I can order diapers, wipes, and formula.
Whenever I think she’s asleep, she stiffens her arms and legs and wails like a town’s noon whistle. It’s incredible what an eight-pound baby can produce out of their lungs. I shudder. Let’s not even get into what landed in her diaper. It was yellow, pasty, and caked to her skin.
Should I call my mom? I stop in front of the sofa and turn away from my phone, marching to the kitchen’s threshold. Nope. Not a good idea. I don’t need her interference until I know what I’m doing. I don’t want to hear I’m making a mistake. I already know that, but I can’t let my child be put into the system. Not when I have a say in it.
I rub and pat Hadley’s back in a soft rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat. I’m hoping it comforts her, but it’s not like Roxanne’s heartbeat was soothing. What kind of woman chooses a man over her baby? She roots closer to my chest and sighs.
Is this it?
Don’t look down. Any shift in the atmosphere and the crying will begin again. Her hand tightens over my T-shirt, clasping a small section of the dark fabric between her fingers.
“Please, go to sleep,” I murmur more to myself than to her. She jerks, and the tears return in earnest.Son of a bitch.“Little girl, you’re going to drive me up a wall.”
Her little eyes look up with swimming tears, and my heart breaks. “Sweetheart, I wish I knew what to do.”
Ring. Buzz.My heart skips a beat as my cellphone vibrates on the coffee table. Did Roxanne change her mind? My hand tightens against Hadley’s back. Roxanne has no business raising a child. I rush over to the coffee table and snatch up my cellphone.Andrew. Thank God.“Hello?”
“Mia is on her way over with some supplies.”
“Damn it. I told you I don’t want her help. She’ll take one look at this situation and start hurling insults. I don’t need that.”
“Suck it up, Buttercup. She isn’t doing it for you. She’s agreed to nanny for you for Hadley’s sake. I’ve sent you the link to the agency she works for. Consider it temporary if you must, but you need help, and I don’t know the first thing about babies.”
“This isn’t a good idea. Your sister hates me.” I bounce Hadley lightly against my chest and pace from the kitchen doorway to the coffee table.
“She doesn’t hate anyone. She dislikes you. But she’ll be kind to Hadley, and she knows what she’s doing. Did you have time to go out and get formula, diapers, wipes, a baby bathtub, pacifiers, and teething rings?”
“No, I didn’t have time. All I’ve had time to do is feed her a bottle, burp her, clean her butt, and strap a dishcloth on her.” I don’t want him to be right, but he is. At least about me needing help.
He chuckles as she whimpers against me. “Oh, and she cries a lot. We’ve done that.”
“Dude….” His voice turns sober. “I’m sorry. I realize this is a lot to take in for one afternoon.”
“You don’t say.”
Ding. Dong.Dread fills me from the inside out. I don’t need Mia’s negative energy. Or her smart mouth telling me I suck at being an adult.
“That must be her….” Andrew pauses as anxiety swells in my gut. “Be nice.”
“I don’t know how to be nice,” I growl and hang up on him. I know how to be nice. Just not to people who bust my balls for no reason.
I yank open the door. Mia stands on the other side with the sunshine beaming off brunette hair and her arms full of bags. Her eyes rake over me, and her nose wrinkles as a bumble bee flutters from one flower basket to the next on the front porch. They love the nectar from the magenta petunias.
"Hey.” I nod and grasp the edge of the door, ready to slam it in her face. Listening to Mia rag on me will be worse than my mom. I should have called her instead. “Andrew called and said you were stopping by.”
“Yeah.” She brushes past me, marches across the wooden floor, and deposits the bags onto the mahogany coffee table. “I’m doing this for my brother.” She spins on her heel to face me. “And the baby.” Her lip curls upward. She looks like a prissy-ass Barbie. Do they have a Prissy-Ass Barbie? Is that a Barbie career?