Page 4 of A Little Luck
I have no right to question his choices, but I don’t like them.
I’m not the only one.
The baby sneezes, and Adam’s eyebrows lift. “Bless you,” he laughs, and I shift in the bed, sitting up slowly, drawing his attention.
“He’s probably hungry.” My voice is hoarse from all the yelling earlier when I was in labor.
Adam’s blue eyes land on mine, and the change in them is striking. Tonight the distance is gone, and heat has taken its place. It burns in my stomach, reviving a longing so close to the surface, I have to look away.
“Stay there, Piper Ann.” A teasing note is in his tone as he lifts the tiny infant in his hands, carrying him like a football across the space from the crib to me.
“Only my mom calls me that.” I take my swaddled little boy, moving him under my hospital gown and pulling the blanket over me. I turn to the side, self-conscious at the state of my body, all out of sorts, damaged and misshapen.
“I know.” He watches us quietly before lifting a white paper bag. “I brought you something.”
My brows rise, and I press my lips into a smile. “What is it?”
“A push present.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh softly. “You didn’t have to…”
I don’t want to finish that sentence.
Reaching inside, he slides an oversized, elaborately decorated cupcake from the bag. It’s dark-brown chocolate with tan frosting and tiny Oreos on top. “Your favorite.”
“Chocolate peanut butter Oreo!”
“Not too much peanut butter to overpower the chocolate.”
“Just how I like it.” My voice fades into a whisper, and my hormones must be wrecked, because more tears try to sneak out of my eyes. “You’re too sweet to me.”
“No.” Swaying closer, he places the small cake on my bedside table before reaching out to cup the top of Ryan’s little head. Only he doesn’t quite make it, rocking back on his heels before moving forward again, so close I think he’ll try to kiss me. “He’s sweet.”
That’s when a slice of pain, the pain of loss moves through my chest. My heart becomes quiet, and the intense longing stills.
The baby boy in my arms moves to the front of my attention, and I realize I’ve changed in a way I can’t control. At some point, during the searing pain of labor or the soothing calm of nursing, a new force rose inside me.
It’s stronger than my heart, and it has no more tolerance for bad behavior.
“Are you high?” My voice is quiet.
At first, I’m not even sure he heard me, but he did.
Guilty blue eyes meet mine, and the hope I had evaporates like smoke. His pretty eyes are bloodshot and tired, and that sliver of pain in my chest hurts so much. He was too far away before, or I was too blinded by lust or sweetness to see it.
“I’m notthathigh.” He winks, attempting the bad-boy grin that melts most girls’ panties.
Ryan stretches in my arms, finished nursing, and I move him onto my chest. Adam steps closer, and I catch the scent of whiskey. He’s not just high. He’s been drinking.
“You can’t keep doing this.” It’s not a scold—it’s a simple statement of fact.
“Piper…” He reaches out to wipe the tears from my cheeks, but I turn away.
“Don’t.”
“Why are you crying? It was just a little celebration.”
“Every day’s a celebration.” I look up at him. “How long before you’re dead, too?”