At least for now.
Until I tell him what’s going on.
And then he may ask me to leave.
Chase and Gabby seem oblivious to the war raging inside me. They both kiss Milo’s sleeping head before heading to the door, hand-in-hand. “See you tomorrow,” Chase says to his older brother before exiting the room, leaving us alone with our thoughts.
“You ready?” he asks, clearing his throat and glancing around.
“Yes,” I whisper as he heads over to retrieve the diaper bag and gather up the few things left. I move to the car seat and crouch in front of it. I move his snowsuit to the floor, but before I set him down to get him ready to go, I run my nose against his soft forehead, letting the peach fuzz on his head tickle my nose. He smells like baby shampoo and his daddy.
God, I’m going to miss this if I’m asked to leave.
I push that thought away, not wanting to start crying again, and work on getting Milo in his suit. He wakes up and hollers his disapproval, but his pacifier does wonders to calm him down. I get him situated in the car seat, buckled in tight, and ready to go. When I stand and glance to the right, I find Colton there, watching us. A look in his eyes that resembles love. Love for his son, sure, but maybe even love for me.
I slip on my coat as Colton does the same, takes the car seat, and throws the diaper bag over his shoulder. When he reaches the door, he extends his hand, which I readily take. We walk together down the hall and out the back door. I can’t help but wonder if this will be the last time I’m here. If things go south with Colton and me tonight, I’m sure I won’t be welcomed back inside, let alone back to watch Milo.
That thought is soul-shattering.
Milo babbles in the back seat of the truck, swatting at the toys that hang from the seat handle. There are no other words spoken, just the sounds of a happy baby playing. I soak up every ounce of it, committing every second of his noises to memory. Just in case.
Back home, I grab the diaper bag from the back and get the door unlocked for Colton. Even though he’s carrying his son, he still insists I enter the house first. I set the bag down on the kitchen table as he removes the blanket from the carrier and smiles down at his son. “You about ready to eat, little man?”
Milo smiles and kicks, letting his dad know he’s more than ready.
“I’m going to feed him some peas and carrots for dinner. What time will the Crock-Pot be done?” he asks hesitantly. There’s that feeling we’re both walking on glass, and I hate it. I hate that we’ve come to this.
“Thirty minutes,” I tell him after glancing at the clock.
Colton nods and heads to the cabinet to get jars of baby food.
“Why don’t I go take a shower while you feed him. I’ll come back and get the dinner dished up,” I say, wringing my hands together in front of me. “Unless you’d rather not eat together.”
Once Milo is secured in his high chair, he turns my way. “I want you here,” he states. “I want to be able to see you, to know you’re safe. I want you to help me give my son a bath and help put him to bed tonight. I want to pull you in my arms and snuggle under the blankets, only to fall asleep with you in my arms after I’ve made you come no less than twice. I want to wake up with you, and maybe even make love to you again before Milo wakes up. I want all of that, but I know in order to get it, we have to talk about what is going on.”
He takes a deep breath. “So, go to your place and take your shower. Then come back here and have dinner with me. After we put Milo to bed, we’re going to figure out what is going on so we can move forward. Together.”
God, the confidence in his voice, that conviction that everything is going to be okay almost brings me to my knees. I just pray he’s right. That once he hears what I say, he won’t ask me to leave, that the only way he can protect himself and his son is to ask me to go.
I don’t want that.
Not at all.
But I would do it in a heartbeat if it meant they were safe.
Because I love them.* * *After my shower, I feel marginally better, but that looming sense of dread still niggles my mind. I slip through my door and into the laundry room, the scent of dinner filling the small space. When I open the kitchen door, I find Milo still in his high chair, orange stains from his dinner on his bib, and Colton standing at the counter. The table is set with two plates and two glasses of water, a basket of rolls sitting in the middle.