“How do we know he’s breathing?” I ask.
Lo stays quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Maybe one of us should poke him or something.”
I nod wildly. “Good idea. You do it.” Our baby barely stirs, so peaceful, and he rarely ever cries either. Jane has more fits than him…maybe that’s why I’m more nervous about his quiet nature. I can’t tell if it means something’s wrong or if he’s just a really good baby.
Lo leans closer on his side and taps Maximoff’s little foot in his blue onesie, a lightning bolt on the chest. My heart stops beating for a couple seconds and only starts again when he kicks his little legs. I exhale a breath of relief. He’s alive. All is well.
And then he wails loudly.
Oh no. “He woke up.” I cringe at his shrieks and sit up at the same time as Lo.
Lo gives me a look. “I thought that was the point.” He scoops Maximoff in his arms and pats his bottom as he rocks him. Our son hushes in seconds, his slate-gray eyes closing in a sleep, his little lips parted as he breathes. Lo wags his brows at me. “He loves me.”
I can’t help but smile, and I kiss Lo quickly on the lips. I want to say: you’re easily lovable, Loren Hale. But sadly, that’s not true for most people he meets. I fell in love with Lo like a little girl opening her heart to magic. It always seemed surreal until the moment it became true.
Lo checks the clock on the end table. “We should probably feed him.” He climbs off the bed and looks down at me. “Lil.”
“What?” I try to restrain my smile, biting my gums. It doesn’t work too well.
“You can’t look at me like that every time I hold him. It’s driving me insane, and I can’t do anything about it for six weeks.” He says I have this “adorable happy glow” that makes him want to straddle me. But I have no sexual urges, for maybe the first time ever. I’m sore down below and the thought of something hard sounds too painful to consider. And thankfully my hormones are even back in check.
I spring off the bed. “I can’t help it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Like Magneto saving mutant-kind without destroying mankind, I know. You’ve told me.”
I point a finger at him. “That is a damn good metaphor and I came up with it all on my own.”
Lo shields our baby’s ears playfully. “No cursing, Lily Martha Calloway.”
I crinkle my nose. “I don’t like my full name.”
“Don’t worry,” he says with that teasing look, “I’m going to make you a Hale soon.”
I want to revel in that fact, but my smile fades by it. I’ve reminded him so many times that it’s okay if it doesn’t happen. He has a lot on his plate, and orchestrating a wedding is too much. I wouldn’t want to cause him more stress. Plus, I fear our parents taking over and turning it into their day again. It’s best to just set weddings aside. Contemplate it in five years’ time when things settle and Maximoff is older.
Neither of us ever suggests eloping. The idea feels like another deceit or lie that we’ve concocted.
“It’s going to happen,” Lo says, his gaze slowly narrowing. He still rocks our son in his arms.
“I know, I know.” I try to drop the subject. “What color eyes do you think he’ll have?” The doctors said that a baby’s eye color changes in their first year, so we’re not one-hundred percent sure on the hue.
While he answers, I lead Lo out the door, and I can feel his body tensing behind me. But he follows me into the hallway regardless.
“Your green ones,” he says. I spin around and peek at our son. His eyelids open as he stretches his arms and he giggles when he stares at my eyebrows. Oh my God. He has the cutest dimpled cheeks and little nose. At six pounds, two ounces, he came out a bit small but a lot heart-stoppingly adorable. It sounds cheesy, but it’s my baby. I feel like the cheese-factor rises once you reproduce.
“You melt every time you see him,” Lo tells me. “Here, so you can drool a little longer.”
I gape as he hands Maximoff off to me. “That’s so mean, Loren.”
“I’m only stating the truth, Lily Martha.”
I squint at him, hoping to penetrate him with my glare. Instead he laughs, his smile overtaking his face. I give up. “I think he’ll have green eyes too,” I relent.
Ryke has already professed that they’ll probably be amber like Lo’s. But that was before Maximoff was even born.
With the baby now in my care, we descend the staircase together. As soon as we breach the stainless steel kitchen, I hear noises. I strain my ears.
It sounds like…muffled arguing. But I can’t be sure. Living with Ryke and Daisy, I’ve overheard their distant sex noises and sometimes they sound like full-on fighting. Bodies slamming against things. Stifled yells (of ecstasy). Things of that nature.
I whip my head around the barren kitchen, expecting to find a couple, maybe even humping on the counter. Not that I want to catch anyone in the act. Porn. It would be like real p**n in my face.
Plus, I’m holding a baby. Someone I feel vitally protective over. Maximoff is allowed to watch p**n never. Not even when he’s a teenager. Or in college. Nope. No. No. I’m putting my foot down on that one.
The noises suddenly stop.
“Lo,” I say as he scans the room, nothing but sparkly clean granite countertops, leather bar stools and dim lights. “I think we have ghosts in this house.”
His brows shoot up. “Ghosts that f**k?”
I adjust my baby in a one-hand cradle and then punch Lo’s arm. It’s only fair. F-bombs have been banned in the presence of baby ears.
He rolls his eyes. And then something knocks in the pantry, like a can clattering to the floor. I jump, thankfully clutching Maximoff tighter and not dropping him. Dear God, don’t let me drop my baby. I cannot ever be that startled.
Lo stretches his arm out, keeping both me and our baby away from the pantry. “It’s probably just mice.”
My eyes grow big. “Large, mutant mice.”
And then the pantry door slowly creaks open like something from a horror film. When I see a shirtless Ryke, my nerves plummet to nothingness.
“Or it’s just my horny older brother,” Lo says with a bitter smile.
“We weren’t screwing,” is the first thing Ryke says. His gym shorts are slightly askew, and he lifts them higher on his waist, his hair so disheveled that I can tell a girl ran her fingers through it. His lips are pink and raw like he’s been in one serious make-out session.
I break into a huge grin. This image does not turn me on in any way, shape or form. I love my hormones again.
“I’m sorry,” Lo says dryly as he goes to warm up formula. “Did we interrupt you?”
I strap Maximoff in his navy blue bouncer. I chose what I’m most comfortable with in terms of breastfeeding, listening to Rose’s advice. It’s my choice. And plus, it gives Lo the chance to feed and bond with his son too.
“No,” Ryke growls back, his eyes focusing on me, dark and accusatory. Oh jeez. “Because someone made a pact about not ha**ng s*x for six f**king weeks.”
Lo looks too worn-out to even contemplate punching him. I am too. I’m beginning to wonder if everyone’s a lost cause for cursing.
“Were you fighting?” I suddenly fear, worry popping in my head. I do not want to be the cause of a Raisy breakup. Nononono. Raisy until the end. The end being death.