Page 62 of She's the Star

“Breathe,” I tell him. “Turn her around, put her against your chest, and rub her back.”

He complies with shaky hands, and I barely resist the urge to snatch her away from him. Even though I forced him to take her, I’m going to be pissed if he drops her.

With him.

And with myself.

“She’s still crying,” he says, rubbing her back almost frantically while he takes short, halting breaths.

“Babies cry when they don’t get what they want. It isn’t the end of the world.” I usher him further into the room while trying to access my inner calm. It isn’t easy. “She’s sick and you woke her up when you knocked.”

He winces and almost stumbles. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to warm up her bottle. Why don’t you have a seat?” I practically push him into the closest chair. She’ll be much safer if he’s sitting down.

He peers up at me. “I don’t like it when she’s unhappy.”

“No one likes it when a baby’s unhappy, but you can handle a few tears, and so can she.”

I know my tone makes me sound like a jerk, but the last thing Teddy needs is more coddling. His woe is me act has worn thin. He’s a grown man with a child and he ought to start acting like it.

I turn toward the kitchen and busy myself warming up Maddy’s bottle while she keeps whimpering and crying softly.

Out of the blue, Teddy starts making weird shushing noises. She doesn’t stop crying, but it’s oddly charming to see him finally making an effort. I scowl because I’m not in the mood to find him charming.

He’s an asshole who wants to ruin my life.

I screw a nipple onto Maddy’s bottle and stomp across the room, hand it to him, and stick a pillow under his right arm. He awkwardly adjusts Maddy’s position. It isn’t hard to tell that he hasn’t given her a bottle before, but he manages to get it into her mouth, so I don’t offer any advice or suggestions.

She quiets as she starts to drink it.

“You must think I’m such a dumbass,” he says softly.

I make a humming sound because, yes, I absolutely think that.

“Why’d you let me come over?” he asks.

“I didn’t. I’m not in charge of those kind of decisions.” Then I add, “Maddy is your daughter.”

His brows draw together. “I think we both know I’m not really father material. I don’t even know what to do when she cries.”

“It’s kind of too late to decide you don’t want to be a father.”

He tenses and says, “I didn’t say I don’t want to be her father. It’s just—I’m not much of a role model, so it’s probably best if I keep my distance.”

“Being a role model or not is sort of up to you, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” he grumbles under his breath. “It’s just—why aren’t you pissed at me?”

“Is that why you’re really here? Because you wanted to see if I’m pissed?”

“No. Of course not.” He shifts his attention to the ceiling. “But…aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. And not just for the reason you think.”

“Okay. I’ll bite.” He rolls his neck from side to side.

“I’m pissed at the way you treat Amber and I’m pissed that you outed our relationship to a reporter. But mostly, I’m pissed that you don’t take accountability or responsibility for yourself or your daughter.”

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