Page 85 of This Wild Heart

Boom. My head spun with the memory, and I was stuck between the need to claw it away. To bring more of it forward. My ribs shook from how badly I wished he was here. It was like I could hear his voice in the room with me.

“What do I do?” I whispered. “Dad, I don’t know what the fuck to do right now.”

The baby didn’t particularly care for my mental freak-out, and his cries intensified. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I carefully reached underneath his head and his butt and lifted him out of the bassinet.

He was so small. So light.

I shifted him into my arms and did a gentle rocking motion.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay, buddy.”

His face was red from tears, and every single one felt like a knife to the chest. I tried the pacifier again, and he spit it right back out.

“I wish you could tell me what you need,” I begged him, trying to rock side to side.

Without thinking, I shifted him again, palming the back of his head and laying him out on my forearm so he was straight out from my chest. With the other hand, I tore at the velcro things holding him in. The moment his arms stretched out, his cries lessened a little.

He hiccuped, arching his back. But he was still unhappy.

A tear slid down my cheek, and I didn’t try to stop it.

What did he need? What would I have needed?

My dad’s voice filled my head again, and I had to swallow down a thick sob, my eyes falling shut and a few more tears escaping.

Rise up this mornin’, smile with the risin’ sun

Three little birds, pitched by my doorstep

He always started there. It wasn’t the beginning of the song, but it was the part I loved best, and he knew that. He knew that by slowing it down, his rich, deep voice turned a song I already loved into a lullaby. God, how did he always know exactly what we all needed? Somehow, impossibly, he always did. And every time he sat with me in the dark, he made me feel safe and loved, like everything would be okay simply because he willed it.

How long had I still been that scared boy, terrified of the dark and clutching onto the single most important anchor in my life? That anchor, the man I loved so fucking much, was brokenhearted too. He sat there and sang to me like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered even though he’d buried his wife and the mother to his kids.

He did it because he loved me. Loved my brothers. And nothing was going to stop him from showing us that, day in and day out.

When I pried open my eyelids, Leo was staring up at me. His eyes were mine.

My eyes were my dad’s.

My heart cracked down the middle, something messy and warm spilling into my chest.

“Rise up this mornin’, smile with the risin’ sun,” I sang, tears thick in my voice. “Three little birds, pitched by my doorstep. Singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true. Sayin’ ‘this is my message to you,’.” I paused, the thundering pulse in my ears finally slowing as Leo stared up at me.

“Singin’ don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.”

He sucked in a shaky breath but didn’t cry again.

“I said don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing’s gonna be all right.”

Carefully, I adjusted my hold, easing Leo back against my chest. Something about his warm weight had my heart heavy and thick with feelings I didn’t want to name.

I sang it again, tears sliding unchecked down my face while Leo’s eyelids got heavier and heavier. When it felt like he was fully asleep, I eased him back down into the bassinet, laying him on his back. As carefully as I could manage, I folded his arms back into the sleep bag thing, carefully hooking the velcro back together with a gentle pat.

When it didn’t wake him, I let out a relieved breath.

His eyelashes were long and dark, his lips a perfect little heart shape.

Anya was right. About a lot, actually, but she was especially right about him. It didn’t matter if he was mine or not. If someone showed up and took him away now, it would feel like they’d sliced out a part of me.

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