Page 43 of I Knead You Tonight

“Son of a…”

I sprint from the room, taking off down the hall to Sully’s bedroom.

Nothing.

The panic sets in.

I charge through the house, searching every room, but I keep turning up empty.

“My son is gone. Where the fuck is my son? Where is my baby?! Where—”

I hear his giggle and my eyes fly to the back patio I’ve passed so many times in my pursuit.

Riker is sitting comfortable in Sully’s arms as they watch the waves play along the shoreline.

I breathe a sigh of relief and make my way out to them.

“Sullivan Insert-Your-Last-Name-Here, you scared the shit out of me.”

Sully turns around, grinning at me. “Oops.” He bounces Riker. “Say, ‘Sorry, Mama. We just wanted to let you sleep in.’”

I pinch at Riker’s cheeks and he coos at me. “You scared me half to death, you little turkey.”

“Scott,” Sully says. “My last name is Scott.”

“Sullivan Scott.” I smile softly. “I like it.”

He shrugs. “It’s a name.”

There’s something in the way he says it, like he doesn’t love or hate it. He’s resigned to it.

Huh.

I brush it off. If Sully wants to talk, he’ll talk.

“When did he wake up?”

“I heard him about an hour ago.”

“I can’t believe I slept through him waking up twice.”

“Eh, you were tired, and you knew we’d take care of him.”

I grab Riker from Sully’s arm, giving him a kiss. “Is this what it’s like to have a partner? You get to sleep in occasionally and don’t have to worry every second of every day?”

“I don’t know about the worrying part.” Sully rubs at the back of his neck. “But I’m sure it makes everything else just a little bit easier.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. He’s a good kid.”

“You keep taking such good care of my son and I’ll propose marriage. Wait!” I gasp. “Crazy idea here, but let’s run off and get married. You’re single, I’m single, Riker loves you—let’s do it.”

Sully laughs. “I don’t think Winston would be too fond of that idea.”

“Who gives a rat’s ass what he thinks? He doesn’t even like me.”

He grunts but doesn’t say anything else.

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