Page 8 of Unexpected Love
Finally, a moment to breathe.
Charlie lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and the bottle, cup, whatever the hell it is, goes flying.
“Jesus.” I scramble to catch her from flinging herself off the couch. “Okay. Let me see if there’s something else.”
I resettle her and go to the kitchen to rifle through the rest of the diaper bag. From the couch, there’s a clatter, and Charlie starts crying. I spin, a pack of wipes in one hand and a pacifier in the other, ready to tackle whatever’s hurt her now.
Jesus, she fell off the couch.
It’s been, like, a half hour, and the kid is already hurt.
I abandon the diaper bag and snatch my phone up on the way to sort Charlie, punching Dani’s contact number with greater force than necessary.
“Dani, where the fuck are you?” I growl when the call goes straight to voicemail.
I grab Charlie up and carry her with me into the guest bedroom, flipping on the light.
I splurged on some really excellent blackout curtainswhen I moved in. With my schedule, I never know when I’m going to get to sleep. Those same curtains hang in my guest room and stay drawn, so now that there’s light shining into the space, I see what I missed before.
A car seat sits on the bed. A duffle bag overflowing with little-girl clothes sits on the floor. A shopping bag full of toys sits next to it.
Charlie makes a break for the toys.
“Knock yourself out, kid,” I mutter.
Something is not right.
I’ve told Dani forever that I had room for her and Charlie, always hoping that she’d take me up on my offer and get out of that godforsaken small town that we grew up in. There was no future for her there.
I’d escaped the cycle of deadbeats when my friends had all been gathered up in a bust. I’d already gone home sick for the night by the time the cops arrived.
Who knew a case of the flu would actually save me? Seeing all my buddies locked up opened my eyes. I could continue down that path or find a way out.
But even though I’d left to make something of my life, I’d always made room for Dani. Especially when she called me two years ago, pregnant at sixteen years old.
Now as I look around my guest room, the obvious stares back at me.
There are a ton of things for Charlie in the mess, but no sign of Dani anywhere.
My gaze catches on the small dresser and a Post-it that looks like it came from the pad in my kitchen drawer. On it, Dani’s chicken scratch.
Take care of Charlie for me.
Dread lands heavy on my shoulders. What does she mean,take care of Charlie?
Does that mean for an hour? Two?
Exactly how long am I supposed totake care of Charlie?I snatch my phone and call Dani over and over again. There’s no reason for her not to answer now—unless something has happened? Another jolt of panic races through me.
What if something happened to her? Since she won’t answer my calls, I send a text, asking her where she is, how long she’s going to be, and if something bad has happened.
I get back a thumbs-up emoji and a shrugging emoji. And I still don’t have answers.
Not knowing what else to do, I call the only person I can think of who has always had the answers.
“Come on, Belle.”
Charlie has a grip on my finger as I usher her into the Daily Brew.
