Page 3 of Rock the Cradle of Love
“Maybe so.” Noah’s gaze sidles to the open door. “Is there a lot more? Should I help her?”
She scans what’s already been brought in. “There’s a bit more. I’ll sit here with Emma.”
With Noah helping, it turns out to be the last trip. They set the bags and boxes down and look at each other. He’s not sure how he should be feeling. Relief is his dominant emotion because she made it safely and because he’s taken her biggest stressor off her hands. Until they can have a frank conversation, sadness and worry for Jules will continue to lurk.
Julia gloms onto him and squeezes so tight, he almost loses his breath. “Thank you,” she murmurs, before disappearing out the door.
“I guess it’s time to head back.” Ms. Maple rises and slides Emma into his arms. “She’s been fed and changed, so she should be fine for a couple of three hours.”
He looks down into Emma’s sweet little face, his heart lurching hard. “Okay. Thank you.” Emma blinks and reaches a tiny hand toward his face.
“You’re going to need help. Find some quickly. You’re doing an admirable thing here, Noah, for both of these girls.”
“I’m doing a selfish thing,” he says, running a finger down Emma’s round cheek. He wants this little girl more than he should, but taking her feels right for all three of them.
“Depends on one’s perspective.” Ms. Maple pats his arm. “I better scoot. You take care, Noah. I’m still at the other end of a phone call if you need anything.”
“Just…keep an eye on Jules?” Noah wants to give her space, at least for a few days. And he still has end-of-season things to do before he’s free to officially start his off-season.
“I will.” She winks and closes the door behind her.
Noah walks to the window. Julia’s pale green, mid-size car turns left out of the parking lot and is out of sight within moments. The sun crests the horizon just then and golden-orange shards of light make him squint. He blinks and glances down. It’s just him and Emma now. He lets out a breath and tries to let this new anxiety dissipate. It’s been a while since he’s held a baby. There’s no giving this one back to its parents. He’s the parent now.
Noah settles into his dark green massage recliner and turns Emma to face him. Her blue eyes, so like his own, meet his again. “Hi, Emma. I’m going to be your daddy.”
Emma’s face scrunches and tears trickle from the corner of her eyes. Her tiny pink lips purse once, then twice. Her mouth opens and she begins to wail.
Chapter Two
Taylor Bell, top line winger for the Fort Worth Rotors, pulls his car into the slot next to Noah’s big-ass truck. The last three days of sleep, high carb/high protein eating, and light cardio have done him good. Several hard checks he’d taken in the last couple of games have left him a bit achy, but the soreness ought to fade in the next few days. The end of the season sucked fuckin’ hockey pucks, but the team would go over tape next week to see where and how things had started to unravel.
In the meantime, he and Noah have a date with an Xbox to decompress. They won’t be playing virtual hockey any time soon though. Taylor grabs the new game and the beer and hustles up the stairs to Noah’s place.
Taylor’s holding up the game case in one hand and the twelve pack of beer in the other when the door swings inward.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims, dropping his arms. Noah’s holding a baby, Emma no doubt, and looks like shit. His brown hair is all over the place, he’s got circles under his blue eyes, and his normally neatly trimmed beard looks a little bushy around the edges. His tee shirt has green and orange splotches on the shoulder. “You babysitting?”
Emma looks at Taylor with big blue eyes very much like Noah’s and takes a shuddery breath. Well, shit. Taylor actually knows the answer, and he can’t say he’s surprised. Not after everything Noah’s told him.
A dark pink flush creeps up from under the collar of Noah’s shirt. “Um, no, not exactly.” He steps back and Taylor pushes in. Taylor thought so, and… Well. Okay.
Baby stuff is everywhere. On the floor, on the furniture, on the counters. “Did a tornado tear through here?” he asks on his way to the kitchen. “Christ,” he exclaims when he hits laminate flooring. Dirty dishes and baby bottles litter the counter. There’s a layer of white powder and pale beige flakes dusting the dark-colored solid surface countertop.
Taylor peers over the half-wall between the kitchen and the living room. Noah’s standing where Taylor’d left him at the door, looking exhausted and frazzled, and all of Taylor’s bluster dies. He’ll cover all the reasons why Noah’s decision is ill timed and foolhardy later. Maybe. Noah’s not going to change his mind about Emma. Taylor knows this like he knows thatSid-the-no-longer-a-Kidmight just be the greatest hockey player ever, so what’s the point really? He shoves the beer in the fridge and then steers Noah to the recliner. Taylor plops his ass on the corner of the coffee table and leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Spill it.”
“Jules called. She sounded bad. Really bad, Taylor. Scared the hell out of me. I told her to bring Emma to me.”
Taylor’s stomach twists. Well, fuck, maybe the situation is more urgent than Taylor suspected. “Is she okay?” From everything Noah’s shared over the last several months, Taylor’d bet his parents’ farm that Julia suffers from post-partum depression and has had to struggle with a colicky baby for the last three months. A baby, it turns out, she didn’t want to raise.
Noah nods. “A neighbor from home came with her. Will watch out for her back in Ten Rigs. She’s fine as far as I know. I haven’t called her…” His eyes close and Taylor reads the weariness in his slack eyes and sloping shoulders. “Haven’t had a chance to call. To check on her or talk about Emma.”
Taylor’s radar starts pinging. “When did this happen?” Emma’s fists are in her mouth, and she’s staring wide-eyed at Taylor. Stains matching those on Noah’s tee shirt color her pale-yellow onesie.
“Um…” Noah blinks and peers bleary-eyed at Taylor. “Very early Monday. Like six a.m. or something.”
Their final game had been Sunday evening. By the time they’d flown home from the East Coast and Noah had gotten in his front door, it would have already been very early Monday. Three days have passed. Three days Noah should have been letting his body recover—he’d taken harder hits than Taylor—and he’s been caring for a high-maintenance infant. “Christ,” Taylor snaps. Emma jumps.
Her face crumples a bit, but Noah’s already jiggling her like a pro, even in his exhausted state, and her features smooth out. She offers a huff of annoyance, and Taylor smiles. She’s adorable and is the spitting image of Noah. Noah said she isn’t his, but the evidence is pretty damning. Taylor’ll give Noah the benefit of the doubt for now, but Julia’s the only woman Noah ever talks about.
