Page 69 of Reckless
“I thought I could just transfer her from the car seat to her crib.” A sigh that could also pass as a sob escapes her as tears spring up in her eyes. “But that stupid fucking creaky hinge that I keep meaning to fix woke her up and now she ispissed. I tried bouncing her and she doesn’t want to nurse. And I can’t handle listening to her cry, but I also don’t want to sleep with my makeup on or without brushing my teeth. So I just need a minute and then I’ll keep it—”
I put a hand on her shoulder and ease her back into the house, kicking the door shut behind me. Then I hold Peter out to her. “Here. Take my dog and go to bed.”
She takes him, even though she looks down at his spindly body like he might be diseased. I nearly smile as the realization hits me. Peter and Winter have a lot in common. Prickly on the outside, a little broken on the inside, and in desperate need of someone to hold them.
“I don’t need your help, Theo.”
This is the part where she lashes out, but I expected that from her. She’s fiercely independent.
I give her a soft smile while she and my dog glare at me. “I know you don’t, Winter. But I want to help anyway. Let me help tonight, okay?”
Her eyes go round as saucers. She’s so used to people walking away when she gets snappy that I confuse her when I don’t back off.
So, I press a hand to the small of her back and lead her down the hallway.
“Am I supposed to let your dog sleep in my bed?”
“Yes.”
“But he—”
“Will be good for you. He likes to snuggle, and he sleeps like the dead. Go finish taking off your makeup and brush your teeth.”
With a gentle push, I send Winter into the bathroom and then turn around and enter Vivi’s nursery, her angry wails filling the air.
“Baby girl, what is the commotion?” I coo as her tiny arms reach up for me. “You can’t be partying this late. Your poor mama needs some rest.”
I lift her into my arms, and her wet cheek nuzzles into my neck. Tiny fists grip at my shirt, and...she just cries harder.
“Okay, you’re really mad. I get it. It seems like everyone is tonight, so you aren’t being original at all.”
Bouncing her, I walk out to the kitchen and pull out all the bits and pieces I need to warm some milk from the freezer for her. “You know when I get crabby? When I’m hungry. So you get that from me. Let’s try this again.”
She gasps for air, body heaving under the weight of trying to catch her breath. “My mom calls it hangry. Hungry and angry together. My sister gets that way too. Probably why she’s always making fun of me. She’s just hangry. I’m pretty sure it’s a Silva trait.”
By the time her bottle is ready, Vivi’s cries have slowed and I head down the hallway toward her room. I plan to sit in the rocking chair with my daughter and watch her drift off to sleep.
My head snaps up when I hear the squeak of door hinges. Winter stands at the entrance to her room, directly across the hall from Vivi’s, looking tired and wide-eyed all at once. Like she doesn’t know what to do or say when someone swoops in to help her.
She nibbles at her lip as I draw closer, and my gaze drops to trace over her flimsy cotton nightgown. I wonder if she’s wearing anything underneath. Images flash through my mind of me flipping it up and taking her.
“Go to bed, Winter.”
“Are you sure? What are you going to do?”
I place Vivi in her crib and put the warm bottle into her grabby hands before turning to face the woman who has occupied all the space in my brain since the first moment I laid eyes on her—since before that probably.
Every time Rhett brought up what happened between her and Summer, I couldn’t help but think that we weren’t getting the entire story. That people aren’t cruel for no good reason. That two siblings shouldn’t be so at odds. That parents shouldn’t fuck their kids around as badly as what he described. My childhood wasn’t perfect, but I never doubted how much my parents loved me.
It’s true I didn’t know Winter, but I wondered about her all the same.
“I’m going to take care of our daughter so that you can get the rest you need.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need your help—”
My hand shoots out, wrapping around hers gruffly as I march her back into her bedroom. It’s like mine, with crown moldings and polished hardwoods, but hers has a feminine touch. She has a beautiful, antique-style brass bed frame. It’s dainty and polished, probably cool to the touch—just like her.
But if you hold that metal long enough, it will heat. Take on the temperature of its surroundings.
