Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Grayson reads me like no one else can. “He’s tougher than he looks, freckles.” Admiration beams from him when he adds, “He inherited all his mommy’s best genes.”
He lifts him out of the bassinet like he’s a pro at taking care of a newborn before he hands him to me. As tears burn my eyes, I cradle my son close to my chest before flaring my nostrils.
“He smells so good,” I croak out before I carefully place him onto my bed and unwrap him. I count all his fingers and toes as a mammoth smile stretches across my face. “He’s perfect. Everything about him is perfect.”
Pride flares in Grayson’s eyes before he agrees with me. “He is. He’s a perfect little gentleman. Aren’t you, Bud?”
“Bud?” I parrot, my disgust not missed.
His hearty laughter should make my headache worse, but oddly, it helps. “You can blame the nurses for that.” When he drags his finger down my son’s open hand, his tiny fingers wrap around it, and he holds on tight, like he never wants to let Grayson go, matching my sentiments to a tee. “I was calling him Little Man until one nurse said that’s what they call…” He coughs before shifting his eyes to the area of my son’s body plumped out by a wet diaper. “It just felt wrong then.”
A girlish giggle rumbles in my chest, and despite my worry that it will increase the aches of my weary body, I don’t hold it back. This feels so surreal and right, as though things were always supposed to be this way.
My son has bonded with the man I love. He’s as comfortable in Grayson’s presence as I’ve always been. He feels safe and protected, aware that nothing bad will ever happen to him when he has a man as strong and protective as Grayson on his team.
If I’m reading Grayson right, my son’s admiration isn’t one-sided. Grayson gives off the vibe of a proud father, and the love he shows with the simplest of actions melts my heart.
I must be dreaming. Surely.
This is better than any dream I’ve had.
Ouch! Nope. Not dreaming.
Grayson smirks like he saw my quick pinch of my thigh before he snags a diaper and a packet of baby wipes from under the bassinet, and he carefully spins my son so his little legs face him.
“You should take notes,” he says while unbuttoning the tiniest baby romper I’ve ever seen. “I took a hundred the first time I changed his diaper under the watchful eye of the night nurse. Still, our second venture required a change of clothes… for both of us.”
I laugh so hard and fast that a snort rips from my nose. As my hand shoots up to cover my mouth, mortified I squealed like a pig, Grayson whips off the soiled diaper and replaces it with a fresh one. He works so fast and confidently that he fastens the diaper in place a nanosecond before a fountain of pee adds faint coloring to the line down the front.
I glance up at Grayson when he says, “You need to make sure you tuck. If you don’t tuck, his romper, and possibly your shirt, will wear more pee than his diaper.”
Winking at my stunned expression, he hands me my dressed and freshly changed child before he takes a three-point shot with the bundled-up diaper. It rims the bin before sinking through the imaginary net as a memory smacks into me. It’s hazy and short, but it’s the first I’ve had since waking.
“She said I was your project. That you wanted to fix me.”
I hear Grayson gulp, and then he slowly turns to face me. “You remember?” His expression is more relieved than stressed.
I halfheartedly nod. “Some things, but most of it is still blank.” My breath hitches when I remember the seconds leading to me blacking out. “They hit me.” Grayson hisses with me when I trickle my fingers over the back of my skull. It feels like a handful of stitches are still embedded in the raised, calloused skin. “And the lady… she…” I lower my hand to my neck. “She inserted something into my neck.”
“She gave you a lethal dose of oxytocin.”
His eyes speak volumes, yet he remains silent. He doesn’t want to step me through this. He wants me… no—he needs me to analyze the facts on my own because he thinks it’s the only way I’ll believe the recollection of events.
“I trust you, Grayson,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“I wish that were true, freckles.” His voice is barely a whisper. He battles with himself for almost thirty seconds before the quickest glance at my sleeping child sees him folding like a lawn chair. “It’s my fault. Your attack was my fault.” I shake my head. He would never purposely put me in danger, but he maintains his adamancy. “Cameron knew I would stay. She knew my guilt about not protecting her would let her tear me to shreds for hours, which in turn would give her the perfect alibi. She just didn’t anticipate Samuel’s hesitation when he recognized the target she had selected.” My heart aches for him during the following two sentences. “Her change of heart was never about me. She only stopped pretending that she didn’t know who I was so she could get close to you.” I’m lost as to why she would do that until he adds, “She promised a couple a baby by the start of the month, and took a hefty down payment, but your ‘date’ with Samuel cut her list of candidates even shorter than her archaic beliefs on child-rearing did.”