Cadie jabbed her sister with an
elbow. “I need to say goodnight to my baby before he falls asleep. Is he with
Zach? Where are they?”
They. It fit, the unity. The only person more bonded to Ben than Zach was
Cadie herself.
“Upstairs.”
The second floor of the house was quiet, so she tiptoed
down the hall in case Ben was already sleeping.
She peeked into his room. The lamp on the changing table
cast gentle light across the pair dozing in the padded rocking chair.
Her heart melted.
Zach’s hands cradled Ben’s back. The baby must have been
fussing at some point, because Zach’s hair looked like he’d just run through a
windstorm.
Lines of exhaustion marked his eyes but his mouth was
relaxed. And Ben lay on Zach’s mouthwatering chest like he hadn’t a care in the
world.
Smart baby, picking that particular spot to nap.
And stupid me, for
wishing I could take Ben’s place.
Shaking her head at herself, she snuck into the room and
arranged Ben’s sleep sack in the crib. Her baby was going to complain when she
moved him. He was completely at peace in the arms of the man who’d never once
hesitated to step up. Had never stated he didn’t think he could be a parent.
Zach is not Ben’s
father.
How many times was she going to need to remind herself of
that? Probably until she stopped wishing it was the truth and stopped comparing
Zach and Sam.
Because Sam came up short, every time.
Guilt pressed her insides. For thinking such terrible
thoughts about her husband, and for letting Zach save her ass, over and over.
He made too many sacrifices for her. Tonight, even. He
should be at home resting after a hard day of therapy, not pitching in with
Ben. Pragmatically, she knew that as a single parent she was only hurting
herself if she didn’t lean on the people who loved her. But she’d leaned so
much in the year and a half since Sam died that she’d developed a permanent
tilt.
Zach let out a sleepy snort, and she glanced at him. He had
the thickest eyelashes, and—crap, it was totally crossing a line to sneak peeks
of him while he slept.
She ripped her gaze away from his beautiful face, knelt on
the rug and started cleaning up blocks and cars and stuffies as quietly as
possible. But her gaze kept drifting back to the rocking chair. Last summer
she’d made a study of watching him. Sitting at his desk with his hands tunneled
into his hair. Taking kids tandem across the Wild Life Adventures zip line
course. And more recently, dripping with sweat as he worked his tail off in
rehab. The slow shift from objective appreciation to actually wanting to jump his bones risked toppling
the scaffold she’d erected around her life.
It’s just physical. I can control that.
Her stomach
growled, as if mocking her confidence as well as reminding her she’d skipped
lunch and had only managed to finish half her toast this morning because Ben
had refused to eat anything except the food off her plate.
“Yikes, I’d
better make double the schnitzel.” The low rumble of Zach’s voice hooked deep
in her core and she bit her lip.
He smiled
drowsily, another hook anchoring into her soul. Yeah, she was never getting
those out.
ccidental Homecoming
