Page 26 of Buckin' Around

The cries settle a little as I rub my hand over her chest, making soothing noises. God, I feel ridiculous. I can’t remember where I saw this maneuver, and I can’t remember if it’s intended to soothe an animal or a baby.

At this point, I don’t even care.

Her little legs kick out, the blanket unraveling, and her cries return with a new ferocity.

“Oh, kiddo. Seriously? Come on, we have to get some sleep sometime tonight.”

The instant the words leave my mouth, the first ray of dawn splinters around my blackout curtains. The sliver of golden light sends my gut plummeting. A full day of work lies ahead of me, with zero sleep and even less of a clue of how I am supposed to go to work and take care of this little bundle of screams at the same time.

I have a newfound appreciation for mothers everywhere as I lift the bassinet from the bedside and rest it on the floor. I sink to my seat and lean against it, returning my hand to her belly and rubbing it as I croak out a verse of whatever song I can remember in my haggard state.

“Love Somebody” by Morgan Wallen falls out in a low, slow tone. My head falls back against the bedside, my eyes drifting shut.

Baby’s cries settle and she fusses.

It’s then I remember the pacifier.

Fuck me.

Nice work, Spence.Pushing off the floor, I hunt for the pacifier in her bassinet. The instant she sucks it from my fingers and into her mouth, the cries stop.

“Christ above, you idiot.”

How stupid can one exhausted man be?

I resume my position, head resting on the side of the bed, eyes closed as I send my hand around her belly. When my head lolls, I barely feel the cool wood of my bedside pressing into my temple.

Or do I . . .

I don’t car?—

An hour later, I have a bottle made, microwaved to perfection. I feel the outside of the bottle. Nice and hot. She should love it.

I shove it inside the bassinet and grab my jacket from the back of the sofa. My phone is buzzing already.

I’m officially an hour late for work. Luckily, I’m the boss. Unfortunately, today is the board meeting with the founding members and my father.

I hurry out the door, bassinet in hand, and make a beeline for old Mrs. Henderson’s door. I knock, crossing every appendage that she’ll take pity on me and babysit.

The door opens and Mrs. Henderson looks up at me, her rollers still in her hair, her mug of steaming tea clasped between two thin, wrinkled hands. Before I utter a syllable, she drops her gaze to the bassinet.

“Well, well. Who would have saw that coming, young man. With the stream of overnight guests you have, one was bound to stick around eventually.” Her lips curl up into a smile.

I huff a nervous laugh, rubbing my free hand behind my neck. “Would you be able to help a guy out? I have a meeting an?—”

She holds up a hand. “Say no more. I would be delighted to help just this once. Being a parent is a serious responsibility. You need to sort out care for your little girl, and fast.”

“She’s not mi?—”

Mrs. Henderson tilts her head, her eyes widening as if challenging me to finish that sentence.

“Okay, she’s probably mine. But I didn’t sign up for this.”

Mrs. Henderson laughs, a hearty belly laugh that echoes throughout the short hallway. “Sweetheart, you have no idea. Are there diapers and formula in this precious parcel?”

“Formula, yes. I made her a bottle.”

“Only one?”