Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
She shakes both of our hands one more time and then leaves.
“What does she mean three shots?” Nick looks at me horrified. It’s then I remember he wasn’t there at Reed’s post-birth appointment a couple weeks ago.
“Babies get a lot of shots their first year.” Nick picks up a now-whimpering Reed and holds him close to his chest. He’s still in only his diaper.
The nurse comes in with the syringes on a tray. She explains the three shots he will be getting and gives me a pamphlet of information for each one. “Okay, Dad. You can hold him just like you’re doing, and I’ll get the shots in from right here.” Nick’s eyes shoot to mine, the first look of fear I’ve ever seen from the man. I haven’t spent much time with him, but when I have, he’s full of confidence in everything.
The nurse sticks Reed with the first shot and his whimpering turns into a high-pitched scream. Nick backs away from the nurse before she can get the second shot in. “Nope! Not happening.” He backs up a little more until he’s in the corner, comforting Reed.
“You’re just going to let her do this to our son?” he says to me, accusingly. I let the judgment go because he’s only being a protective dad.
“He needs these shots to protect him. Do you want me to hold him?” I put my hands out, and he shakes his head.
“No, forget this. He’s crying.” Tears are racing down Reed’s face, and Nick is trying to soothe him.
“It will be over quick, I promise,” the nurse says, and Nick shoots her a glare that has her flinching. If he wasn’t so serious, this entire situation would almost be comical.
“Easy for you to say.” Nick’s hands tighten around Reed’s tiny body. “You’re not the one being stabbed with needles.” I grab his pacifier from the diaper bag and use it to calm him down. He immediately stops crying, and the room goes quiet.
“Ready?” the nurse asks Nick, who looks like he’s a wild animal trapped in the corner with nowhere to go but into a cage. He nods slowly and starts talking softly to Reed about football like he was doing earlier. The nurse pricks Reed two more times and he lets out another cry, his pacifier falling from his mouth. I catch it and push it back in while Nick continues to sway him gently in an effort to calm him.
* * *
“Surely, with all the medical advancements they’ve made, they can find a better way to give a baby a shot,” Nick drones on over the entire shot experience that he’s clearly more traumatized over than the baby who actually got the shots and is sound asleep in his car seat.
We’re sitting in one of the more well-known restaurants in East Village. As we were leaving the doctor’s office, Nick mentioned lunch, and I reluctantly agreed. Then Giselle called at the same time Killian did, and Nick suggested they join us. So here we are, the five of us—including Reed—eating a late lunch at the French Bistro.
Because it’s January in New York and freezing, we have to eat inside. Nick called ahead, and once we arrived we were whisked back to a private room that looks like it usually holds fifty people. He definitely gets good dad points for this one. He’s sitting next to me, and while I know it’s wrong, I can’t help pretend that instead of us being here as just Reed’s parents, we’re here as a couple. I’ve seen a different side of Nick today. Not the same guy as the night I met him—who was straight up sexy as hell—but a softer, gentler side. The kind of guy I see in my father.
“Don’t kids get like a hundred shots over their lifetime?” Killian points out, and if I knew him better, I’d kick him from under the table. Giselle, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care that she doesn’t know Killian, because a couple seconds later he screeches like a little girl. “Oww!! What the hell!” His eyes dart around the table until they land on Giselle. “Did you just kick me?”
“Not helping,” she hisses, and I laugh.
“So, game two of the playoffs,” I say, changing the subject.
Nick grins ear-to-ear, nodding and reminding me a lot of my dad when football is mentioned. “Hell yeah. We got this!” Nick exclaims. His arm goes around the back of me, his forearm resting on the top of my chair.
“And we’re going to be in Miami. We’re definitely going to be getting lit after we win that game,” Killian adds, raising his fist to hit Nick’s, but Nick shakes his head. Killian lowers his fist and takes a sip of his drink.
Giselle shoots me a look, and I shrug.