Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
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The crisp sea breeze seemed to be the only thing keeping my eyes open.

I’d never felt more alive in my life.

And despite my struggle, my bone deep fear that I was going to fuck up, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Twenty-Five

AVERY

The first three months didn’t pass in a blur like people said they did.

Mabel was diagnosed with colic, with her constant crying ramping up the day after my mom and Maisie left. I was aware ‘colic’ was a catchall term for a baby who appeared to be healthy but was in obvious discomfort.

I tried everything. Nothing worked.

Every day dragged into an eternity of dirty diapers, of burp cloths, of milk-stained clothing, engorged breasts, crying and sleep deprivation.

And every day was a variation of the same. With the one key difference: what calmed the baby one day didn’t necessarily calm the baby the next day. More likely, it served to distress her more.

And although I thrived on routine, that was not any kind of routine crafted on Earth. Often, I would’ve sworn that in the middle of the night, amongst the cries and the grunts and the feedings, that that routine was crafted in the depths of hell.

Kane no longer had the magic touch. Because when you have a colicky baby, there was no magic except in the blissful fifteen minutes—if you’re lucky—we got a day when our baby was content, ready to look at us and occasionally even gift us with her precious smiles.

Aside from that, magic was somewhere else, at Hogwarts or wherever.

No, for all Kane’s considerable talents, calming the baby was not one of them. His magic was to stay calm when she wasn’t. To speak to her with adoration, kiss her head, rock her, walk around the house for hours. Not once did I see him get frustrated with her, lose his temper, look at all like he was going to go out for a pack of diapers and never return.

That was a feat in itself. Because in my darkest of moments, I’d thought about getting in my car and driving off. Not forever. Just for ten minutes.

Ten minutes of peace. Ten minutes when I wasn’t trying to stop the baby from crying or tense, knowing it was inevitable that the baby would start crying again.

I would look at her—her tiny nose, the cute fingers, the rosebud lips—and find it impossible to believe that something so perfect existed. That someone so precious was mine, ours.

And then I’d struggle to stand over the weight of it all, over the failure I felt because I couldn’t fix her. Not with a change in my diet, not with all the natural remedies, not with medications I hesitated to use because she was just so tiny. Not with the special exercises, ways to hold her, massages. Not with the swaying swing nor the vibrating contraption for the bassinet.

“How do people do this?” I cried, juggling the baby because when I spoke, I paused slightly, and therefore, her sleeping form registered the change in movement and decided to rouse to inform me of how I’d fucked up.

I held my breath as she fought against the swaddle for a moment then settled. I kept holding my breath to see if she was really asleep. It seemed, for the moment, she was.

I braved looking back to Kane, breathing again. “Like, seriously. People walk around with children every day, and I’ve never given it much thought. I hate to admit it, but I never considered that being a parent made you overly strong or special in any way. Now I think every one of them needs a fucking medal for dealing with these creatures.” I gestured to the baby with only my eyes, every other part of my body dedicated to the specific combination of movements required to keep her asleep.

Kane smiled, and I loved him for that easy smile. I also wanted to punch him in the face for that smile.

“Don’t you know, baby?” he murmured, reaching to take Mabel from me. I chewed on my lip as she moved, whined and then curled into her Dad’s chest. “I’ve already got medals.” He started to sway like the expert he was.

“I would say go nap, but I understand now that you’re physically incapable,” he said. “So how about you go sit outside, breathe the sea air and have a glass of wine. Or tequila.”

I would’ve rolled my eyes at him if I hadn’t been so tired. “It’s ten in the morning.”

He blinked, a slow blink, him looking at the clock in confusion the only signifier that he might’ve been as frazzled as I was. “I could’ve sworn it was five in the evening at least,” he muttered. “Oh well. Time means nothing, so have the tequila. Or a cup of tea, if you want to be more traditional. I don’t judge. Just give yourself a break.”



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