Pretty in Ink (Voretti Family Book 3) (25 page)

“I don’t know how to take care of a baby.” He shoved Becca at Rafe, but the jerk walked right past him, hands at his side, knowing Caleb wouldn’t drop her.

“I’m serious. I’ve never even changed a diaper.”

“That’s what the internet is for. I’m sure there’s a how-to video somewhere.” Rafe reached the door and walked right through.

Panic blasted through the last of Caleb’s numbness. “Get your ass back here! I’m not taking her.”

Becca’s eyes widened. She stuck out her lower lip and whimpered.

Rafe finally turned around. “Nice, dude. Real nice.”

“See? I told you I’m no good with kids.” Caleb hurried down the walkway to Rafe, but the jerk still wouldn’t take Becca. “Come on. We both know you’re not really going to leave your only child here.”
 

Rafe sighed. “When was the last time I asked for a favor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m asking. I need you to do this.”

Becca fussed some more, clearly not happy with the way the conversation was going, and Caleb tried to find some way to get out of babysitting duty without being a complete ass.

And came up empty.

Okay, this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. As soon as Rafe was gone, he’d call Antonio and Francesca. They were ten minutes away. Becca probably wouldn’t have any life threatening mishaps in ten minutes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, dude.” Rafe jogged to his car without a backward glance.

Caleb shifted Becca awkwardly, trying to keep hold of her as he got his cell phone out of his pocket. It was way harder than it looked when Rafe or Jen did it.

Rafe pulled away from the curb, and Caleb lost no time speed-dialing Becca’s grandparents. No answer. He left an urgent voice mail, in case they were screening their calls. Then he tried a few other Vorettis—even, in desperation, Ella.

Nothing.

Becca made a noise—not quite a cry, but a definite prelude.

Uh oh
.
 

“What’s wrong?” He lifted her by her armpits so that he could examine her expression up close. The kid was definitely pissed. Her face was as wrinkled as a ninety-year-old’s, her lower lip was bulging, and her eyes were welling with moisture. And he didn’t have the first fucking clue what to do about it.

She grabbed his hair and pulled. Hard.

“Ow! Let go!”

For a little thing, she had a solid grip. He reached up and pried her fingers open as gently as he could.

“Waaaah!” she screeched.

She couldn’t be hungry yet. Which left…

“I guess it’s time to change your diaper.”

She wasn’t happy with his assessment, if her cries were any indication.

“You’re upset? I’m the one who has to touch another person’s feces.”

He hurried back to the house, shut Max in the kitchen, and laid Becca on the rug in the living room. She was full-on wailing now, like she was being tortured, even though he hadn’t even started.

He tried to pull up the browser on his phone, but it was frozen. Sweat pooled at the back of his neck. Why hadn’t Rafe explained how the diapers worked? What kind of dad left his baby with someone who’d never changed a diaper?

Becca’s face was bright red and she was crying so hard she didn’t seem to be breathing. Could a baby cry herself to death?

“Come on, Becs, you gotta calm down.”
 

But he couldn’t even calm himself down, and Becca knew it. She screamed even louder, kicking and punching at some invisible opponent.

He had to do something.

“Okay.” He grabbed a diaper and the wipes. Then he grasped the leg of Becca’s pants and pulled.
 

It didn’t budge. The damn thing was attached to her shirt.

Wham
. She landed a solid kick on his arm.

How was he supposed to get to her diaper? No way was that whole outfit coming over her head.

He tried to reason it out, but his brain was jumping from thought to thought so fast he couldn’t catch up. He’d have to cut the pants off, that was all.

Except, Becca wouldn’t lie still long enough for him to pick her up, much less operate a pair of scissors. She kicked and squirmed, flailing her limbs so randomly it was like a mad scientist was jabbing into her brain with electrodes just to see what happened.

He finally caught her foot—and noticed the row of snaps lining the underside of her pants.

Okay. That was good. He could handle snaps.
 

He pulled them open and flipped the pants out of the way, revealing a bulging diaper. Becca wailed louder.

“Are you cold? It’s not that cold in here.” But maybe it was, for a baby.
 

No. Rafe would have told him if he’d needed to turn up the heater. Except, Rafe hadn’t even told him how to change a diaper.

“Okay. I’ll do this fast.”

The diaper actually looked pretty self-explanatory, thank God. He undid the tabs and grabbed a handful of wipes.

What had Rafe said? Wipe from front to back? Or was it—

Becca kicked the mess he was supposed to be cleaning.

“Stop! Freeze!”
 

She listened as well as a hopped up dealer fleeing the cops with his stash. And by the time he caught her legs, he was panting like he’d chased said dealer twenty blocks uphill.

“Waaaah!”

“Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. I’m not mad at you.”

Becca’s scream drowned out his apology.

“Okay. I’m hurrying.”

It was hard to use the wipes with Becca thrashing around, but he finally got her clean. He rolled up the dirty diaper and fastened a clean one on.

He pulled in a breath. Becca’s little legs stopped pumping, but she was still crying—not as loud as before, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking she was any less upset. She’d just tired herself out.

He ran to the bathroom and washed his hands as fast as possible, worried Becca would find something to choke on or an electrical socket to stick her finger in while he was out of range. On the positive side, she stayed exactly where he’d left her. On the negative, she was still doing exactly the same thing too— bawling her eyes out.

“You, uh, want this giraffe thing?” He tried to hand the toy to her, but she batted it away. Ditto her pacifier.

His head pounded. His internal organs were in the middle of a mixed martial arts cage match. “What do you want?”

She stared at him imploringly, even as she wailed hoarsely.
 

He wanted to cry too. “I’d give it to you if I knew what it was. Swear to God, Becs.”

She grasped his sleeve. Pulled, like she was trying to get closer.

He hesitated, but she only pulled harder.

“Okay. I get it.” He picked her up under the arms, holding her carefully away from him.

Her little face crumpled. He wasn’t giving her what she wanted. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to get too close. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Waaaaah!”

Fuck it. He settled her against his chest the way he’d seen Rafe and Jen do. She curled closer, her wail fading to a whimper.

“
That
was all you wanted?”

“Ba,” she confirmed. She was drooling on his shoulder, but no way was he gonna move her. Not when she’d finally stopped crying.
 

His heart thudded fast and hard as he tried to understand what had happened. Becca had been upset. And
he
had comforted her. The man least equipped to be a father.

She nestled closer, letting him have all of her weight. Her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She was asleep. She’d fallen asleep in his arms.

His legs went weak, and he sank to the couch. Had he ever fallen asleep in his father or mother’s arms as a baby? He couldn’t imagine it.
 

Neither of his parents had wanted the responsibility and inconvenience of a child. Their favorite pastime had been yelling at him for anything and everything. Getting the wrong brand of cereal at the store, because the one his mom liked was out of stock. Wearing a hole in the knee of a threadbare pair of hand-me-down jeans.
 

If he’d kicked them, even as a baby, they’d have lost their shit. But he hadn’t. He’d been frustrated and upset, but he hadn’t been angry with Becca. His anger wasn’t uncontrollable, and it wasn’t random. He only ever felt it when he was around people who reminded him of his parents.

Liv was right. He’d shoved that anger so far down that even now, six years after his parents’ deaths, it was still struggling to get out.

His phone vibrated. Antonio and Francesca must’ve gotten his message.

He dug the cell out of his pocket. It was easier this time, with Becca cuddled close. “Hello?”

“Mr. Ward?” His realtor Holly’s high-pitched voice renewed the throbbing pressure in his head. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I haven’t received the documents yet.”

“Right. I’ll get those to you tomorrow.”

“Of course. But we have a bit of a time crunch. If we don’t respond to the offer within the hour, it will expire.”

Becca shifted, trying to get away from the high-pitched whine, and annoyance spiked through him. “So let it expire.”

Holly laughed nervously. “Normally it wouldn’t be a problem if we were a bit late, but these buyers are quite eager to close a deal. I have it on good authority that if we don’t accept by the stated deadline, they’ll move on.”

“Then we’ll find another buyer.”

“That’s possible, of course. But I wouldn’t recommend it. In this market, the probability of getting another full-priced offer, let alone one that’s all cash, is… Well, I’m afraid it’s simply not realistic.”

Becca shifted slightly. He felt her heart beating, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the words came out of his mouth without any conscious direction from his brain. “Take it off the market.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off the market.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Holly said, speaking faster with each word. “Think about what you’re giving up. Picture yourself in that condo. A two-minute commute to work. An easy walk to any kind of restaurant you’d like. Beautiful bay views from your living room.”

She was right. He needed to think this through.
 

He closed his eyes, trying to follow her instructions, but the picture that formed in his head didn’t have the sleek, modern lines of a condo in one of the new, downtown high-rises. He saw a craftsman-style table next to a hand-knitted rug. Liv sitting in the old rocking chair he’d picked up at a garage sale and restored, holding a baby with blue eyes and brown hair.

His baby. His house.

His headache disappeared. He knew exactly what he wanted. Finally.
 

He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, Holly, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking the house off the market.”

Holly’s voice went up a full octave as she screeched about how he was going to regret this decision for the rest of his life. Becca shifted restlessly.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I don’t want to wake the baby.” He ended the call.

Too late. Becca was already awake. She stared at him, expression serious, before finally announcing, “Ga.”

“I think I messed up, Becca.”
 

“Gaba,” she said, which was probably baby for
I’m not your therapist
, but it was such a relief to say the words out loud that he kept going. “I told Liv I didn’t want a baby, and she got pretty mad.”

“Ba?” Becca’s tone was skeptical.

“Okay, she wasn’t just mad. She left me.”

“Gababa!”

“You think it’s that easy?”

She stared at him, drooling expectantly.
 

“Okay. Fine. I’ll call her.” Easier said than done, because his hands were so sweaty he could barely dial Liv’s number.
 

He was afraid she wouldn’t answer, but she picked up on the first ring. “Hi.”

Her voice was scratchy and worn, and he wanted to rush over to her house, throw her over his shoulder, and bring her back to his house where she belonged. Where he could take care of her. “I’m not going to sell the house.”

Silence, except for the faint rasp of Liv’s breath. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Of course not. He wanted to tell her why he’d changed his mind. He wanted to describe the baby he’d pictured—a composite of the two of them. He wanted to tell her that he’d changed Becca’s diaper. That Becca had been upset and he’d picked her up and she’d snuggled against him. That her warm body and the beat of her heart had shifted something fundamental inside of him. That he understood where his anger was coming from, and he was going to do something about it.

“I…” He swallowed. The words jumped around inside his head, the simple sentences getting impossibly scrambled.

“Caleb? Are you still there?”

Becca grabbed his index finger, stuck it in her mouth, and started gnawing.

“Hey! That hurts.” He pulled free and shoved the giraffe between her jaws.
 

“Are you talking to me?” Liv asked.

“No. I, uh…I’m babysitting for Becca.” He was seriously messing this up, but the harder he tried to come up with a way to fix it, the thicker the haze of static clouding his brain grew.

“Okay. Well, I’m in the middle of something, so let’s find another time to talk.”

He couldn’t wait for another time. He couldn’t wait one more second. “I love you, Liv. I need you back.”

“No.”

“I took the house off the market. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“No, Caleb.” Her voice was sad but steady, and he forgot how to breathe.

“But—”

The line went dead.

Shit
.

He called back, but she didn’t answer. Not the first time, or the next seven times he tried.

His chest felt funny. He kept having to remind himself how to breathe.

“Well…” Talking helped—it took his mind off the panic attack he was having—so he went with it. “I really fu—” He caught himself at the last second. “Messed that up.”

Becca abandoned the drooly giraffe. She crawled over to him and hugged his knee. “Ba.”

“Yeah. Ba.”

She held both arms out to him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to pick her up. She curled around him, and his tense muscles relaxed. His lungs finally remembered how to pull in air. He held her small, fragile body close, making a promise to her without words.
I will never let anything hurt you.