I leave the party in the dining room and move into the kitchen to pull a glass bottle of breast milk from the fridge and pop it into the bottle warmer. Sadie kicks her tiny little feet and squirms in my arms.
“I know you’re hungry, baby. It’s almost done. Hang in there.” Finally, when the light indicates it’s ready, I test the milk temperature on my wrist. “Perfect.”
I pop the bottle into her mouth and move through the house and into my bedroom, where there’s a rocking chair. “Shh.” I hold Sadie close and watch her tiny little lips suckle and her eyes start to droop.
It’s times like this, in the silence of a dark room with nothing but gentle baby grunts, I reflect on my life. It hasn’t been easy, and I’ve seen my fair share of heartache, but I wouldn’t change a day of it because it meant getting me here.
Right now, this moment.
Holding my niece, living with the only family I’ve ever known, a room full of friends who’ve taken the time to come celebrate my birthday. It’s the closest thing to perfection I’ve ever known.
The one person who would make it perfect is Cameron.
But who deserves perfect? I certainly don’t, so I’ll choose to embrace the close-to-perfect kind of life I’m living.
It’s more than I ever expected.
And better than shitty.
*
Cameron
I don’t know how I got talked into this shit. Layla tends to be persuasive when she wants to be. I don’t see why she thinks going out to a crowded club with a bunch of kids half my age would be more fun than what I’m doing. That being working my ass off, going home to a have dinner in front of the TV, and then crashing.
Rex’s been slowly coming back from the dead for whatever reason, and I do want to support his band. I don’t know what the big deal with this band that he’s opening for is, but the House of Blues is a pretty decent venue, so I get that this is a big deal for him.
Thankfully, being the kid’s boss got me on some kind of VIP list, so I didn’t have to wait in line, and I got access to a private bar that’s a little less crowded than the main one. My muscles are tight and equally exhausted from all the hours I’m putting in at the training center. Jonah’s been training with me, which has been great, but knowing that he’s living with Eve makes it hard not to ask about her every time we’re training.
I’m pretty sure he purposely doesn’t talk about her with me, but he’s slipped up a few times, and I’ve gotten little glimpses into her life. I know she’s taken to Sadie like second nature, which doesn’t surprise me at all. She’ll make a great mother someday. I grit my teeth and slug back a mouthful of scotch. I know that she’s in school and working hard to get back on her feet after she lost her job and her house.
I also know it was her birthday last week.
No one invited me to the party, and even if they did, there’s no way I would’ve gone. Those messages she’d left me for a few weeks were torture. Listening to her cry and beg for answers to why I left and never turned back was pure soul-splitting agony. Shit, I had to lock my phone in my car every night for a month straight to avoid calling her. There was no way I could make contact with her because I knew if I ever touched her again, ever allowed her voice to penetrate, I’d never let her go, consequences and all.
But loving her means I have to stay away. It’s what’s best for her.
The bartender nods to my empty glass while dropping drinks off to a couple of girls next to me.
I push the glass away and nod for another. When the hell is this shit going to start? My watch says it’s ten minutes past nine.
I grab my new drink and turn my back on the bar to watch the stage. There’s music playing through the speakers while the band sets up. Thank God. Setting up is a good step in the right direction to getting this show over with.
Fuck, I sound like my old man.
My eyes scan the room, noting the colorful variety of people in attendance. The rockers with their black clothes, gelled hair, tattoos and piercings like Ryder. Then there are the women who could probably care less about the music and are here for the attention. Long legs, big shoes, bare midriffs, and an overabundance of cleavage. Finally, there’re the guys, the ones who also probably care less about the music, but followed the girls inside and are hoping to get laid.
I shake my head, but it stills when something familiar draws my eyes to the dance floor. What is that? I push off my barstool and move to a waist-high railing that separates the bar area from the rest of the place. It’s hard to see through the bodies that surround her, but I can tell by the serpentine way she moves and her hair that’s the perfect shade of gold.
Eve.