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“He’s fine!” Kult swore quietly at a panicked Butterfly closing in fast.
“Give me my baby,” she whispered next to him on the dock.
“He’s sleeping!”
She pulled the black material away from his face before aiming tear-filled eyes at him, then her finger. “I swear to the good Lord,” she muttered, clamping her mouth shut as she continued her fury-ogling.
“There is no safer place for my Garbagio than wrapped in these guns, sweet Mother.”
Her head began shaking at him now. “YourGarbagio?”
“Well, you don’t like calling him that. He’s your Bagio andmyGarbagio.”
She wiped her falling tears and Kult leaned and delivered a peck to her forehead.
“His eardrums are probably busted from these godawful, terrifying boats!”
“Oh no, they are absolutely not,” he cooed down at their sleeping warrior. “I protected him. You know I did, of course I did,” he nodded at his prince.
She shoved his shoulder. “I don’t get enough of him,” she complained, her words tight.
He eyed her, the need in her voice bouncing right off that rabid shield he kept their baby wrapped in.Theirson. “You do have him three fourths of the time,” he gently reminded.
She wiped more tears. “While I’m sleeping doesn’t count!”
“I offered you any part of the schedule,” he said, almost cooing.
“I know you did. Plus, I have Pain to share him with,” she half whined. “And since when do you even get a say, I thought this wasmybaby!”
The idea that she was right put him in that odd corner he didn’t care to visit. “I thought you would be happy to have my help,” he said, not liking that helacked a better reason. And the idea of him not having access to the baby, well, he didn’t want to deal with that messy bomb unless absolutely necessary. Which was beginning to feel more urgent with every hand-off.
“Look,” he said, getting closer to her. “I don’t know why, but… I seem to need him as much as you do. Maybe more.” Fuck, he hated admitting that.
The look she gave him buckled his knees in relief. It fucking worked. Tears and all. “You’re right,” she wailed, wrapping her arms around him. “Of course you can have him as much as you need!”
“Alright,” he consoled quietly, putting himself between her and the remaining nosy Kings eyeing their emotional circus as they passed. She pressed her head on the baby as Pain came up the dock with wonder-brows.
“Get her,” Kult mouthed with his own wide-eyes. “Do you want him now?” he offered her.
“No,” she gasped, reaching up to pet Kult’s face right as Pain wrapped his arms around her from behind.
She sucked in a breath and turned, melting into him with more sobbing. “You both need him more than me,” she wailed.
She was one hundred percent right on that. They both needed him more than they’d ever needed anything. It was officially the first puzzle he burnedto figure out but didn’t want to touch. Didn’t want to know the answer.
He allowed himself to be distracted with his sleeping Angel of the Garbage, sliding his thumb along the perfect, silky temple.
“The long boat carrying your wife and the sisters will be here in thirty minutes,” the Bishop called from down the dock. “We’ll fetch them when it arrives.”
Kult tossed him a waving salute and headed to catch up with the Creole and Marsh Kings as they were called. He glanced back, finding Pain and Butterfly on his heels.
“Well, he’s got one hour and fifteen minutes left,” he heard Pain inform Butterfly, bringing her happy gasp.
“You’re keeping track?”
“Well, I have to,” he assured with ease before whispering, “He’s a Trash Thief.”
Kult’s laugh flew out, followed by said Trash finally making a squeak. “Untie this thing, will you?” He stopped on the pier. “I want to be the one to show our Little Garbage Prince the swamp.”
