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“Bathroom.” He lifts a brow at me, the one where silver hoops glint. “You okay with me staying here? Dakota was thinking you may need some help, and with the baby she would be kinda overwhelmed.”
Help? Why would I need help?
“I wanna see my son,” I whisper, lost. This is all too much. I need… space. A moment to gather my fucking wits.
“Sure. Come on.”
He’s still holding my arm, and Dakota comes on my other side, taking my hand. She smiles up at me, her gaze both happy and sad. They walk with me to where the crib is standing, and there he is.
“Lee.” I pull my arm free from Dylan’s hold. “I wanna hold him.”
And why the hell do I feel like I need to ask permission? Dakota lets go of my hand, and I reach inside the crib, lifting his small body carefully, supporting his little head as I bring him to my chest.
He blinks up at me, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, and waves a tiny fist at me. Then he yawns, showing me his bare gums.
Dakota laughs softly.
Dylan coos. He fucking coos at my kid, standing there with his huge shoulders like the hulk.
I shake my head in disbelief.
The baby blinks at me. He has my eyes, I think, but his hair is much lighter. He blows a bubble of saliva at me and wiggles in my hold.
“Hey, buddy.” My mouth twitches, an almost smile, as a splinter of ice lodged in my chest begins to thaw. “Just checking on you.”
Just checking that my little world hasn’t fallen apart while I was off to fucking la-la-land inside my head.
Turning, I reach for Dakota, and she comes to me. I slip one arm around her, the other securely wrapped around Lee.
My heart isn’t racing anymore. I feel like I can fucking breathe again.
“Where are the others?” I glance up at Dylan who’s leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest.
“Went home. It’s pretty late.” He glances at his watch. “Past midnight.”
“Past…” Fuck. The panic returns. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.” He pushes off the wall. “Why don’t we go sit?”
“Don’t…” What, patronize me? I’m the one who lost time, who can’t remember what he did for the past few hours. Holy fucking shit. “I had a flashback.”
“Yeah.” He winces. “Look, it’s fine—”
“Goddammit, man, don’t you dare tell me it’s fine.” I’m shaking now. This is a joke. “I’m not getting any fucking better, am I? Been to the therapist, took the fucking pills, and—”
The baby gives a thin wail, shaking his small fist at me, and I freeze, stopping mid-rant.
What am I doing? And why am I so damn angry—at Dylan?
Dakota takes Emmanuel from my arm, and I let her, unable to stop the new tremors wracking my body.
“What the fuck’s happening to me?” I whisper. It’s as if the floor is being ripped out from under my feet.
“Come sit down with me, Z-man.” This time Dylan just taps my shoulder, gives me a light shove, and I stumble back to the couch.
Sitting sounds good right now. My legs feel like jelly, and my head feels three sizes too big. “What’s happening?”
“In the world? Same shit.”
