Full Hart, page 21
***
Both kids were napping.
Honestly, it was a rarity.
For Pasha, it seemed like if Raze was down, Eve was up, and if Eve was down, Raze was up. Even at night—particularly over the last ten days—the kids seemed to tag-team her. She rarely got more than sixty minutes of uninterrupted sleep before one of her wonderful, beautiful crotch fruits was stirring and calling for her.
Raze, of course, wanted snuggles, since he was off the boob. But Eve just wanted to eat.
Even if Eve was only asleep for twenty minutes, when she woke back up, it was like she was starving and hadn’t eaten in twenty hours. The way she latched on and sucked at first was like a vacuum in space, and Pasha had to pop the baby off and readjust her for fear of broken blood vessels on her areola.
And now, that baby was cluster-feeding. Which meant, if Pasha got twenty minutes of free, uninterrupted time, be that sleep or a shower alone, she was freaking lucky.
She knew women did this on their own and had done so on their own for eons when their mates would go off hunting mastodons or moose for days, sometimes weeks.
But she didn’t live in that era, and she missed her husband.
Those women probably missed their husbands too. And it was probably really hard on them, too.
She empathized with them.
She missed how hands-on Heath was with the kids.
How much Raze just adored his daddy and even the biggest of crocodile tears could be cleared up with a bear hug from Dad.
A tear slipped down Pasha’s cheek as she stood at the kitchen sink washing baby bottles.
God, how she missed Heath.
Rayma and Joy were doing their best, bouncing between Lydia’s house and Pasha’s to help with the kids and help Lydia walk Diesel, but eventually, they left. And Pasha was once again alone with her offspring.
Rayma had expressed how truly bad she felt for abandoning her sister, but Pasha wouldn’t hear anything of it. Rayma was Lydia’s sister, too, even if not biologically. Pasha was part of the Hart family and sisters-in-law with Lydia, and because Rayma was so enmeshed in the family as well, and had been a, for lack of a better term, ward of Joy’s for a while, she was Lydia’s sister, too. And besides, Lydia needed the help more. She was recovering not only from a procedure, but her heart was healing, too.
“Your mother had five children. You can handle two,” Pasha kept reminding herself.
But then she’d also remind herself that her father was home a lot, not off on missions, and her mother also had her children further apart in age than Pasha did.
So it wasn’t the same.
Deep in her pit of pity, she wiped away another tear.
It wasn’t just that she missed her husband; it was that he was going to miss Christmas. Eve’s first Christmas. Raze’s second Christmas.
She could tell by the sound of Heath’s voice last time they spoke that he was just as torn up about the whole thing as she was.
It also seriously sucked because they only had Mother Nature to blame. And she wasn’t as easy of a bitch to get mad at as a real, breathing person.
Tomorrow was going to be weird.
Tomorrow, as hard as she would try to make it not suck, was going to suck. There was no way around it.
Placing the last clean bottle on the drying tray, she dried her hands on the dish towel and took a deep breath.
She could do this.
Christmas was just another day.
Easter changed dates all the time. Sometimes it was in March, sometimes April. Why did Christmas have to be on the twenty-fifth?
Tiptoeing around her house, she reached for the mug of lukewarm tea she had sitting on the kitchen island and gingerly took a sip. Even the sound of softly slurping could wake the beasts that slumbered within their home. She needed to be silent.
Truth be told, she should be sleeping, too.
Sleep when the baby sleeps.
Did that apply to everything else, too?
Fold laundry when the baby folded laundry.
Unload the dishwasher when the baby unloaded the dishwasher.
Order groceries when the baby ordered groceries.
Feed the toddler when the baby fed the toddler.
She snorted silently.
Whoever came up with that bit of wisdom obviously had a houseful of butlers.
But alas, Pasha had no butlers, not even one. She was forced to surrender her sleep time to take care of domestic necessities.
The giant pile of clean, unfolded laundry on the couch crooked a finger at her, and with an eye roll, she went to it.
She reached for her earbuds and put in one, then with her phone, she turned on her new favorite guilty pleasure: romance books on tape. Since she hardly had time to read anymore, she had taken to listening to audiobooks. It didn’t quite allow her to flip to the back of the book and read the final few pages like she normally did, but she found she enjoyed being read aloud to. And when the male narrator’s voice was deep and gritty like the one she was listening to now, her lady parts got all tingly.
She had both baby monitors set up on video mode, and if either child made so much as a fart, it would register on the voice meter and little red lines would go up on the side of the screen. But just in case the power went out, she only allowed herself one earbud so she could still hear if her loin spawn awoke.
She reached for the first clean cloth diaper off the stack, then sifted through the pile for the insert. On days like today, when the laundry pile nearly touched the ceiling, she regretted cloth diapers.
But then she thought of Mother Earth and the environment and how long it takes for a disposable diaper to decompose in the landfill, and she rolled her eyes, bit her tongue, and sucked up the hour it took to fold laundry and single-handedly save the environment.
The book was just getting to a steamy bit … Raphe had stumbled upon Delilah in the stream, bathing naked beneath the waterfall. Her hair covered her breasts perfectly. But through the strands, dark, dusky nipples, hard as diamonds, peeked through. Beads of water hung from those nipples, glistening in the midday sun. Twinkling as if she had two piercings of crystal gemstones.
“Pardon my intrusion, Delilah, but …” the narrator’s molasses-coated gravel voice began.
Pasha felt her nipples pebble beneath her T-shirt.
Big, strong, warm hands gripped Pasha by the waist, causing her to scream and leap nearly a foot off the floor.
“What the hell?”
An elbow to the gut of her attacker was her first instinct. She made contact with a wall of hard abs, then broke free of his grasp and spun around, reaching for the first weapon she could find—the TV remote.
What are you going to do? Mute him?
Heath was holding his abdomen and slightly hinged over, a pained expression on his face.
Two sets of cries emerged from down the hallway and echoed loudly on the baby monitors.
Without saying a word to each other, they both took off toward the bedrooms.
Heath grabbed Raze and Pasha grabbed Eve, all four of them returning moments later to the living room.
As she settled into the recliner with a grunting and famished Eve, she had to pinch her wrist to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
He was here.
He was home.
Heath was home for Christmas.
Raze was snuggled in tight to Heath’s chest, his favorite stuffed animal tucked under one arm, while his cheek was pressed over his father’s heart.
“How did you …” Pasha started before emotion caught in her throat like a fishhook and tears flooded her eyes. “The road was closed. A rockslide. A tree. How?”
Her gorgeous husband smiled and glanced down at Raze, brushing their son’s unruly blond hair off his forehead. “Santa Claus. Though, for speed, and because the sleigh is currently being loaded with toys, he brought his helicopter to pick us up.” His grin grew. “You can thank Stacey for the idea. She thought of it and called Grant to set it up.”
Oh, she would be hugging the bejesus out of her sister-in-law when she saw her tomorrow. Hugging her and not letting her go for a very, very long time.
All the tears spilled forward, and a few even landed on Eve’s cheeks.
The baby didn’t seem to give a crap … but she did crap her pants. Pasha felt it.
But at the moment, she didn’t give a crap about the crap.
Her husband was home, and that was all that mattered.
“Do you have to go back soon?” she asked, mentally chastising herself for asking a question that could potentially ruin her impeccable mood.
Heath shrugged. “Probably, but hopefully not until the new year and for not as long. They only have like two more days of filming left, and when we spoke with the film crew, the director didn’t think the ideal day was in the forecast until at least the second of January.”
She breathed out a deep sigh of relief and let her smile break free.
“I hated the idea of not being here for Evie’s first Christmas. Of not being here for you. I know you’re struggling having two on your own.”
Brushing a hand over Eve’s platinum-blonde hair, Pasha smiled again, but this time it wasn’t as big. She could never hide her true feelings from her husband, not even when she tried. He read her like a book. She was a house made entirely out of windows, he liked to say.
“It’s been hard,” she finally said. “I won’t lie. But it also just makes me appreciate everything you do around here and for me all the more.”
A whimper by the front door drew her attention away from Heath’s face.
Her husband followed her gaze. “I didn’t get a dog. I know that we’re not in that place in our lives right now. But Brock and Krista and Chase and Stacey did get their kids dogs for Christmas, so I offered to hang on to the pups until tomorrow when we all go to my mum’s.”
“Pups. As in plural? You have both?” she asked. The thwack thwack of tails against a crate echoed through the house.
He nodded. “Chocolate labs. Male and female. The kids are going to be so excited. Grant offered to hold on to the pups, but Brock got his tighty-whiteys in a twist, so I just said I would. It’s only one night.”
Eve popped off Pasha’s breast, looking far happier than she did a moment ago. Pasha switched her to the other side but had to pop the baby off and readjust her when Eve went all Hoover on her nipple. “Have things between Grant and Brock gotten any better?”
Kissing the top of Raze’s head, Heath shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, Grant demanded that the only way Brock was getting in the helicopter was if he promised to apologize to Mum. Grant said he really doesn’t give two shits if Brock likes him or not. He does, however, care about our mum and that the way Brock spoke to her was wrong and she deserves an apology.”
Pasha’s brows narrowed, and she nodded. “Damn straight he owes your mother an apology. He was really freaking rude.”
“Agreed. Rex, Chase, and I have no beef with Grant. We’re on his side now, so it’s just Brock that is digging in his heels. He’s being a stubborn ass, and he better not ruin Christmas because he can’t get over his own ego. Dad’s been dead for thirty fucking years. Mum could have remarried ages ago, but she didn’t. And maybe that’s because she was worried about how we would react, or maybe she just wasn’t ready. But whatever. That’s her thing to deal with. But I like Grant, and he takes care of Mum and makes her happy, and that’s all that matters.”
Raze shifted in his father’s arms and turned to face Pasha. Her little boy always ran hot, so he often woke up from his naps sweaty, and today was no different. Damp hair clung to his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him.
Raze nodded.
It was only just after lunchtime, and she did have his lunch all prepared for him at his highchair.
Without even asking, because they were just that in sync, Heath stood up and plopped Raze into his chair, then brought Pasha a glass of water.
“I’ve missed you,” she said as Heath bent down and pressed a kiss to their daughter’s cheek and then to Pasha’s lips.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much,” he murmured against her mouth. “Every part of you.”
Their eyes locked. Midnight blue to her brown.
Her earbud had fallen out when he startled her, so it wasn’t the narrator’s voice getting her all tingly in her yoga pants.
A smile broke free across her mouth.
She knew exactly what she was going to give Heath … and have Heath give her for Christmas.
At long last, her bells were finally ready to get jingled again.
Chapter 22
Rex & Lydia
With her husband wrapped around her from behind, holding her tight into his hard chest and warmth, Lydia woke Christmas morning and smiled.
It was the first morning since she’d lost the baby that she didn’t immediately think about what was no longer in her belly.
Would she forever think about the child she and Rex lost? Of course, but today it wasn’t the first thing on her mind, and tears didn’t spring into her eyes before she had a chance to rub the sleep from them.
This was a good sign.
Her heart was on the mend.
And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was because her Hart was home.
When Rex came through the door last night, Lydia had ugly-cried tears of joy. She had sobbed in his arms, clutched him so tight, the man might have bruises.
She’d been lying in bed crying over their baby, over the fact that Rex wouldn’t be there for Maeve’s first Christmas, over not having her own mother there to hold her as she wept. She cried for all the things she didn’t have. Because as Joy put it, she was allowed.
At first, Lydia had tried putting on a brave face. Tried looking for all the silver linings. Tried thinking about all of those people who had it worse than her. Whose grass wasn’t as green as hers.
Then she started to think: Maybe there was something wrong with the baby and this was nature’s way of not putting the child through pain and discomfort. She should be happy that Maeve was healthy and happy. At least she had one baby and didn’t struggle with infertility. Some women couldn’t have any, were unable to get pregnant or carry a baby to term—like Grant’s wife. At least Lydia could get pregnant and had carried Maeve to term. Maybe she should stop feeling so sorry for herself and just get over it. Be thankful for what she did have rather than be sad about what she didn’t.
But Joy had knocked her upside the head—verbally, not physically—and told her to throw those thoughts “out the fucking window.”
Just because other people have it worse off did not diminish the pain or loss that Lydia was feeling. She had a right to experience her loss and handle it however felt right to her.
So, what felt right was to lie in her bed and cry. To cry about all the things she didn’t have. The things she wouldn’t have.
And then, strong, warm arms wrapped around her middle and a big body tucked in behind her and just held her.
She knew it was him.
Neither of them said a word.
Because they didn’t have to.
Rex held her until she fell asleep.
Then she woke up. He drew her a bath, massaged her back with a delicious-smelling oil, and washed her hair. After that, they had dinner as a family. All three of them.
Rayma left to give them some alone time, just their little family.
Rex kissed the back of her neck. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured groggily, linking their fingers together over the still slight swell of her belly.
“Merry Christmas,” she replied, squeezing his fingers.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, now nuzzling her neck.
She unlinked their fingers and slowly spun around in his arms to face him, cupping his cheek and bringing her lips to his. When the kiss ended, they both smiled. “I always sleep better when you’re in the bed with me.”
Blue eyes blinked, and those devilish dimples came out to play. “Ditto, baby.”
“Think we got Maeve too many toys?”
His nose wrinkled, and he shook his head. “It’s my baby’s first Christmas. I’m going to spoil that little girl rotten. Not that she could ever be rotten. She’s Daddy’s perfect angel. As sweet as a lollipop. Would melt in the rain.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and chuckled. “You keep that mentality between us. If she figures out how tight she has you wrapped around her pinky finger, we’re going to have hell on wheels in no time. If we don’t already.”
“Do you want to exchange gifts here first or wait until we get to my mum’s?”
A quick glance at the analog clock on Rex’s nightstand said it was just past seven in the morning. Hopefully, since Maeve had been excited to have her daddy home and put up a stink at bedtime, she would sleep in for a bit and Rex and Lydia could have a little more time together, just the two of them.
She pressed her lips to his once more, then rolled over and stood up on the floor. “Let’s exchange our gifts to each other here together. I’ll go make coffee.”
She honestly hadn’t made coffee since the morning she lost the baby.
This was a really good sign.
She wasn’t over her grief and probably never would be fully, but she wasn’t letting it consume her anymore.
Throwing on her white bathrobe and sliding into her slippers, she headed out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen.
She wasn’t in the kitchen two minutes before the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Rex chatting away with Maeve filled her ears and made her smile.
“There’s Mummy,” he said in the soft, gentle voice he used with Maeve.
Lydia abandoned the bag of coffee beans and went to her daughter. She kissed Maeve several times. “Merry Christmas, my sweet, sweet girl.”
Rex smiled down at Lydia. “You seem better.”
“I am better. I’m not over it—”
“And you have every right never to be.”
She smiled. “Thank you. And yes, I know. Your mother made sure I was aware of that. But having you home has just …” She sighed. “It’s just made me be a lot more grateful for what I do have, and I’m going to focus on that.”
