Page 143 of Buckin' Around

I can’t say the words out loud. It’s too selfish.

So, I tighten my hold and hope that when I wake up in the morning, I get through the next few days before she goes, making memories to keep me warm when she’s gone.

Chapter 35

Spencer

Ivy’s cries drift into the dim room.

I roll over and rub my eyes. With a low rumble, I glance at Riley’s side of the bed.

It’s . . . empty.

So why is Ives still crying? Riles must be getting her a bottle or something.

I swing my legs over the bed and sit up. Finding sweatpants and a shirt, I run a hand through my messy hair. I raise the blinds and almost lose my retinas.

“Shite,” I curse, holding a hand up to protect my eyesight. The outside world is lit up. How damn late is it?

Coffee. I need coffee.

My muscles are sore from fencing yesterday, and I flex my arms over my head as I walk down the hall for the kitchen.

Which is . . . also empty.

“Riles?” I call out. “You and Ives okay?”

I slide the beans from the cupboard and tip them into the top of the machine. I start the grinder as I decide to go help.

Ivy’s still wailing.

“I’m coming, my girls.”

Yawning, I push her door open.

She’s standing at the side of the crib, her face beet red and tear streaked. I lift her out.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

She chugs through quick breaths, her little arm reaching for something beyond the doorway.

“Where’s Riles, baby? Is that who you want?”

I lift her up and sniff her diaper.

Geez. I whip my head back.

Well, that’s not helping. I lay her on the changing table and fix her up, dropping the rolled-up poopy diaper into the bin. All cleaned up and in a new warm day onesie, I put her down. She’s always little miss independent.

Today she whines, reaching up for me.

I pick her up and feel her forehead.

No temp.

“Okay, kiddo. What’s going on?”

She whines again, shaking her head.