Page 47 of Buckin' Around

Spencer is standing in the hallway, blocking me from getting to Ivy. Her cries echo through my open bedroom door and down the hallway. Like they have done for the past forty-eight hours. On and off.

Scowling, I grip my mug of lukewarm coffee. “Move! You goddamn eejit!” I try to duck under one arm, and he steps sideways.

Coffee splashes over the rim of the mug, spilling down my pajama shirt.

“Nope, not happening. Go back to bed, O’Malley.”

Okay, so in context, there are bags under my eyes, and I haven’t showered since Friday or even brushed my hair, which is currently tied up in a . . . I want to say bun... Messy bun. But it’s more mess than bun at this point.

“Let me do my damn job, you—you...” Heat starts behind my eyes, and not the exhausted kind. “Goddamn you, Lockwood. She needs me.” The words are almost a cry.

He closes in.

The mug disappears from my hands, and I’m spun around, his grip on my arm, and I’m marched back to the kitchen.

“You are in no condition to look after anyone, bar yourself.”

My feet shuffle along.

It’s been alongweekend. Ivy was out of sorts Saturday morning. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Probably the formula affecting her as she grows and develops. Chlo was the same when she was little.

The thought of my little sister sees my limited forward efforts falter out. A warm wall of chest meets my back.

Exhaustion cascades down my body in waves.

I can’t even help it when I lean back into the warmth...

It’s so . . .

I could just sleep here, on my feet, in the hallway.

A voice clears overhead, and I startle, jumping forward.

I miss the warmth instantly.

Geez, I must be tired if I’m thinking Spencer Lockwood is a nice place to fall.

Berating myself silently, I pad into the kitchen.

I’m leaning against the counter, contemplating my questionable life choices, when the crying stops.

The silence is almost deafening after a night of her being upset every hour or so. And there was something I meant to bring up with Spencer when he came home...

Squeezing my eyes shut, I rack my brain for it. The one thing I actually planned to say to him is nowhere to be found in my fried, sleep-deprived grey matter.

Rubbing both hands down my face, I decide the best course of action is a shower and bed. Surely, one day off class won’t hurt?

After all, I am no use for anything but sleep right now.

Time to admit defeat.

You win, little lady . . . I forfeit.

Padding to the cupboard, I pull out a glass and have a drink of water. My stomach rumbles, but I’m too tired to be botheredwith chewing. The bright room starts to blur around me, and I know it’s time to call it.

Spencer is walking the hallway with Ivy, rubbing her back, and I slip past. Reaching my bedroom door, I pause. He looks content with her. And it hits me—this is the first time I’ve seen him that way.

A stark contrast to the frazzled guy who was melting down over Ivy’s crying that first day. It’s kind of nice seeing him step up. Not that it erases the way he reacted to her originally. Like she was some kind of problem he had to make go away.