Page 93 of Buckin' Around

This is what has to happen. I won’t abandon one family for another. I could never do that to my brothers and sisters.

“. . . a hand?”

I look up to find Spencer at the end of the hallway, his hand gripping the back of his neck, eyes pleading.

“Sorry, what?”

“Give us a hand with this crib? Ives is sticking everything in her mou?—”

“Shit, Spencer. Screws.”

I fly past him to Ivy’s room. The hardware is scattered over the floor. Ivy is sitting by the crib panels, banging the screwdriver on the floor. Her little squeals grow wilder with every thud it makes.

“Ives, no, baby.”

I grab her up and pry the screwdriver from her hand.

Her bottom lip falls.

“No bubba. That’s dangerous. Bad Daddy.”

A soft chuckle filters in through the door. I spin back to find Spence leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest.

Why is he always doing that?

“First time anyone has called me that.” The cheeky smile he’s trying to tamp down, and failing, kicks up one side of this mouth.

“Spence, you can’t leave her with this stuff. Babies shove everything in their mouths. The last thing we need is a trip to the emergency room.”

We.

“I mean—you, the last thingyou. . .”

He’s in my space a heartbeat after the words tumble from my lips.

“You fight this hard about everything, Riley O’Malley?”

I can only stare up at him, arms huddling Ives into my hold. “Yes?”

He lifts his right hand before wincing and shifting on his feet. His throat bobs, jaw feathering, as he sucks in a breath.

“Riles . . .”

I manage to press a hand to his chest. “Don’t, Spence.”

Ignoring my plea, he leans in, forehead resting on mine as he releases a low groan. “Riley O’Malley... what have you done to me?”

Heat prickles the back of my eyes.

I can’t do this . . .

I pry Ivy’s grip from my tank top and hand her to Spence. I’m out of his orbit a heartbeat later, gaze stuck on the floor as I mutter, “I’ll be back later to help with the crib. Make sure you keep her out of here.”

Rushing from the room, I stalk down the hallway and grab my bag, phone, and keys.

“Riley?” Brady says, kneeling on the floor with tools scattered around him. “You okay?”

It’s the last hit my heart can take. I fly out the door and to my car.