Chapter 1
Nathan’s POV
The rain outside my window sounds like rice being poured from a bag—sliding through a tube and hitting pavement.
It’s relaxing.
Thunder roars like a lion in the sky, and the pitter-patter of raindrops sounds like prey running for its life. I remove my shirt and run a hand through my solid white hair.
I lie down on the bed when a knock at the door causes me to stand back up. I glance at my watch.
Eleven o’clock at night.
Who could be knocking on my door at this hour?
It’s probably Danielle. She left her sunglasses here the other night and is probably using them as an excuse to see me.
Still—eleven o’clock at night? My junk’s asleep. It’s not rising nor shining for anyone.
I open the door, but nobody’s there.
Well, if I ever needed a reason to move, this was almost enough to make me turn around and pack my shit—until a whimper followed by a small cry causes me to freeze.
Oh Jesus, now babies are haunting my house? Who the fuck died here? I’ve been living here for years, and I’ve never heard anything supernatural.
I hear the sound again and look down.
A basket sits on my doorstep, woven from some sort of straw material. A blanket lies on top, and resting on the blanket is a note.
I lean down, grab the note, and open it.
Maybe it’ll tell me what the hell is going on.
Nathan,
I’m going through postpartum depression. The world is getting dark, and the baby won’t stop crying. I can barely bring myself to feed him.
Please, before I do something I can’t take back, take care of our son. His name is Ryder. He’s three weeks old. I left all of his information in the basket with him.
Maybe Ryder will teach you how to use a condom, you lying bastard.
—Samantha
“Who is Samantha?” I scratch my head.
Well, she knows me. I’ve been with so many women it’s hard to remember who’s who.
I pull the blanket back and see the most beautiful little creature with green eyes like mine and hair as white as snow.
Fuck.
---
Caleb’s POV
I just got settled into bed.
It’s raining cats and dogs outside, and I’m not big on storms. They freak me out, and I’d much rather be asleep than lying awake overthinking.
I allow my body to drift off when a knock at the door jolts me so hard I nearly fall back into the mattress like a boulder.
I sit up frantically, looking around.
I sigh when the knocking continues.
I don’t get visitors other than my dad. I’m an introvert who prefers people call before showing up unannounced. As I walk into the living room, I briefly consider hiding behind the couch until whoever’s on the other side of the door goes away.
Then I figure it must be important.
What if something happened to my dad?
I grab the doorknob, twist it, and swing the door open—only to be mortified.
Nathan Flee. My worst enemy.
I slam the door in his face without even getting a good look at him.
He was my bully in high school. And yeah, I know what you’re thinking: That was forever ago.
Yeah, three years ago. The pain’s still there.
He was a jock, and I was a simple nobody, and because of that, he made my life a nightmare.
Then, after we graduated, I moved into this house—and a year later, I was haunted by him all over again when he moved in right next door. I almost moved out, but after a week of him not bothering me, I figured I could stay.
Now I’m regretting that decision as another frantic knock drags me back to the door.
Swinging it open, I snap, “What? What the hell do you want?”
“Please help me,” he says, nearly sobbing. “It won’t stop crying!”
That’s when my gaze drops to his arms.
A baby lies there.
It’s crying, and from the sound of it, it’s been crying for a long time.
“Why don’t you take it back to the cradle you robbed it from?” I arch a brow.
He stares at me with a bored expression. Even in a crisis, he acts like he’s better than me.
I hate him.
But I don’t hate the baby.
So I step aside and let them in. Lord knows the poor thing will catch a cold standing out in the rain. I nearly kick Nathan back into it, but I manage to hold my temper.
I close the door behind him, and Nathan starts rambling about the baby being abandoned before shoving a letter into my hands.
“Hm.” I read over the letter. “Sounds to me like this is what you deserve for being such a whore.”
Nathan looks flabbergasted.
“A whore?”
“That’s right.” I nod, taking the baby from him. “Did he come with anything?”
“Oh yeah, there were all sorts of fun accessories in his box.” Sarcasm drips from his tongue.
I want to drop-kick him through the window.
“Well, I guess that means you’ll have to go to the store because his diaper is about to fall off his waist.” I lift the baby slightly to show him the sagging diaper.
“And he’s cold because he doesn’t have any clothes on, and babies eat, you dick,” I mutter that last part under my breath.
“I don’t have any money! I paid bills, put gas in the car, went grocery shopping, and I don’t get paid until Friday!” he rants, like this is somehow my problem.
I’m two seconds away from telling this asshole off when the baby starts crying again.
“Okay,” I sigh.
I hand him the baby and walk into my room. When I come back out, I hand him my debit card—then yank it back just as he reaches for it.
“Baby stuff.” I glare at him. “And if you lose it, I will stuff the baby so far down your throat you’ll be able to explain childbirth to me personally.”
The baby starts crying again. I glance down at him, wondering for half a second if he understood me.
But no. His dad is just driving me insane already.
Nathan takes the card and promises he’ll only buy baby supplies and that he won’t lose it.
“Do you even know what kind of formula to get? What size diapers? And—”
“Are you speaking another language?” he asks, horrified.
I shake my head.
My mom had six kids, and guess who the oldest was? Me. So yeah, I know a thing or two about babies.
I lift the baby slightly and check the number on the diaper.
“Size two,” I say. “Get him size two diapers, a couple warm outfits, and a can of formula.”
I pause, thinking.
“Get Similac—the sensitive stomach kind. We don’t know much about his digestion or eating habits yet, so better safe than sorry. Also baby soap, wipes, diaper rash cream—because I’m pretty sure he already has a rash—and a pacifier for self-soothing.”
I look over at Nathan and immediately realize he’s completely lost.
I sigh and pull out my phone.
“Give me your number. I’ll text you the list.”
🍼 🍼 🍼 🍼
When Nathan gets back, I give the baby a bath and put diaper rash cream on him. Then I dress him in something warm before handing him back to Nathan, who’s sitting on the couch.
I head into the kitchen and make a bottle. By the time I come back, I’m shaking it gently in my hand.
I pass it to Nathan.
Then I tell them to get out.
“Thanks, Caleb,” Nathan says quietly, looking down at the baby.
Jesus. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Nathan say thank you for anything.
He doesn’t move, though. The baby gulps down the bottle like he hasn’t eaten properly in hours.
“What’s his name?” I sigh, sitting down on the couch.
“His name was in the letter. Ryder, I think,” Nathan replies.
I let out another sigh because, of course, Nathan ruins the moment. If he can’t remember his own son’s name, how the hell am I supposed to?
“So, I have to work tomorr—”
“Oh shit!” Nathan interrupts. “Same! How am I—what am I supposed to do with him while I’m at work?” Panic flashes across his face.
I shrug.
“You’ll have to call out tomorrow and figure it out, I guess.”
I watch the stress visibly build in his body.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ve gotta figure something out. I don’t know how to raise a kid. Hell, I can barely take care of myself.”
“Mm.” I nod. “Well, I still have work tomorrow, so—”
The baby starts crying again, and Nathan looks at me desperately, like I magically know all the answers.
I sigh, take the baby from him, and pat him gently on the back.
“Spanking him isn’t gonna help!” Nathan says, standing abruptly.
Oh Jesus. Why on earth were you blessed with functioning sperm?
“I’m burping him, you—” I stop as the baby lets out a tiny burp.
“He got that from me.” Nathan smiles faintly at the baby.
“You must be very proud,” I reply dryly.
I grab the unopened pacifier, tear the package open, and place it into the baby’s mouth.
His tired eyes slowly begin to droop.
They flutter back open once, but gravity wins in the end.
Carefully, I hand him back to Nathan.
I watch as they walk out the door. Thankfully, the rain has stopped.
And honestly?
I’m glad to see Nathan finally leaving.
The kid’s cute, though.
I just hope he isn’t raised by an idiot.
