He smiled, and she felt that quirk of his lips like a physical caress, a heat blooming within her that reminded her why they had three small children—though she’d only birthed two of them.
The third, Hunter, they’d adopted. Biologically, he was Jordan’s nephew, but in all ways that truly mattered, he was their son.
A son that would need to be driven to school in—she glanced at the clock—three hours.
Dear God.
There was a reason sleep deprivation was considered torture.
She hadn’t even realized that her eyes had slipped closed or that Jordan had successfully made the baby-to-the-crib transition until she felt the rocker move, until she felt herself being swept up into his arms.
“Wh—?”
“Hush,” he whispered. “The little beast is finally asleep.”
She dropped her voice to barely audible. “I’m too heavy.”
Flashing blue eyes had her hiding her face in his chest. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, hadn’t meant to let the insecurities that were building in her mind outside her brain. She’d just given birth six weeks before. Of course, her body had changed.
“Bull. Shit,” he hissed.
She didn’t reply, knowing that there wasn’t much she could say. She was putting up a good front, but two babies in three years meant that she was feeling more than a little insecure.
Things—skin, breasts, hair—hung differently. Her stomach was . . . well, it might as well be a roadmap for how many lines crisscrossed it.
And she’d lost track of the last time she’d showered or worn a shirt without crumbs or spit-up or poop on it.
Hell, her hair probably had poop in it right now.
A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.
“Abbs?” Jordan asked softly, navigating the mess of toys like a professional. No Godzilla-esque Duplo destruction for him, that was for sure.
Meanwhile, she—
“Sweetheart,” he said, setting her on the bed and wiping the tear—okay tears—away. “What is it?”
She shook her head, knowing the inner voice was fueled by exhaustion and hormones. It would pass, and she’d feel more like herself.
Eventually.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, hoping eventually would come sooner rather than later.
“You’re not,” Jordan argued. “But you’re also too tired to argue about it now.” He swept the covers up and over her, tucking them tightly around her. “Sleep, my love.”
“But—”
He slid in next to her, pulled her against his chest. “Sleep.”
And truly too exhausted to argue, she did as he ordered.
Chapter Two
Jordan
She looked like a fucking zombie.
Dark circles, shuffling gait, pale skin as she staggered to a chair in the kitchen and sat down.