The Next Little Thing (Jackson Falls #4) by Laurie Breton

Responsibility. He was a
musician, an artist, a creative soul. Translated, that meant he was
disorganized, impetuous, a dreamer, and far too loosey-goosey for his own good.
How could he hope to be a father to that helpless little baby until he cleaned
up his act, pulled his head out of his ass, and became the sober, responsible
dad that Emma deserved?
    The question gnawed at him, but the answer was elusive. Was he
even capable of change?  He'd always flown by the seat of his pants, with
varying results. Suddenly the enormity of what he and Casey had done loomed
over him, massive as the Hindenburg. If he couldn't change, if he couldn't become
the father that Emma needed, would that dark and ominous dirigible crash and
burn directly on top of him?
    He swallowed back the panic squeezing his insides and focused on
his guitar. Here, he could be his authentic self. Here, he could pour out all
the chaotic crap that had shredded his guts like raw hamburger, could try to
forge that chaos into something comprehensible.
    It took him a half-hour of working long, lean fingers over the
fret board, a half-hour of dredging and sweating and bleeding, to get what he
wanted. When he was done, he had the unvarnished beginnings of a new piece of
music. A Song for Emma, that's what he would call it.
    Exhausted, still needy and raw, he sat in the darkness, listening
to the spring peepers, and finished his beer. He took the empty bottle and the
Gibson into the house, left the bottle in the sink and carried the guitar
upstairs and lay it on the bed.
    Back downstairs, he wrote a quick note to Paige, stuck it on the
fridge, grabbed his car keys from the hook on the wall, and locked the house
behind him.
     
    * * *
     
    At this time of night, he had to use the Emergency entrance
because after 11 p.m., the front entry was locked. He wound his way to the
elevator and took it to the second floor. Here on the maternity ward, the
lights were dimmed, the corridors silent. A lone R.N. sitting at the nurse's
station glanced up from her paperwork in surprise. "Hey," he said,
and kept moving.
    At the nursery window, he paused. There were only two babies, but
even if there'd been a dozen, he could have picked out Emma without hesitation.
She was asleep, tiny fists curled, her lips pursed and moving every so often,
as though she were suckling in her sleep. He lay his hands against the glass
and drank her in, her essence filling him, melting and spreading through his
veins like warm honey.
    When he'd drunk his fill, he made his way to Casey's room. He
silently pulled up a chair next to the bed and, elbows propped on the edge of
the mattress, he watched her sleep.
    She must have sensed his presence. Her eyes opened, solemn and
unsurprised, and gazed into his, mere inches away. She reached out, brushed her
knuckles across his cheek, slid her hand around to the back of his neck, and
drew his mouth to hers in a kiss so sweet, so gentle, it left him shuddering.
    "It's the middle of the night," she whispered, fingers
playing in his hair. "And you've been up since yesterday. Why aren't you
home, sleeping?"
    "I couldn't. I didn't want to be there. I couldn't be there
without you."
    She rubbed the tip of her nose against his cheek. Said, "My
poor baby. Climb into bed with me. There's plenty of room for two."
    "I'll get tossed out on my ass."
    "I'll tell them you're a necessary component of my
recuperation from the rigors of childbirth."
    He ran a fingertip along her jaw. Said, "You make everything
seem so easy."
    "It is easy. Get your carcass into bed, MacKenzie. I need to
hold you."
    Sometimes love was so damn complicated. And sometimes, love just
was. He crossed the darkened room, silently closed the door. Kicked off his sneakers
and tucked them beneath the chair, shucked off his jacket. His goddess scooted
over on the bed, lifted the covers, and he crawled in beside her. He took her
in his arms and buried his face in her dark cloud of hair.
    "There," she said, winding her