Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

thirty-one

BEAU

"Okay." Zoey murmurs, sniffling hard as she cradles Jack's head to her neck. She seems tuned out from the kid's wailing. I cringe, wishing I was the same. Slowly, Zoey blinks away the rest of her tears. "Okay."

With a shy, tight lipped half-smile, she dips her head. Her cheeks are splotchy red from her sobs but I still see the blush.

"Did you decide to come to Jack's party?" She sniffs. "We'd love to see Emma again."

I grit my teeth together, eyeing the clock. "No. Because my answer hasn't changed."

Sighing at me like I'm the one crying my head off and making her exhausted, Zoey shakes her head. 'Okay, Beau." Shifting the baby in her arms, she murmurs over her shoulder. "We'll get out of your hair."

About time.

"I'll tell Beck you say hello." She gives me one last glance.

"Why?" I exhale harshly. At her pout, I add. "Whatever. Tell him. Drive safe, Zo."

Finally satisfied with my agreement to go with her to see Max, and with the baby now settled, Zoey leaves my apartment.

Figures. Come in, cause a scene, and then leave.

As if she didn't just come crashing in and make everything in my life just a little bit more complicated than it has to be.

I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms, head pounding from the incessant crying. The apartment is so loudly quiet now, compared to moments ago. Zeus's snores are almost like a lullaby compared to Jack's screams.

Do all babies cry that much? Will our baby cry that much?

Letting out a long exhale, I settle on the couch, pulling the charity guitar Emma got for me from its stand.

Play, find the balance. Relax.

Inhale, exhale.

Plucking a couple of chords absentmindedly, I groan in frustration, my writers block keeping me from fully enjoying the music. Instead of helping sort my thoughts, my hands stumble over the notes, getting me even more irritated.

A rapid knock at the door snaps my head up. Zeus stands at attention in his bed, growling at the harsh sound.

Christ, I swear if this is Zoey...

I return the guitar to its stand, reluctantly rising to my feet.

I squint at the microwave in the kitchen as I walk by, noting the even later hour with a scowl.

The pounding on the door returns, louder and more rushed than before. The door creaks and complains on its hinges, whining like it'll topple over if it has to endure another second of the assault.

Nice.

Tired and annoyed as shit, I throw the door open, not bothering with the damn peephole.

"Emma?"

"Can I come in?" She's impatient, her hair damp and loosely pulled behind her ears, face bare, freckles on full display.