The baby whimpers at her outburst, and my cousin does her best to console the child with soft but erratic pats to her back.
“I’m going to go,” I tell her, knowing I’m only causing more stress by being in her face. There’s nothing I can say right now that will fix any of this.
Naomi doesn’t say a word as I walk out of the room and Spade stays silent as we walk back to the car. The second we’re pulling out of the long driveway, I place a call to my aunt. I don’t know how much she knows about Naomi’s situation but it can’t be much. Aunt Laylah would never stand silent while her grandchild was being raised in those conditions.
I leave a message for my aunt with very limited details, my hands shaking with worry about what could happen in the time it takes for me to get all of this figured out.
I’m still going to have to put the house up for sale. There’s no way I can work out a deal that will make that place safe for a child.
I’m trying to work through my limited options, each one worse than the next when I look up and see that we’re parked in front of a local grocery store. I want to cry all over again because I didn’t even have to express my needs out loud for this man to understand what I needed to do.
I want to thank him for being so perceptive, but he climbs out of the car before I get the chance.
Chapter 12
Spade
I’m only biding my time as I walk around the car to open Sylvie’s door.
She knows as much as I do that the baby can’t stay in those conditions. I also know the words social services aren’t going to go over very well. She said it herself—Naomi is an asshole, but she’s still family. She may not have had any contact with that woman since they were teens, but she’s also not going to get a government agency involved either. She proved that when she called her aunt, presumably Naomi’s mom, first instead of the police.
Is she aware of the dangers of feeding an infant severely watered-downed formula? Because I do. I saw it numerous times in poor villages while serving in the Marine Corps. I’ve witnessed firsthand seizures in infants that have serious electrolyte imbalances due to that very thing.
If that aunt doesn’t call back today, I’ll be the one to call social services. Although that won’t go over well with Sylvie nor Naomi, their feelings on the matter don’t concern me. That innocent baby needs more than what she’s being given, and I have very serious doubts that Naomi is going to use the cash given to her for that innocent child. She snatched it up like she was already imagining lighting up whatever pipe she smokes her dope out of.
Sylvie doesn’t make eye contact with me as she climbs out of the car, so I don’t bother saying a word either. I can tell she’s just as shaken as I am at what she saw in the house. If I had to guess, she had no idea Naomi even had a child and was thrown for a loop at finding out.
We go our separate ways when we enter the store, and although I have no idea what she’s buying, I need some regular damn soap. I’ve had to fight an erection since I got in the shower this morning and was forced to use her damn soap. The scent has been on my skin all morning, and it’s driving me to the point of insanity.
With the store being small with low shelving, I can see the top of her head on the next aisle, and I watch as she pulls formula, wipes, and diapers into her arms. It seems she doesn’t trust her cousin either.
“Sylvie Davis. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
My head snaps up, and I watch a guy round the corner of the shelf and step in close to her. It takes less than the blink of an eye for this man to wrap his arms around her and draw her into his chest, uncaring of the things in her arms wedged between them. He steps back but not far enough to put any level of appropriate distance between the two of them.
I drop the bar of soap back onto the shelf and walk an aisle over, coming up behind him rather than her.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all when I bump his shoulder as I walk past and damn near press myself against her back.
The guy doesn’t even look at me, his eyes firmly planted on the woman standing in front of me.
“I didn’t know you were coming to town. We should have lunch and catch up.”
I scoff at his brazen suggestion, but my jaw hangs open when Sylvie quickly agrees.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
Slowly, the man lifts his eyes, a victorious grin on his lips.
“Will Varon,” he says, holding out his hand.
I look down at the thing, not offering mine until Sylvie elbows me in the stomach.
“I’m an old friend of Sylvie’s,” he says as I take his hand.
“Dylan Pratt.”
I don’t miss Will’s assessing eyes dropping to my leather cut.