My chest squeezes. Part of me wants to sit him down at the table and get his food ready for him, heating up the soup and cutting the bread. But I have averystrong feeling he wouldn’t appreciate that, so I turn my attention back to Cami, playing with her hands. Seb moves quietly through the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of soup and sitting down at the counter to eat it.
“It’s good,” he says, after his first spoonful.
“Of course it is.” I chuck Cami under the chin. “I had an excellent sous-chef.”
He looks at the baby, narrowing his eyes. “How…”
“She mostly provided moral support,” I admit. “But it was very effective.”
We don’t say anything else as he eats. He finishes his food, puts his bowl in the dishwasher, and then just stands awkwardly, watching us.
I look up at him. “Yep?”
He swallows. “I don’t know how to say thank you.”
“You managed pretty well just then. You’re welcome.” I pat the sofa. “Can we talk?”
He hesitates, then nods, sitting down next to me.
“Here.” Before he can freak out, I reach over and plop Cami in his arms.
His whole body stiffens. “I don’t know how—”
“You know how to hold her,” I say. “You held her fine last night, and you could barely see straight. Just do what feels natural.”
He swallows and slowly re-arranges her in his arms, laying her cheek against his chest. She snuggles easily against him, smacking her lips. I reach up a hand and squeeze his neck. “Relax,” I remind him softly.
His muscles unclench. He holds Cami a bit closer and clears his throat. “What did you want to talk about?”
I decide to just dive straight in. “Why are you so conflicted about Cami? Last night, you wanted to hold her so bad, but when you’re not drunk on pain, you barely touch her.” I shake my head. “I don’t get it. You freak out every time she cries, but you refuse to cuddle her. You jump to make her bottles, but you won’t play with her. What’s going on in your head?”
He doesn’t say anything, curling a bit of her hair around his finger.
I sigh. “Is this to do with what you were talking about last night?”
He tenses. “What did I say last night?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Not much. I remember you putting me to bed. And…” His high cheekbones colour slightly. “You were stroking my hair. I don’t remember what we spoke about.”
“You said you were worried you were going to hurt her. And that you scare everybody you talk to.”
He blanches. “Oh,Jesus.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Could I maybe convince you to visit a hypnotherapist and wipe the last twelve hours from your memory? I know a great one near Hyde park.”
“We coooould,” I say, drawing the word out. “Or, you could tell me what’s wrong, and we can find the solution that’s best for Cami. Because right now, this,” I wave a finger between him and her, “is unfair to your daughter.”
He hesitates for a long time. So long, I think he’s going to refuse. Eventually, he takes a deep breath. “When I was younger,” he says slowly, “I had to take anger management classes. I lashed out a lot.”
“You hurt people?”
He sighs. “Just one person.” He looks down at Cami. “My dad left when I was twelve. Just packed a bag and never came home. He never gave a reason. Mum was devastated. She didn’t know how to support us. She’d never worked. She started dating rich guys to help out with money.” He gently tugs out Cami’s hair bobble, letting her hair loose. “I hated all of them.”
I nod. That sounds pretty reasonable. “You just wanted your dad back.”
“There was one boyfriend. He’s my step-dad now. Steven. He was much older than my mum, and completely loaded. I came home from school one day, and he was shouting at her. Calling her names. I guess he found out that she was seeing other men.” He starts combing Cami’s hair with his fingers. She closes her eyes, enjoying the soft touches. “I just lost it. I was so mad. I ran at him and started punching him. I was only twelve, so I didn’t do much damage, but I did knock out a tooth.”
“Jesus.”