Page 21 of Property of Shotgun
“Okay, so we need a plan. You can’t be in two places at once. I respect that you don’t want to stay at the clubhouse, but my apartment isn’t equipped for kids.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“The side apartment you and Irish planned to have Irene move into…it’s still vacant, yeah?”
My brows pinch together as I try to figure out where he’s going with this.
“Yes, we never finished the work renovating it.”
“It got working plumbing?”
“Yes.”
“Then, I’m suggesting that I crash there until you get on your feet.”
I scoff. “Absolutely not.”
I don’t know if he didn’t hear my response or if he’s choosing to blatantly ignore me, but he continues to ramble on like as though I didn’t say a fucking word.
“I’ll help get the kids off to school in the mornings, and you can come spend time with Killian. I don’t know how feedings and all that shit works, but I think babies eat every couple of hours and depending how you decide to do that—whether by breast or bottle—you’re going to need to be here.”
He isn’t wrong about that. If it turns out that I do have to bottle feed, I’ll likely have to pump and drop off my milk for the nurses to feed him when I’m not able to. How he’s aware of any of this is beyond me, though.
“How do you even know that?”
An exasperated breath leaves his lips, and he scratches at the scruff lining his jaw. “When I was with the baby, I saw another NICU mom come and drop off her milk.”
“How observant of you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jade. Why is it so hard for you to accept my help?” He combs his fingers roughly through his hair, tugging at the ends. My eyes widen at his tone, but I remain quiet. I guess I finally poked hard enough. He releases his hair, dropping his hands to his sides, and balls his fists. “I’m going for a walk. Try to be fucking reasonable when I get back.”
Shotgun returned a half hour later with a turkey sandwich from the cafeteria, and a bottle of orange juice. He angrily tossed them on the table next to my bed.
“Eat,” he said gruffly before he took a seat in the corner of the room. He hasn’t said a word since, and neither have I. I did eat the sandwich, though. Not because he ordered me to, but because I was starving. I even drank the orange juice, and I hate orange juice.
A knock sounds on the door, and we both lift our heads as it opens.
“Good afternoon, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Shotgun mutters, crossing his arms against his chest.
“Are you one of the lactation specialists?”
“No, I’m Lisa Crowl. I’m one of the social workers here at the hospital. I was told you wanted to make some changes to your healthcare proxy.” She taps her fingers against the folder she’s holding. “Is now a good time?”
I stare at her blankly. “I think you may be confusing me with someone else.”
“You’re Mrs. Callahan, are you not?”
“I am but?—”
Shotgun cuts me off. “Thank you. You can leave the papers on the table. If we have any questions, we’ll be sure to reach out.”
Ms. Crowl’s gaze cuts to him, and she smiles. “Very well. My card is stapled to the inside of the folder.” Her gaze darts to me. “Congratulations on the new edition.”
I don’t offer her my thanks, I’m too busy trying to keep myself from exploding. Where does Shotgun get off making requests on my behalf? She drops the folder on the rolling table next to my bed before she sees herself out. As soon as the door closes behind her, I turn my attention back to Shotgun.
“What the hell is that about?”
