Copper glanced over at me, hand still around the large brick, and raised his brows at me.
“Why not threaten him with a gun? Or your fist?” I wondered.
Copper’s angry gaze sliced through me. “Because that would hurt my fist, and a gun is too messy.”
His rapid response, which made a hell of a lot of sense, had me feeling a slight bit of emotion.
It was a wondrous feeling, and the laughter that wanted to bubble out of my throat felt foreign.
He watched me like I’d just completed the ultimate sin in his office.
But when I finally got control of myself he said, “Good to see you laughing, Baker.”
Eight
I could be meaner.
—Text from Copper to Chevy
COPPER
Day six of the fourteen days of medication was the day I saw a breakthrough happen in the depressive cloud that hung over Baker’s entire being.
That night, she went to bed with nary a glance at her son, and the next morning I woke up and not only did she have Holt up and dressed, but she was breastfeeding him at the end of my bed when my eyes opened.
I blinked when I saw her staring directly at me.
“This morning I woke up, and I felt like a brand-new person,” she said, her eyes streaming tears. “I all of a sudden remembered that not only do I have a son, but that son is my entire life, and I’ve treated him like utter shit for his entire short life.”
I did an ab curl and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“You have postpartum depression,” I told her bluntly. “You aren’t to blame for how your body and mind has handled the experience. Everyone is different, and hate to break it to you, but from what I’ve read, you’re not the first, and won’t be the last, that has suffered from it. You noticed the signs and got help, and you’re taking care of him now. He won’t remember that you were a little off kilter in the beginning.”
She sniffled, her gaze going down to her kid.
My gaze, of course, zeroed in on her perfect breast.
Even with a kid attached to it, it still stirred things that should be left unstirred.
I readjusted the sheet that was covering my lower half and said, “There a reason you’re in here?”
“Someone named Reign knocked on your door and asked to come inside. I said that she couldn’t, and she said that she would be waiting in her apartment. I thought about waking you up, but then decided to let you sleep. You were up late last night with Holt and deserved the sleep.”
I groaned and rubbed my hands back over my face. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“Kind of,” she reported. “She said that a man named Webber was going to call, and not to believe anything that he said without talking to her first.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled as I reached for my phone.
Sure enough, there was a missed call from Webber, along with five from Reign, and two from Apollo.
I pressed Webber’s name, and he picked up within two rings.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Webber jeered.
“Fuck you,” I said. “It’s only seven. I had a late night last night.”
“Me, too. Haven’t even gone to bed yet,” he said. “So, got some interesting news last night.”
