Free Crushed (Breaking the Rules Series Book 5) by K Webster Page B

Jackson make them plenty of times over the past few days. With a stressed sigh, I climb out of bed and stumble through the dark until I make it into the hallway. From there, I can see the nightlight from the nursery spilling into the hallway.
    “I’m coming, little baby,” I whisper as I scamper into his room.
    Once inside, I turn on the Harry Potter lamp and discover that Jackson has set up a bottle-making station with bottles already pre-filled with water. He even has a dispenser full with proportioned amounts of formula ready to go.
    My husband.
    Super Dad.
    The gaping hole in my heart seems to shrink just the tiniest of bits.
    Tyler’s cries become louder, so I kick myself into gear and prep the bottle. Once I get to his crib, I reach in and push on his diaper. Wet.
    Well, damn.
    His cries simmer down once he sees me, but I avoid looking at his face. Just change the diaper. Feed the baby. Go to bed. I’m on a mission.
    After finding the top of the zipper of his pajamas, I carefully slide it down and avoid his umbilical cord. Then I make quick work of changing his diaper and pray that he doesn’t pee on me in the process. As soon as he’s changed and zipped back up, reality hits me.
    I’m going to have to pick him up.
    “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not sure if the apology is aimed at him or Thomas.
    But then he stops crying, so my eyes fly to his face because I’m alarmed that something’s wrong with him. And when my eyes lock with his, something happens to me.
    I can’t look away.
    Blue eyes. So perfect.
    Wispy, blond hair. So soft.
    I need to pick him up. I want to pick him up.
    “Come here, little one.”
    Scooping him up, I choke back a sob. He’s so small. And he smells so good. I bring him closer to me so I can inhale him. With a shaking hand, I find the bottle and take him over to the glider in the corner of the room.
    I sit down and rearrange him so that we’re both comfortable for me to feed him. As soon as the bottle comes near his face, he latches on hungrily. And I can’t stop staring at him. With each needy grunt he makes as he sucks down the formula, I become more and more enraptured with him.
    He’s perfect.
    He’s mine.
    I force the thought from my head and inspect all of his features. He’s so cute.
    “You’re cute like Daddy,” I coo.
    His mouth opens and he lets some of the formula run out as he stares back at me. Pulling the bottle from his mouth, I smile down at him. With the corner of the blanket, I swipe his mess away.
    “I’m so sorry,” I suddenly sob aloud.
    My cries startle him and he makes a face like he’s about to cry.
    “No. Shhh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I promise through my tears.
    He must understand, because his features go calm once more. Leaning forward, I kiss his forehead. It’s so soft and warm. I leave my lips there for a moment, enjoying the contact.
    A painful slice rips through my chest so suddenly that it makes me dizzy.
    This baby. This little angel. I’ve neglected him. I’ve pushed this innocent being away from me.
    What kind of person am I?
    When I find his eyes once more, I see it. I see a little boy with no mother. And I see him watching me back, seeing a mother with no little boy.
    Tears momentarily blur the sight of my child before I rapidly blink them away, needing to see him already again.
    “You’re mine. And I’m yours,” I assure him fiercely. The vow hangs thick in the air. It’s as if our hearts are threading together.
    Then I lift my eyes and see a framed picture on the end table. This frame holds two pictures. It says, Thank Heaven for Little Boys. On the left side is a picture of my Thomas in my arms. I’m asleep. How did I not know of this picture? And on the right side, my Jackson and my Tyler are together.
    My family.
    The tears stream down my face as I sob.
    Tyler is here, and with each minute that passes, with me as his mother, I know he’ll help heal me.
    We belong to each other.
    Both of us, thrown