Reaper's Fall

Painter walked over slowly and carefully, holding Izzy like she was made of spun glass. He seemed to be whispering to her, and any doubts I’d had that he’d love her disappeared. He’d already fallen for her—fallen for her just as hard and fast as I had the first time I saw her in the NICU.

“Em sent me pictures,” he said, once we were settled at a table. “She told me about when she was born, too. It sounds like you did an amazing job.”

“I tried. The C-section was rough—I really wanted to do it all natural, you know? They say that’s better for the baby. But I just couldn’t. I tried and tried, but she wasn’t coming.”

He looked up at me, eyes intense.

“She’s perfect,” he said again, emphasizing the word. “You did everything right, Mel. They told me about all you went through, fighting for her. I can’t imagine anyone ever doing better.”

Blinking rapidly, I fought back the tears prickling at my eyes.

“I wish you could’ve been there,” I whispered.

“I wish I could have, too.”

Izzy gave a little squawk. His eyes flew back to her, widening in something like panic. She raised her arms, stretching them high as she yawned. Then her eyes narrowed as her nose scrunched. I knew that look.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked quickly, his voice almost panicky.

“She might have gas,” I said. “Or she could be pooping. Just give her a minute.”

Izzy didn’t need a minute, though. A series of loud, wet, squelching noises exploded outward. Painter’s face twisted, a combination of shock and horror—like he half expected her head to spin around or something. He looked back at me.

“What do we do?”

I laughed—couldn’t help myself.

“Just give it a couple minutes,” I told him. “Make sure she’s done. Then I’ll go change her.”

PAINTER

Melanie’s ass twitched as she walked away with Isabella. My daughter—how unreal was that? I could see the differences in Mel’s body since the pregnancy—she’d filled out. Her boobs were bigger, too. A lot bigger. I’d missed her so fucking much since I’d gotten locked up. This was different than it’d been before. Worse. Not that spending time in a cell is ever good, but knowing I was missing out on something so amazing—so important—turned it into pure torture.

And this time I didn’t even have letters from her to get me through.

I hoped it wouldn’t take long to change Izzy. We had only a limited time for visitation, and I didn’t want to waste any of it. God only knew when—or if—she’d ever make it down again. Christ, I loved the kid more than I ever thought was possible, and now I might not see her again for months.

“How’s it going?” Puck asked, his voice low as he eased into the seat across from me. I shrugged.

“Well, aside from the fact that I’m in prison and I missed the first five months of my kid’s life, it’s fuckin’ great. How are things on your end?”

Puck gave a slow smile. “Better than yours. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on her for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I fucked up bad this time, bro. Real bad.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

I bit back a laugh, leaning forward over my legs.

“Love how you always try to make me feel better.”

Puck cocked a brow. “Like you want me blowin’ smoke up your ass?”

“Fair enough. How was the trip down?”

“Good,” he said. “Weird, traveling with a baby, but she was good. Cried a little bit during takeoff. Mel had to nurse her on the plane. Think that made her a little uncomfortable.”

Frowning, I gave him a hard look. “You check out her tits?”

“Yeah, because I’ve got a milk fetish,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that?”

That made me laugh again, and he joined me.

“So you keepin’ safe in here without me?” he finally asked.

“It’s tougher this time,” I admitted. “But I got Pipes at my back. This shit goin’ down in Hallies Falls has him worried and a lot of the alliances have fallen apart. We lean on each other a bit. And of course there’s Fester . . . He was real happy to have me back.”

Puck snorted. “How is the Prince of Perverts?”

“You’ll be shocked to hear he’s still a disgusting little twat,” I said. “But get this—they’ve started a new art program. I’m helping teach it, and he’s one of my students. He’s not half bad, so long as you keep him focused. A little more interested in anatomy than I’d like. Sort of obsessed with how muscles and joints come together . . . and what they look like ripped apart.”

“Have fun with that,” he replied, smirking. I flipped him off and we both sat back, staring at each other. There was a whole lot more I could say, but what would be the point? Nothing ever changed on the inside. “Not gonna lie—glad I’m not in here with you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Got some updates for you,” he said quietly. “I know you heard some of this, but figured I’d fill you in on the rest. They tell you Marsh was carrying a shitload of meth?”

“Yeah, Pic mentioned it, back up in Coeur d’Alene,” I said.

“Well he finally pled out. Between stabbing the cop and the drugs he was carrying, he’s going away for at least three years. Maybe more, depending on his behavior—guy’s not exactly known for holding his shit together under pressure.”