7. Benjamin

Islam my car door a little harder than I mean to and wince. It's only when I'm pulling out of the driveway that it hits me how utterly fucking ridiculous today has been. From snapping at Zara, to walking out on her, only to end up handing over Mia like a deflated football, and now I'm off to Tesco like some errand boy because my daughter may be teething.

The drive is short but gives me enough time to stew over everything. Zara's scent is still loosely clinging to my clothes, and it's battling with the remnants of my anger. It makes sense that Mia would find it soothing; it's calm and gentle, unlike the storm that seems to perpetually rage in my soul these days.

Parking up, I haul myself out and into the bright lights of the busy supermarket. The place is packed out as expected on a fucking Sunday, and it's why I usually avoid them like the plague, but here I am, heading for the baby aisle and hoping to fuck I don't have to find anyone to ask them where the teething granules are. What are they even? It sounds fucking horrible, but I'm taking Zara's word for it because I've got fuck all else to go off.

I find the baby aisle and march up and down, dodging around people, trying to find the teething granules. When I find them, there are three different kinds, and I haven't got a bloody clue which one to get. With an impatient huff, I grab one of each—can't go wrong with that approach, right?

Standing impatiently at the self-checkout, I get to the front of the mile-long queue and zap the boxes, paying with my card, which was luckily still stuffed into my pants from the walk earlier.

Walk.

Fucking disaster, you mean.

"Who the fuck does she think she is?" I mutter out loud and get a weird look from the couple next to me, but I scowl at them, and they go back to their business.

Moments later, on the way back to the car, I calm down slightly now that the anxiety of being around so many people abates. It's one reason why I'm so reluctant to head back to work. I hate people. Henry and Liam are about my limit because I've known them since we learned how to walk, and Nicole bailing on us has exacerbated that feeling in me. Being alone with Mia at home has been soothing in more ways than one. Then Zara shows up, and my whole world has been turned upside fucking down. I don't want to go back to work where I have to be around people. I've been meaning to ask the boss of the small, yet extremely successful firm, if I could work from home for the majority of the time, but I haven't had the time or the inclination to attempt that conversation yet.

One thing I know, and it's why I was so unbelievably pissed off with Zara, is that she is right in what she said. I do need to provide for my daughter. She has only me. If I lose my job, we're toast. I'm mortgaged to the hilt, having relied on Nicole's income as well when we secured the five-bedroom property. We'd planned on more kids, and Nicole wanted an office where she could hopefully work from home when she started her VA career online. The house isn't huge; it's on a regular estate in lower middle-class Britain, and ‘detached' leaves a lot to be desired. It's a marketing tool more than anything. You can just about fit a wheelie bin down the path between the houses, but it was ours. Our home. Our future.

And she shot it all to hell by being a selfish cunt and walking out on her one-month-old infant and her mate.

Growling furiously, I slam my foot on the accelerator and squeal out of the car park like a boy racer.

Zara, holding Mia, flashes through my mind, and I slow down. How she instinctively knew what Mia needed was surprising and a bit awe-inspiring, if I'm being honest. It softens something inside me, though I'm not ready to examine that too closely yet. Let's face it, part of me doesn't want her here because she's another reminder of how shit I am at this whole single dad thing. She's like this fucking ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day, and part of me wants to bask in it, but the other – the stubborn asshole inside – wants to shut the blinds.

I pull into the driveway with less of a squeal and more of a sobering glide.

Grabbing the boxes of teething granules from the passenger seat, I make my way inside. The house is quiet, almost too quiet for my liking. But then I hear it, a soft melody snaking its way down the stairs. Zara's singing again.

I climb the stairs on autopilot, drawn to that sound like a bloody satellite homing in on Earth. As I push open the nursery door, Zara cradles Mia against her chest, swaying gently back and forth in time with her lullaby. It's a picture of peace and contentment that makes my heart do this weird, fluttery thing that I will absolutely deny if anyone asks.

Zara looks up and smiles softly as she sees me in the doorway. "Hey," she whispers, as if loud words might shatter the magic of this moment.

"Got these," I grunt, holding up the boxes like trophies from some great hunt in Tesco's wild aisles.

She nods approvingly, and her smile widens just a tad more. "Three?"

"I didn't know which one was best."

She giggles softly and grabs the green and white box. "I'll try these first."

"How do you…? You know?" I glare at her as if she knows what the hell I'm talking about.

"Apply them?" she asks gently. "The easiest way is with your little finger. Hold her while I go and wash my hands."

I nod and take Mia from her arms, feeling the familiar weight and warmth of my daughter settle against me. Something akin to calm seeps through the walls I've built so high since Nicole left. Mia gurgles, and I can't help the twitch of my lips that might be the beginning of a smile. I can't let Zara see that, though; she'll think she's winning.

Zara returns, hands scrubbed and ready for baby dental duty. "All clean," she announces, her voice still soft but laced with an unmistakable note of mirth. It's as though she can see right through my gruff exterior as I lay Mia down on the changing table.

I watch, fascinated despite myself, as Zara opens the granules and pours them onto her fingertip. Mia's little mouth opens like she knows relief is coming, and Zara gently rubs the granules on her sore gums. To my amazement, Mia's fussing eases almost immediately.

"Look at that," Zara coos, "happy baby."

Still trying to keep up this fa?ade that I'm not impressed as hell with Zara's omega magic, I grunt a response.

Zara gives me a knowing look, but doesn't call me on my bullshit. Instead, she picks Mia up and settles into the armchair with her. "If you need to finish up your work, I've got her now."

I want to argue. I want to say that I'm fine and don't need anyone's bloody help, especially not from an omega who has somehow wheedled her way under my skin without even trying. But the truth is, I'm knackered——completely bruised from the inside out, and Zara's offering a lifeline against the stubbornness that is trying to get the better of me.

I sigh, the sound more defeated than I intend it to be. "Yeah, alright." It's barely above a whisper because pride is a stubborn bastard, and admitting I need the help feels like admitting defeat.

Zara doesn't gloat or offer platitudes. She just nods, her attention already back on Mia as she continues to hum softly.

Heading back downstairs, I try to focus on the work that needs doing. Emails, project updates, plans that need reviewing, but the idea that I do need to go back into work tomorrow gnaws at my insides.

Before I chicken out, I shoot a quick text to Alan, the boss, so there can be no backing out. He will sack me if I backtrack now.

I'm interrupted by Zara's appearance, gentle and unobtrusive.

"Mia's asleep," she says quietly.

"Thanks," I reply with a gruffness that isn't quite as pronounced now.

"We make a good team," she ventures cautiously.

I couldn't agree more, but the words get stuck in my throat. If I admit them and she leaves Mia, leaves me, it will gut me completely. So, it's better to hold her at arm's length and try to place some trust in her to do the job she was hired to do.