Milk For His Little (The Lactin Brotherhood #12)

10. Shawn

Chapter 10

Shawn

“I can’t wait for tonight when we get to play with my new train set.” He eyed the boxes in the corner that were delivered last night.

Certain Kasper was angling for me to okay a sick day, I steered him to my front door. “And we will set it up this evening, after a bath and dinner.”

His face fell, and I put a finger under his chin and tilted his head.

“Yes, Daaaaaddy.” Kasper pushed out his bottom lip. He didn’t like waiting, but what boy did?

“Have a great day, and I’ll be here, along with the train set, when you finish work.”

We weren’t at the stage where we’d discussed moving in together but most nights we were at his place or mine.

We kissed, and I stood at the door until his car disappeared around the corner.

Everything was progressing well with our relationship. We had date nights and Little evenings where I made Kasper fish sticks or mac and cheese—usually homemade, which was a lot of work, but I emphasized eating healthy, so I couldn’t feed him store-bought every meal.

And the reason wasn’t just that I wanted to give him something I’d made from scratch with fresh ingredients because I hadn’t been a hundred percent honest with him. Not that I’d lied—more an omission.

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. At my last visit, he’d been concerned about my rising blood pressure. Said it was hereditary because I exercised, ate well, didn’t eat a lot of processed food with tons of salt… all the things necessary to keep my blood pressure in check.

My folks both had the same condition and had been popping pills since their diagnosis.

I’d tell Kasper this evening when I knew more. Or if I had it under control, perhaps there was no need to mention it. Shit, I’d stressed to him that he had to be honest with me, we both did, and I was failing the first big test.

Sitting in the doctor’s waiting room after the nurse had taken my vitals—I hadn’t looked or asked, preferring to wait until the doctor studied them—my knee bounced, hitting a small table piled with tattered magazines that people had thumbed through, including me. I imagined the bacteria on pages with an addition of snot and who knew what. Ewww!

I bounded into the doctor’s office when my name was called, convinced that being happy and having a boy drinking my milk was the recipe for lowering my blood pressure. There was no scientific evidence behind that reasoning, so when the doctor narrowed his eyes when studying the computer, my heart sank.

This wasn’t good, and my fingers slid to my racing pulse.

“Please tell me I’m not going to stroke out.” My voice was octaves higher than usual and close to screech level 10.

His face softened. “No.” He flipped the computer, allowing me to read the results. “Because we’re going to prevent this with medication.”

I was joining the ranks of the pill-popping public.

He made a follow-up appointment in a month in case he had to adjust the meds. But as I made to leave, he noted, “I doubt you’ll have an adverse reaction. It’s not as though you’re a nursing mom who counts on you having an adequate supply.”

I froze, but he was tapping the keyboard, his mind possibly on the next patient or his lunch. In the parking lot, I sat unmoving, staring at the people swarming around the building.

Before meeting Kasper, I would have celebrated having my milk dry up. I’d have thrown myself into nights at the club with any Little wanting to play. Being “normal” and not having to worry about leakage, a stale milky aroma, or having to get jackets dry-cleaned regularly while the person being the counter raised a brow at the stains on the armpits.

Kasper loved me for my milk. Who would I be without it? Just another run-of-the-mill Daddy. There were oodles to choose from at the club. People had reacted negatively because of my milk supply, but his body was drawn to it.

I had to tell him. And if I didn’t, he’d get wise to the situation pretty damn quick.

A voice in my head whispered I could put it off for some days until the meds took effect. Maybe the milk wouldn’t dry up and I could casually mention I was taking BP meds and it was no biggie!

It made me feel old getting one of those pill organizers labeled with days of the week. Even if my milk supply remained the same, he might reconsider being with an older guy, though I was only a few years older than him.

I made it home and pumped furiously all day, making the most of my almost unlimited supply. That my extra income would decrease wasn’t a problem. My milk money was a small percentage of what I earned from my full-time job.

Removing seven pills from the blister pack, I placed one in each compartment before removing today’s and swallowing.

Here goes nothing .

I had to get the blood pressure issue out of my head, so I bottled up the milk and sent invoices to the guys who were coming later to collect. And then I started my real job, concentrating on columns of numbers until I looked at the time and started dinner.

I made chicken nuggets because they were Kasper’s favorite. He usually ate them with ketchup, but I’d surprised him last week with homemade plum sauce, and he adored it—finger-licking good were his exact words. The vegetables were prepped and ready to be steamed, so there was nothing else to do until he arrived.

But there was something I’d forgotten. Glancing around the kitchen and mentally checking off the items on my list, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was niggling at me, and my boy would be here soon.

A car pulling into the driveway told me he was here. One final sweep around the kitchen and my gaze alighted on the pill organizer. Damn.

I stashed it at the back of the pantry as he popped open the door and yelled, “I smell nuggets.”

He squeed and leaped into my arms.

No way was I spoiling his mood with talk of pills.