onto things I couldn’t control. Instead, I tried to focus on the portfolio of graphic art I was building. I needed some edgier designs if I was going to be able to land some of the newer, hipper business springing up in town.
In bed, those thoughts became sluggish. I was so tired that a fugue settled in before sleep did, making it feel as if I were sinking. It was the kind of tired that, once felt, made a body spin and revolt because if it wasn’t allowed to sleep for twelve hours straight, it might die.
You won’t die from a few sleepless nights, I chided myself. Only it wasn’t going to be a few, was it? Without Kyle, without my parents, without anyone, I’d be the one up for every wake-up of Giuliana’s life. It could be years before I slept a full eight hours at once.
My heart thumped with this realization so hard that it was as if my body buzzed with it. But then the thump happened again. And again. Shit. A glance at the clock told me all I needed to know—it was now nine-thirty, and the neighbors were having yet another party.
Giuliana and I had spent the first two weeks of her life living with my brother. But for the past week we’d been home, in our new home that was supposed to offer a fresh start from the life I’d had with Kyle. And for the majority of that week, the house next door has had parties. Loud parties, with the bass going so loud my windows rattled.
Most of the time Giuliana could sleep through it. But not always, the parties sometimes keeping us both up. God, I needed tonight to be a sleep-through night.
The monitor crackled, and Giuliana’s tiny wail came rushing through the speaker. Apparently tonight would not be a night she could sleep through the noise. Anger flared hot in me. For the love of all that was holy, what was with those assholes?
This was a residential neighborhood, with a homeowners association and five house designs that peppered each street and cul-de-sac. I’d chosen the house for those reasons, wanting something appropriate for raising a baby, and I’d even broken the lease on my apartment to achieve it. The one thing there shouldn’t have been was nightly ragers at the neighbor’s like they lived in a goddamned frat house.
My daughter’s cries escalated as I lurched from my bed and shoved my feet into some shoes. Enough was enough. Being a father was hard enough—I wasn’t going to let some impolite jerk make it even tougher.
It took no time to pull Giuliana from her crib and strap her to my chest with a baby wrap. God bless the person who invented baby wraps. Having my hands free made me feel more in control, while the warm, snug presence of my daughter on my chest kept me grounded. And it helped her, too. It was probably smug, but I loved that my daughter was the most calm when we were together like this.
It was warm outside, muggy in the way it got before the rain came. No clouds yet, though, just a blanket of stars that would have given me pause if I couldn’t still hear the party next door. The music was loud enough that I felt as if I were already in the house instead of stalking across the dewy grass, mind flipping through a hundred rude things I wanted to say.
The yard was well maintained, and there were flowers in pots along the steps, blue and white hydrangeas, which seemed at odds with the piercing growl of guitar coming from inside. At this point, I hesitated at the foot of the stairs, trying to decide if I was too angry for this house call, if maybe I should wait until tomorrow, when I’d cooled off a little, so I wouldn’t do something I’d regret.
But then someone inside whooped and raucous laughter followed, and yep, I was just the right kind of mad. After all, this was keeping my daughter up. Her hiccupping cries validated my rage, and I stomped up the steps.
The front door had a welcome mat in front of it, but I didn’t want to be welcomed. I wanted some peace and quiet. I banged on the door hard with my fist, a constant rattle so that I knew someone would have to hear me. Someone did. The knob turned, and I dropped my hand just in time