What Do You Mean?

Chapter 15

"She's so damn cute, JB..." Rory grins as we watch Lyric arranging baby betty in her tiny pink stroller. "Look how hard she's concentrating!"

We both burst into laughter over her furrowed brow as her frustration increases. She tries to adjust the blanket on her doll just right once more, and then pushes her in my direction.

"Fix it, daddy."

I shuffle the blanket a bit "How's that, love?"

She looks torn, clearly this isn't how she envisioned this going, but she seems to not want to hurt my feelings by saying so.

"I got you..." I nod when I notice my (apparently very serious) mistake...the little purple hearts that decorate the fabric are upside down.

She claps her hands when everything seems to be in order.

I grip the stroller lightly, stopping her from running off just yet "Where's my kiss?"

She scrambles up into my lap in a hurry, as if she can't believe she almost forgot "Sorry, daddy..." she can't say her r's yet, so it comes out 'sowwy'. It melts me...I don't think there's ever been a litte girl who has had her daddy's heart the way she has mine.

Her eyelashes softly brush over my cheek as she flutters them, butterfly kissing me. B taught her how not too long ago...and I wish she hadnt, because if Lyric ever figures out how much she can get away with just by doing adorable things like that to me, I'm in serious trouble.

She scurries off into the other room, most likely to dig through her mountain of dolls to find one to squeeze in next to baby Betty.

"Dude..." Rory shakes his head with a smile "that kid has you wrapped around her finger like, a thousand times. You're screwed."

"For real," I nod "She's my girl."

"They don't stay that way," he points out "what're you going to do when she starts bringing boys home?"

"Buy a shotgun." I answer. I'm not even sure if I'm joking or not.

The passing mention of needing to protect her, reminds me of another, more immediate situation.

"Yo, so listen..." I pitch my voice low, even though its just us in the room for the moment. "Remember me telling you about B and her bullshit pills?"

"Yeah..." he leans in to hear me better and waits for me to go on.

"Well I left out some shit...mainly because, I don't know. I guess I just felt like I should keep it between her and I." I roll my eyes at my own admission "Which was dumb as fuck, because she didn't keep it between her and I to begin with."

"Well what did you leave out? Must be kind of game changing or you wouldn't be bringing it up." He coaxes causally.

He isn't nosey and doesn't act overly excited to get the inside track... he just asks because he cares about what I have to say. This is one of the reasons I kept him around when I tightened my circle, and even brought him in closer. He gets it...he knows you can't approach me in a manner that could be seen as digging for information. Even if that isn't someone's intent, I'll shut down anyway. Too much media, too many interviews with twisted words, and being fucked over too many times to count has deeply affected and changed the way I interact with people. Even people I trust sometimes, it's merely instinct now.

"Well at first she was getting them from the doctor, right?" I don't wait for his answer, even though I've phrased it like a question "But I kinda started to figure it out a little. I mean, I kept seeing her poppin' 'em left and right, but her supply never ran out. Long story short, Betty overheard her on the phone arranging to get more..."