Bad Intentions ↠ h.s.

Chapter Nine

Harry

Restless nights and ignored exhaustion were the least of my problems at the moment...

After hearing the sound of my phone ringing at quarter past two in the morning, Liam frantically sputtered out how his wife was having complications and how she was rushed to the hospital and that he ringed me to ask if I could watch his kids. At first I was a little uneasy about doing so, but Liam was my best mate. He was there for me when nobody else was, and I wanted to provide him the same comfort in return. I took him up on it and ten minutes later he arrived to my place, leaving me to watch them because they wouldn't sleep.

Sure, Liam's my best mate and all, but for crying out loud, how could someone like his wife, give birth to something like that monster he calls a son?

"I can help," Arabella suggests, propping her head on her hand and her elbow on the counter as I attempt to savage a meal for the fussy four-year-old in his seat.

I hesitantly pull away from the stovetop, watching as the macaroni boils in it's pot.

"Please?" I plead in hope, dropping my previous bundle of sanity, and having the hope that she might be able to help out on this. "If you don't mind?"

"Why do you think I offered?" Arabella laughs, that cute smile rising to her plump, rose colored lips, as she glances towards her feet briefly. "That would be rude not to help while seeing you struggle."

She takes a firm grasp of the chair, pushing him in closer, as I plant myself in the matching one across the small four-seated dining table.

"Thank you so much," I sputter, watching as she glides across the kitchen swiftly, preparing four dishes of hot dogs and macaroni, paring up with the lunch hour that was nearing us even though it was only strikes at 11:35 A.M.

"No problem," she assures me, smoothing down the little boy's hair till it lay flat on his head. "You know, you look so much like your daddy from how long I've seen him."

Liam's son shifted in his seat, those bubbly brown eyes of his meeting mine. "You look nothing like your daddy," Noah grumbles, giving me a weird look.

Arabella shrugs, placing his food in front of him. "Well, that's because I'm adopted," my daughter tells the younger boy, her voice coming out so smooth and cool that it left me a bit stunned. She's just so comfortable around the little boy; it's weird. Noah doesn't even stir around his food or toy with it, before using his hands to cram it into his mouth. Usually when I feed Noah, he plays with his food non-stop, even when it's his favorite; hotdogs and macaroni.

This is so oddly different yet satisfying, not to hear Noah scream or start something about his food.

"Should I save some for Mom?" Arabella comments, placing a plate of the similar food but in bigger portion in front of me. It was interesting to hear her say Mom, instead of referring to her as Ashley for once.

I have to question it to even make sure I heard her correctly. "Ashley?"

"Yeah..." She says awkwardly, easily drawing herself to the silverware in the drawers. I nod, taking a bite of the delicious meal and nearly fighting off the urge to eat too fast. "Does it taste okay?"

"Yes! Thank you very much!"

Arabella stifles a small laugh, planting herself next to Noah and quickly wiping his face with a napkin, along with taking a bite of her own macaroni.