Night Changes (Soon To Be EDITED)

The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

Zane's words floated through my head all night. My exhaustion quickly turned to curiosity and kept my mind racing throughout the night. Hours after Zane had passed out on top of the comforter beside me, I laid awake, staring at the ceiling as I tried to wrap my head around his words.

"I could have stopped it, all of this."

What had he meant? There was no possible way Zane could have possibly known Marcus got a girl pregnant if Mark himself wasn't even aware. The brothers rarely, if ever, talked face to face. Marcus would occasionally text Zane here and there asking for one thing or another, but never cared to ask how his younger brother was doing. It was unlikely either of them knew what the other was doing on a daily basis, let alone a yearly.

"Those blue eyes," my mother had said once, referring to the Dryer's, "they're windows into their souls, Paige. You've just got to be able to read them the right way."

Rolling over, I stretched my arm out and brushed my thumb along the faint scar under Zane's right eye. I could still remember the sparkler that Mark had tossed at him on the Fourth of July when we were eight that left the permanent mark and had forced Zane into the hospital for a few days. I could feel him twitch under my touch now, his eyes fluttering, lips barely parting as his heavy breaths escaped them.

I was as bad as everyone else. Even knowing Zane my entire life, I had yet to consider him his own person. I had spent so many years comparing him to Marcus, thinking about ways he could improve himself so he'd be as good as his strong, athletic, and gorgeous older brother. It hadn't ever occurred to me that Zane was a masterpiece in his own right. He was smart, far more brilliant than anyone I'd ever met, he had a heart that he left right on his sleeve every day, and even had some of the Dryer features that had left a lot of girls wishing he would give them the time of day.

"Marcus' eyes are a paler blue." I had told McKenna one day when she had asked how I could tell the difference between the boys when they were younger. "Zane's are a deeper, more bottomless blue that always seem to be glistening with awe."

I sat upright in bed, my head whipping toward the boy at my side. His right arm was draped over his chest in a cradling position. The other was halfway off the bed, inches from the lamp on the nightstand. I pushed up from the bed and away from Zane, slowing to a stop beside the bassinet across the room. I expected to find Liam asleep, his eyes shut and breathing happily until morning. I didn't think I'd find his eyes wide open and scanning his surroundings in an awe that was all to familiar to me.

I had been so focused on the note that had been left, Liam's mother, and Marcus, that I hadn't really thought of much more. I definitely hadn't thought of Zane being Liam's father.

Sure, he claimed to be a virgin; having never slept with anyone at all despite his brother burning through girls like dirty socks. He also had seemed genuinely surprised when I'd found Liam. But it did also have its pros that matched the theory. One of them being the apology I had overheard Zane whispering to the infant earlier this evening.

I smiled down at Liam once he realized I was above him. He outstretched his hand, clutching at air. Just as I leaned down to pick him up, Zane's phone went off on the nightstand. He didn't budge.

Crossing the room in a swift movement before Liam could start getting fussy over the noise or it could wake anyone else up, I plucked the phone from the table and stared at the caller ID. When I saw Mark's name lighting up the screen, I decided it'd be better to answer it rather than ignore it and have him call repeatedly for the next few hours.

"Hello?" I whispered into the receiver.

I heard a drunken laugh on the other end. "Figures."