Imperfectly Beautiful (Jordan Knight Fanfic, Liadan #3)

Lullabies and Loves

Author's note: As a warning of sorts, this chapter is long compared to most of the others, but I couldn't find a logical place to split it into two, so if that's a bit annoying, I'm sorry! But I hope you enjoy :)

-MICHELLE-

"Okay, okay," I said softly as I gazed down at the baby boy squirming on the changing table in front of me. "You're okay, Matthew. Shh, don't cry, it's okay. Shh, do you like music?" I reached over to the little mobile above the crib and pressed the button for it to start to twirl before the sound of my husband's voice softly filled the room with a lullaby.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.

Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don't sing,

Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring.

The sweet croon that always sent goosebumps trailing over my entire body caught the little boy's ears and the tears in his big brown eyes instantly stopped. Instead, he froze and listened.

And if that diamond ring turns brass

Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke

Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat

While the voice settled Matthew, it sent tears to my eyes as I reflected on my husband so carefully placing his hands on my stomach while recording the tracks for the crib mobile in his angelic voice with all the love and tenderness in the world.

Nathan Knight was an amazing father and watching him interact with our four year old son, Nicky, and our unborn son, Jamie, never failed to simultaneously touch my heart and make me feel a weight of guilt.

A lump caught in my throat as I tried to settle my own emotions and stay focused on the task at hand. Still, I couldn't seem to stop my hands from shaking as my heart broke a little more each second for the tiny boy in front of me and the obviously scared girl who had left him on my doorstep with nothing more than a letter as a cry for help.

I tried my best to think through every student that I'd had during the last school year and recall some action or comment or observation that would lend itself to help me identify who could possibly be this baby's mother, but the harder I tried, the more my own mother's story and my childhood crept to mind.

Just like the little baby before me, I had no clue who my father was. In fact, I didn't even have a real name like he did—just a nickname, Red for his strawberry blonde hair that I'd inherited, and my mother's memory that he rode a Harley, only drank beer straight from the tap, and was openly a Chicago Bears fan—practically a cardinal sin in our small hometown in Wisconsin.

As the story went, my mom, Marilyn Baker, had been a senior in nursing school when she'd met Red at a bar. According to her, she hadn't gone there looking for a guy, in fact she'd wanted to have a girls' night with a roommate to take a break from studying for finals and watch the Chicago Bears vs Green Bay Packers game, but her roommate had canceled on her last minute and went to go hang out with her boyfriend instead.

Undeterred, my mom had decided to go ahead to the bar alone. Her plan was to sit and watch in a back corner while keeping to herself, but not even a good five minutes after she'd plopped down on a bar stool and ordered, a man had walked in wearing a motorcycle jacket and jeans and a Chicago Bears beanie, which had instantly drawn jeers from guys all around the bar and caught the eye of my mother.

It was a long running secret in the Baker household that we were closeted Chicago Bears fans in a land full of "Cheeseheads" as Packers fans so fondly called themselves. My mother's father, James Baker, was originally from Chicago and after marrying my Kenosha, Wisconsin born and raised grandmother, Breta Davis, he'd converted her over to his side and raised my mom to be a Bears fan too all the while keeping our diehard friends, neighbors, and family members in the dark.