A few weeks later.
Our room looked more like a playgroup, and it was driving me insane. Everywhere I stepped, I was stepping on toys or Legos. Abbie was always quick to clean up any mess, but Tyson was a tornado. I groan as I push the door open, step into the room, and find crap scattered everywhere. I kick off my shoes, leaving them by the door. Abbie looks up at me as I enter before fiddling with the toy in her hand. I had just come off the night shift. Abbie sat on the floor with Tyson in her lap as they played with Lego.
Nervously, I move across the room, placing my phone on charge while I debate how to tell Abbie. Tyson wouldn’t be sleeping in the room with us anymore.
Yesterday the delivery arrived, and I didn’t know how to tell Abbie that her old room had been converted into Tyson’s bedroom. It would start an argument; I knew that much, but our room was too small for all these toys, and I was sick of sleeping on the couch because the kid was a helicopter and decided he could spin around in his sleep.
I make it across half the room without my shoes, playing Russian roulette with the scattered Lego pieces, and I lose miserably. A growl escapes me as I bend down, picking the tiny Lego from my foot. Sighing, I look around at the chaos that was supposed to be my place of peace.
“Hey,” Abbie says, chewing her l!p and looking up from the Lego she was putting together. She stares at the Lego piece between my fingers, and I drop it back into the plastic tub she stores them in.
Tyson climbs out of her lap, rushing over to me, his tiny arms wrapping around my legs as he garbles at me, wanting me to pick him up. Grabbing him, he smacks my face and chest as I place him on my h!p.
“I think it is time you get your own room,” I tell him while he pats my forehead with his palm before rubbing it on my cheek. I think he liked the feel of my stubble as he babbled excitedly, viciously rubbing his palm on my face. I grab his wrist, k!ssing his palm. “Wanna see your room?” I ask him, and he bounces in my arms.
“I’ll clean up.” Abbie says, mistaking my words that he made the room messy, which wasn’t an issue. Kid’s play and make a mess, but it was starting to bother me that I hadn’t been alone with her in weeks. Liam set it up with Dustin last night for me while I worked.
I didn’t have the patience for flat packs. Though Dustin looked like he was about to near wet his pants with excitement as he helped me carry up the boxes. He then volunteered himself and Liam, who looked horrified at having to do such a task.
“Want to see your new room,” I tell Tyson, ignoring Abbie as I turn for the door.
“What?” she says, but I was already walking out of the room to her old one. Her feet bashed the floor as she chased after me. She reaches for Tyson, trying to take him from my arms, but I hold him a little tighter.
“What are you doing?” she snaps as I grip the door handle. I push the door open to find his Thomas the Tank Engine bed and the walls covered in kids’ colorful crap.
Abbie stops looking around the room while Tyson babbles excitedly, kicking his legs and wanting to be set down on the ground. I place him on his new bed, and he instantly reaches for the giant sensory block full of noisy crap, spinners, and textured patterns. He flicks the buttons and starts cackling.
“When did you do this?” Abbie asks, peering around the room.
“I didn’t. I had Dustin and Liam set it up for me, the delivery came yesterday.” I tell her as she peers around the room, following Tyson as he examines everything.
“Now he has his own room,” I tell her, and her head whips to the side to look at me.
“But he sleeps with us. He needs to be close, so I can see him,” she says, and I knew this would cause an argument. But he can’t share our bed forever!
“Our room is just there. This area is secure. Tyson can’t get past the doors, guards are at every station, and Liam and Dustin are right across from him. There is also a monitor right there,” I told her, pointing to it on the matching bedside table.
She stares at it while I wait for her to come up with another excuse. Yet I had already spoken with Kyson. This would do for now until we move upstairs to the apartment on the top floor. It was smaller than this quarter but was reserved for long-term guests, but this place
sometimes got a little loud of a night with men coming in out at all hours for their shifts. Abbie shakes her head, scooping him up, much to his dislike. She walks back out of the room toward ours, and I sigh.
“Abbie!” I call after her. She doesn’t stop to listen but marches into our room, clearly angry with me.
“No, he stays with us.” she snaps at me, and I grit my teeth, following after her.
“I’ll clean the room and get him a bigger toy box,” she says, setting him down on our bed.
“Abbie, he needs his own room. He can’t keep sleeping with us,” I tell her, and she pauses, looking at him.
“Fine, I get it. We’ll be out of your way then,’ she says, and my brows furrow as she scoops up his clothes and toys, dumping them in a box. Tyson watches her climbing off the bed where she placed him and reaching for the blanket she was trying to put in the box.
“No, Bubba,” she tells him as he tries to pull it out.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, but she ignores me, cleaning the room up before taking the box and moving it to his room. I sigh, watching her place it inside the door before returning just as I move to grab Tyson, who was about to rush out after her.
Abbie plucks him off the ground before I have a chance to and turns on her heel, walking back to the room I had made for Tyson and shutting the door.
“Abbie?” I ask, twisting the handle to find she had locked the door. I grit my teeth and knock on it.
“Just go away, Gannon,” she says, leaving me in the hallway staring at the closed door.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to leave,” I yell at her through the door.
“No, just Tyson,” she retorts angrily. And I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. I open my mouth to argue with her before closing it. Shaking my head angrily, I walk back to my room and slam my door.
She was being childish, and I was too tired to deal with her right now, so I climbed into bed. Yet as the night came and she still hadn’t returned to the room, I sat up, hearing the door open as the servant brought dinner up. She sets it down on the table.
“Abbie sent me up,” she tells me, and my brows furrow.
“And where is Abbie?” I ask her, rubbing my eyes.
“We just finished having dinner in the servant’s quarters. She is helping Clarice in the kitchens now.” A growl escapes me, which sends the servant rushing out of the room as I toss the blanket back and get to my feet.