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Summary
Eddie had Poppy and every time he looked at her tiny little face, all he could think was how unworthy he felt.
But Steve—Steve was fucking built for this shit. He held Poppy in his strong arms so gently and he bottle fed her, changed her diaper, played her classical music, talked to her like she was a fully grown adult because he’d read somewhere that it would help with a kid’s development.
Eddie wasn’t cut out for being a father, much less a single father. But he never was a single father, not really. Not with Steve. Steve was always there. Self-assured, offering to look after little seedling and forcing Eddie to go hop in the shower, eat something, take care of himself in a way he hadn’t known how to do in those first few endless weeks.
And Eddie thought that maybe—
He’d thought—
He was so sure that they could’ve been a family.