Page 142 of Three of a Kind

My mom chuckles, nodding her head. “That he does.”

I glance out the doorway toward the pack bedroom and back at my mom in the rocking chair.

“I can change him,” I offer, striding forward.

“You’re in luck.” Mom laughs. “I happen to remember how to change a diaper. Go check on your omega. Liberty and I will handle this.”

I take a step back, rubbing my hands together.

Is it rude to leave my mom with a shitty diaper?

Probably.

But Brooklyn is exhausted.

Maverick and Gunner had to leave this morning for the first time since she gave birth. Ranger needed help with something in DC, and they should be back tomorrow, but I know they weren’t any more pleased about leaving than Brooklyn was to see them go.

It feels like I’m needed in so many different places at once.

I honestly don’t know how Brooklyn managed alone when she gave birth to Libby.

Judge is two weeks old, and we’ve had my moms here nonstop. Having them around has been a godsend. They’ve been through this a shitload of times with their own kids and even more with grandkids.

“I said go help your omega.” Mom winks. “Trust me, I’ve got this. If Libby gets bored, she can go help Miranda with dinner,” she says, referencing my biological mom, who loves to cook.

I nod, striding over and kissing her cheek as I tickle Libby’s tummy. “Thanks, Mom.” On my way out the door, I call, “Love you, shortstack.”

“Ohmigod,” Brooklyn says, trying to spin away from me as I climb in the shower behind her. “You can’t come in right now. I’m gross.”

“You’re not gross.” I slide up behind her, willing my cock to be a gentleman. She’s still got a lot of healing to do.

I just want to take care of her.

She sniffles. “My boobs ache. I’m not sure my vagina is ever going to recover. And I think I’m going to cut off all my hair. It’s too much work.”

Thank God my moms prepared all three of us for this. They said the postpartum mood swings can be severe as the body readjusts to its new hormone levels or something.

I don’t know.

I really was listening, but some of it went over my head.

I do know that I’m supposed to comfort the hell out of her and subtly remind her that she won’t feel like this forever.

“If you still feel that way in a week or two, I’ll help you find a stylist.” I slide my hands down her sides. “Why don’t you turn around and let me help? I’ll give you a nice scalp massage and rub your back while the conditioner sits for a few minutes.”

She sighs. “Fine, but my boobs are leaking, and you’re never going to find me sexy again.”

I gently spin her to face me, quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t make me swat your ass for talking nonsense.” I chuckle darkly. “I’m fucking fascinated with your tits. Your body creates everything necessary to feed Judge. It’s hot as fuck.”

I bend down, capturing her mouth. She stretches up to meet me in the middle and eventually melts against my chest.

Goddamn.

I love this woman more than life itself. I’m not sure what I did for the universe to give me my perfect match, but I’m working hard every day to deserve her.

I move a hand to cradle her skull and tilt her hair into the shower spray as we pull back.

“It dawned on me recently that I haven’t explained what you smell like to me…” I go on to tell her the old wives’ tale about soul matches. It keeps her distracted while I shampoo and rinse her hair.

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