Page 2 of Nanny for the Bikers

With shaking hands, I pluck it out, my heart hammering against my ribs. I unfold it slowly, my eyes scanning the words scrawled across the page.

Dear Kip, Clay, and Teller,

I never thought I’d find myself writing this letter, but life has taken unexpected turns, and I’m afraid I can no longer care for this beautiful little girl.

You all know me, and I know this will come as a shock to be doing something like this. I still think fondly of thenight we all spent together, but the reality is that I am overwhelmed, broke, and unable to provide the love and care this baby deserves.

This little girl is yours—each of you has a piece of her. I hope that one of you can embrace the role of being her father. I’ve left a few essentials with her in the bag, hoping it can serve as a guide in the days ahead as you figure out what to do.

I truly wish I could be the mother she needs, but I know that’s not possible right now and maybe I never will. I hope you understand my decision and do right by her.

Please take care of her. She’s a wonderful child who you will fall in love with easily, given the chance. She deserves a wonderful life filled with joy and laughter and I know you guys can give her that.

With all my heart,

Sydney

The note slips from my fingers, fluttering to the ground like a wounded bird. I stare at the baby, my mind reeling. One of us is the father? How is that even possible? I mean Iknowhow it’s possible, but…

Sharing women isn’t a foreign concept to us, we’ve done it a couple of times, but I can’t even remember the name…Sydney?

How many nights have I spent at the bar, patrolling for women? How many women had I slept with, unable to remember their names and what they looked like?

It’s finally coming back to bite me in the butt.

“Fuck,” I breathe, running a hand through my hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The baby’s cries grow louder, more urgent, and I feel a surge of helplessness wash over me. I’m not ready for this. I can’t be a father.

But as I look down at the tiny, scrunched-up face, I feel something unexpected. A flicker of protectiveness, a fierce desire to keep this child safe.

I take a deep breath, then reach for the carrier and the letter, my hands still shaking. I lift it carefully, cradling it against my chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell the baby, even though I’m not sure it will be.

“Kip, what’s taking you so long?” Teller asks, Clay close behind him, before the both of them freeze, shock written all along their features.

“What the hell?” Clay breathes, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of me holding a baby.

Teller blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Is that...a kid?”

I nod, my throat tight. “Found her on the doorstep. Along with this.” I hold out the letter with my free hand, the crinkled paper trembling slightly.

Clay reaches for it, his brows furrowed in confusion. As he scans the contents, his face drains of color. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “One of us is the father?”

Teller snatches the letter, his eyes darting back and forth as he reads. “This can’t be real,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “It’s got to be some kind of joke.”

I shake my head, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “I don’t think it is.”

A heavy silence falls over us as reality sinks in. The baby squirms, letting out a soft cry, and I instinctively bounce her gently, my hand patting her back.

Clay and Teller exchange a glance, a mix of fear and uncertainty in their eyes. I can see the same questions swirling in their minds that have been plaguing me since I found the baby.

What do we do now? How do we handle this? And most importantly, which one of us is the father?

I look down at the tiny face nestled against my chest, and all of my fears and uncertainties dim as she looks up at me. Her hand touches my chest, looking for stability, and I feel something in me growing.

I’m not going to just walk away and leave this little girl alone. We’ll figure it out.

---