Page 92 of Beneath the Surface

Isobel hugged her back, her throat tightening. When they finally pulled apart, Molly reached for the car seat, her smile widening as she lifted the tiny bundle nestled inside.

“Meet your nephew,” Molly said softly, her eyes shining with tears.

Isobel’s breath hitched as she gazed down at the baby. Wyatt’s tiny face was scrunched in sleep, his lips pursed as though caught in a dream. His skin was impossibly smooth, the faintest blush of pink warming his round cheeks. His lashes were long, dark crescents resting on his soft skin, and the faint scent of baby powder wafted up as Molly handed him to Isobel.

“He’s perfect,” Isobel whispered, her voice breaking.

Molly laughed softly, wiping at her eyes. “I know. I still can’t believe he’s here. Ethan’s been a rock star, but… God, Izzy, I’m finally getting some sleep.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mostly because Ethan’s been taking the night shifts.”

Isobel chuckled, the sound light and unexpected. “You’ve earned it. You look… happy, Mols.”

Molly smiled, watching Isobel gently hold her son. The baby shifted slightly, his tiny hands curling into delicate fists. His lips parted in a soft, soundless sigh, and Isobel marveled at the tiny pulse beating faintly in his temple.

“How does it feel to be home?” Molly asked.

Isobel’s fingers stroked Wyatt’s tiny hand, marveling at the impossibly perfect detail of his fingernails. She took a slow breath, letting the question settle. “Good,” she said after a moment. “Strange, but good. I didn’t let myself think about…this.” She gestured vaguely, encompassing the house, the tree, the baby in her arms. “It feels fragile, like if I breathe too hard, it’ll all disappear.”

Molly placed a hand on her knee, her expression earnest. “It’s real, Izzy. You’re here, and this is yours, too. I couldn’t wait to bring Wyatt to you. He’s lucky to have you.”

Isobel’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she looked down at Wyatt. She cradled him closer, and for a moment, her thoughts drifted to Brad. He was in the kitchen with Ethan now, but the memory of his easy smile, the way he had decorated the tree with such care, lingered in her mind.

As she gazed at Wyatt, her heart tightened with an unfamiliar ache. The baby’s warmth in her arms, the soft weight of him filled her with a longing she hadn’t expected. She imagined holding a child of her own, one with Brad’s piercing gray eyes and steady presence. The thought was fleeting but vivid, and it sent a rush of emotions through her—hope, fear, and a quiet yearning she wasn’t quite ready to name.

She glanced toward the kitchen, as if Brad might somehow sense her thoughts. He didn’t, but she caught a glimpse of him, his expression calm and steady as he talked with Ethan. For the first time, the idea didn’t feel impossible. Maybe one day, when the cracks in her life were fully healed, she could dare to dream about a family of her own.

The warmth of conversation filled the room as they talked. Molly leaned closer, her smile soft. “You’re a natural,” she said, watching Isobel stroke Wyatt’s tiny hand.

Isobel smiled down at her nephew. “He makes it easy.”

The afternoon passed in a blur of warmth and quiet joy. Wyatt slept peacefully in Molly’s arms, his tiny hand curled around her finger. Isobel sat beside her sister, feeling ready to dream about what the future might hold.

The sightof Isobel cradling Wyatt made Brad’s chest tighten. Her tentative smile as she gazed at the baby was something he hadn’t seen in far too long. It stirred a bittersweet ache in him—a mixture of pride, love, and the lingering guilt that never seemed to leave. He turned away before the emotion overwhelmed him and headed into the kitchen with Ethan.

Ethan opened the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea. “How is she, really?” he asked, glancing at Brad as he set the pitcher on the counter. “I know you just got home, but Molly couldn’t wait for her to meet Wyatt.”

Brad leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as his gaze drifted toward the living room doorway. Isobel’s soft laughter mingled with the baby’s gentle coos, a sound that filled the house with a warmth he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

“She has a long way to go,” Brad admitted, his voice low and heavy. “But coming home—it’s a start. Yesterday, we stopped to visit Mark Dillon.”

Ethan stilled, his brow furrowing as he reached for the glasses. “How’s he doing?”

Brad exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s rehabbing. Physically, he’s making progress, but…” His shoulders slumped, and he stared down at the counter. “He’s drowning in guilt. When he saw her, he broke down, clinging to her like a lifeline. She kept telling him it wasn’t his fault, but I could see it. It’s going to take time. For both of them.”

Ethan paused, setting the glasses down and giving Brad his full attention. “And Izzy? Last night?”

Brad swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I left the light on. She couldn’t sleep in the dark.” His voice cracked as he continued, forcing the words out, “I just… held her through it, through the nightmares. I’ll do whatever it takes, Ethan. I just don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.”

Ethan stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Brad’s shoulder. His tone was calm, but his empathy was clear. “When Molly was shot, and I found out she was pregnant… I didn’t have a damn clue what to do. There’s no guide for this, no step-by-step manual to fix what’s broken. You just… love her. Be there. That’s all you can do.”

Brad nodded, his jaw tightening as he straightened, pushing himself off the counter. “Yeah. Love her. I can do that.”

Together, they carried the glasses into the living room. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting golden light over the snow. Isobel sat close to Molly, her gaze fixed on Wyatt as he slept in Molly’s arms. Her lips curved in a small, tentative smile as she brushed a finger along the baby’s tiny hand.

Brad set the glasses down on the table, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes met his. Something unspoken passed between them—gratitude, trust, and maybe even hope.

The rest of the visit passed in easy conversation and laughter. Stories were shared, memories revisited, and Wyatt’s soft sounds filled the gaps. Brad kept a watchful eye on Isobel, his hand brushing hers whenever her expression turned distant, grounding her gently in the present.

As the sun began to set and Molly and Ethan prepared to leave, Isobel lingered at the door, her arms crossed tightly around herself. “I’m glad they came.”

---