Page 18 of Soaring and Steadfast

What if it had been here all along?

A slow ache built in his ribcage, something unspoken, something terrifying. The possibility of it was both exhilaratingand suffocating. Louis had never been a man to ignore a calling, but maybe… maybe he had been too afraid to listen.

His thoughts were jarred back to reality by the chaotic symphony of voices around him—his brothers-in-arms caught up in Trophy’s ridiculous but well-intended scheme. The man was dead set on throwing a baby shower for his wife before her delivery, and in true Trophy fashion, he had chosen a theme so absurd it could only end in disaster.

Knights of the Round Table.

Except their “round table” was a battered folding one draped in cheap green tissue paper and gaudy pink-and-blue tinsel. The room was a mess of thrown-together decorations—paper crowns, plastic swords, and a haphazard collection of what Trophy called “authentic medieval garbage.”

Louis shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as the conversation devolved into the usual playful jabs.

“Ohio, anyone ever tell you that you have a gift with the English language?”

“Gift-ed,” Tic-Tak corrected smoothly, winking at Orion, who snorted.

“Short bus,” Shellac added, slapping Moonbeam’s hand in a high-five.

“Dude licks the windows…” Orion fired back, grinning.

“Eats paste,” Memphis chimed in.

“Crayons, too…” Louis added, unable to resist, his words teasing but warm. The laughter that followed was unrestrained, filling the space between them like an unspoken promise—this, here, was home.

“Maaaan, I hate you guys sometimes.”

“If you can dish it out,” Moonbeam reminded him with a knowing grin, “you can take it too.”

“Meh.” Ohio shrugged and then, in a move that defied any semblance of common sense, let out the ridiculous Godzilla roaragain. The noise was met with a chorus of laughter, a mix of exasperation and fond amusement, as Jeremy, Orion’s six-year-old, brightened with excitement.

“Shhhh!”

The room fell into a hushed anticipation as the telltale sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. The plan was simple—surprise Stephanie, Trophy’s wife, with an entrance grand enough to rival any medieval coronation. It was, in Louis’ opinion, an absolutely terrible idea. But Trophy, in all his reckless certainty, had insisted it would be fine.

Louis wasn’t convinced.

As the others scrambled into position, slipping plastic buckets over their heads as makeshift helmets, Louis exchanged a glance with Ohio. Uncertainty flickered between them, the same unspoken question in both their eyes.

Then the door opened.

Stephanie stood in the doorway, and the moment stretched. Louis took in the sight of her—her face flushed, her body visibly exhausted, the weight of pregnancy pressing down on her like a burden she could no longer carry with ease. And yet, even in the discomfort, there was something unwavering in her gaze, something that made Trophy look at that pregnant woman like she hung the moon.

Love.

Raw, undeniable, absolute.

Trophy loved his wife and they could all see it.

Louis swallowed – he wanted someone of his own someday.

“What’s going on?” Stephanie asked, her brows drawing together.

“Well, princess… this is your coronation.” Trophy’s voice was rich with pride and devotion, with something so unshakable that it made Louis’s chest tighten.

“My what? And what’s that smell?”

“Paint!” Jeremy announced enthusiastically, thrusting his foam sword into the air. The ceiling fan promptly slapped it back down, sending it smacking into Ohio’s face.

Laughter erupted. Louis dodged the recoil just in time, watching as Tic-Tak nearly choked on his drink, spraying Moonbeam in the process.

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