Page 140 of Playboy

War nods. “Abso-fucking-lutely. But if there’s anyone worth being softies for, it’s our girls. Our fierce women who put us to shame. Go watch her put you to shame. It’s breathtaking.”

I turn, my determination renewed, but Noah stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s giving me shit and taking no prisoners.”

He smiles. “Awesome. Tell her we can’t wait to meet the little guy. You guys pick a name?”

Nope. We thought we had more time. But ready or not, he’s coming. And I’m not going to miss it. On my way out, Sara hugs me tight. Her shirt saysBest Auntie. With a huge grin, she tells me the guys all wore the shirts during the press conference tonight.

With a final goodbye, I jog down the hall, headed back to my girl. We’re going to have a baby.

It’s another few hours before the action really starts. When a howl comes from Hannah’s mouth, Millie meets my eye, and just like Hannah suspected, our twin intuition takes over, and I’m suddenly in Mills’s spot, holding my girl’s hand as she screams through another contraction. The doctor is summoned then, and nurses rush in.

“It hurts,” she cries.

I lean my body across hers, holding her to me, wishing I could somehow take the pain away. “You’re doing so amazing, Han. Just a bit longer.”

Tears stream down her face as the on-call doctor examines her. “All right. He’s crowning,” he says. “I’m going to need you to start pushing.”

Hannah’s blue eyes widen in terror, but in that moment, all I feel is calm. It’s like in the middle of a game, when the crowd is screaming, but I hear and see nothing but the end goal. We’re almost there.

“It’s okay, baby. Squeeze my hand and push.”

She grinds her teeth, and I’m pretty sure she tries to break my hand, but she grunts through a push.

“Good job,” the doctor cajoles. “Just two more, and he’ll be out.”

“Fuck that,” Hannah mumbles. She squeezes my hand so tight it goes numb, and this time she roars through another push. And holy shit. There’s a whir of action in the room as they announce that he’s out. Because, of course, Hannah had to go and prove another man wrong.

At 2:08 a.m. on January eighth, I became a father. I have to wipe the tears from my eyes to get a good look at my son as the doctor places him on Hannah’s chest. After we’re given only seconds to meet him, the nurses whisk him away to clean him up, and Hannah squeezes my hand, her eyes tired and her cheeks streaked with tears.

“You did so good,” I murmur, brushing her hair from her face. I’ve never been more in love. More in awe. Just more. “I love you, dream girl.” I press my lips to hers. “I love you so goddamn much.”

She grips my shirt and holds me against her as we both cry, waiting for our son. The moment he’s returned to us, bundled up in a white blanket with blue and pink stripes, my heart expands. I was wrong when I said I’d never been more in love. Already, with my son in Hannah’s arms, it’s compounded. These two…they’re my entire world.

“We need a name.” Though her eyes are still filled with tears, she smiles up at me.

“I was thinking…”

Hannah kisses our sweet boy’s cheek. “Oh yeah?”

“I want to name him after you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “Your daddy has lost his ever-loving mind,” she says to the tiny bundle in her arms. “I think he needs some sleep. We can’t name our son, Hannah, baby.”

I brush my fingers against his cheek. He’s so soft. He’s got a full head of dark hair, just like Millie and me, and with any luck, his big blue eyes will remain that color, just like his mama’s. “Maverick.”

“Maverick?”

“Means independent. Unconventional. Mavericks don’t do what’s expected of them.” I meet her gaze. “And they’re maybe a little bit wild.”

She peers down at our boy again. “Maverick. What do you think, baby? You like that?”

Obviously he does absolutely nothing in response. Even so, we grin at one another like loons, and Hannah declares, “Maverick, it is.”

FORTY-SEVEN

DANIEL

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