Page 121 of Hooked On Them

“She’s still breathing, right?” Dominic’s voice was husky with exhaustion.

I glanced over to where he sat slumped in the visitor’s chair. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but I doubted he’d closed them for more than a minute since Sophie arrived.

“Still breathing.” I smiled at him. “Although I may have checked five times in the last ten minutes, so I can’t really judge.”

“I counted six times, actually.” Miles paced near the window, coffee cup in hand. His hair was sticking up in several directions, and he’d abandoned his suit for a T-shirt and jeans.

“You’re both amateurs.” Carter kicked his New Balance-clad feet up on the footrest of his chair. When he’d put them on, I just about killed him for making me laugh. “Professional parents check at least twelve times per hour. I read it in one of those books.”

“Since when are any of us professionals at this?” I snorted, then immediately regretted it as various body parts protested with a vengeance. Even my eyelids seemed to ache. “I think I need a nap. Dom, do you want to hold her again?”

His face lit up before immediately shifting to anxiety. “Are you sure? She looks comfortable.”

“She’s asleep. She’ll be comfortable anywhere.” I gestured him over.

That was all the invitation he needed. Dominic approached like he was walking on eggshells, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for her. For all his confidence on the ice, the man moved like a nervous teenager when it came to his daughter.

The first time he’d held her, right after birth, tears had streamed down his face as he’d whispered, “Hey there, Soph. I’m your daddy.” Now he cradled her against his broad chest with a reverence that made my heart twist. Sophie looked impossibly tiny against him, bundled in her hospital blanket.

“I still can’t believe she’s real.” His finger gently traced her cheek. “That we made her.”

A warm flush spread through me that had nothing to do with postpartum hormones. I was suddenly struck by how each of them had naturally fallen into their own roles since Sophie’s arrival. There was no chaos, no fumbling, just a flow as they gravitated to what needed doing.

As sleep began to tug at the edges of my consciousness, I watched through heavy lids as my three men bent their heads together over our daughter. Different as they were, they shared the same expression of wonder, the same protective curve of shoulders, the same gentle touch.

They had found me, or I had found them, or perhaps we had all found each other exactly when we needed to. I knew with absolute certainty that we belonged together.

They were mine, and I was theirs, and somehow, against all odds, we had become exactly what we were always meant to be.

A family.

Epilogue

One Year Later

Nora

One year. Somehow, we’d survived a whole year of parenthood, which felt like an achievement that deserved, at minimum, one of those overly dramatic slow-motion sports montages with inspirational music.

“Be honest, did I go overboard?” Carter appeared at my side, eyeing the backyard, which currently resembled what would happen if a pastel rainbow had an explosive disagreement with a party supply store.

“You mean the banner that requires its own zip code, or the cake that needs its own area code?” I nodded toward the monstrosity on the dessert table that was a three-tiered showstopper with a fondant bear in a tiny hockey uniform, complete with stick and puck.

“It’s minimalist.” Carter stuck out his bottom lip with the kind of wounded dignity only he could pull off. “The pastry chef wanted to add a working fondant scoreboard and actual ice.”

“Of course she did.” I patted his arm, feeling an overwhelming rush of affection for this ridiculous man who thought minimalist meant only three tiers. “It’s perfect. Sophie will never remember it, but the therapy bills from the sugar crash she has will ensure we do.”

Carter’s smile still made my heart do embarrassing spins. “Wait until you see what I have planned for her second?—”

“I’m going to need you to stop that sentence right there.” I pointed at him with the plastic cup of punch I’d been nursing. “Let me enjoy surviving year one before you start planning extravaganzas for year two.”

“No, Jeremy, glue doesn’t go in hair.” Josie’s patient voice carried across the yard as she rescued a small boy from what would have been a very sticky situation.

Josie was supervising Laney and several of the players’ children as they created sock puppets, though from this distance they looked more like creatures from a fuzzy horror movie.

My gaze drifted across the patio to the grill, where Dominic and my dad were engaged in what appeared to be a deeply serious conversation about burger-flipping technique. My dad had one hand on the spatula, demonstrating some sort of wrist action while Dominic watched with the concentration of a man studying rocket science.

My dad’s initial skepticism about our unconventional arrangement had gradually melted into acceptance, then enthusiasm. The first time he’d called all three men “my sons-in-law,” I’d nearly choked on my coffee.

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