Page 36 of Crazy In Love
“I’m not unkind to him! I’m just…” Frantic, I search for the right word. “It’s a growth exercise.”
“You’re gracious,” he continues. “You’re silly and fun and smart. You’re all of the things I wish for my baby, so when Alana wanted to honor me and Franky and Chris with the first name and to honor you with the second, I couldn’t see a single reason to say no.”
“Hazel Fox.” I sniffle my tears back and steel myself, because I don’t dare blubber on a brand-new baby, but I can’t help the tremble of my jaw as I bring my arms up, nor my choked breath when he transfers her from his chest to mine. “Oh my gosh. Hazel Fox is a totally badass name.” I’m not nervous the way I was when Franky arrived. I don’t fear dropping her or panic at her floppy neck. I merely cradle her in my arm and slide the tips of my fingers over her rounded jaw. “She’s going to have an amazing life. I just know it.”
“Eight pounds.” Alana sighs, stroking Franky’s hair. “Nine ounces.”
“Chonky baby.” I bounce ever-so-gently, swaying just enough for my shoulder to brush Chris’ chest. “You grew to be nice and strong before you came outta your momma, huh? You knew you’d need that extra bulk for your first pro-fight.”
Snickering, Tommy claps Chris’ shoulder. It’s a brotherly thing, a hug and a hello. An ‘I’m glad you’re here’ and ‘I’m probably gonna lose my shit soon and need a cry. Wait around for me.’ “She arrived just after three o’clock. Which was the exact right time, because they were talking about surgery if she didn’t get her act together.”
Chris tenses behind me, his entire hulking frame hardening at my back. “It was getting dangerous?”
“It was getting tedious,” Tommy answers. “Alana was tired, and Ollie was worried because things weren’t progressing.”
“We were stuck at five centimeters for ages.” Alana lays back comfortably, pulling Franky against her side and combing her fingers through his hair. “I was ready to tear her out myself.”
“But then things happenedfast,” Tommy adds with a shrug. “Lana jumped from five centimeters to ten in a matter of minutes.”
“Hurt like hell,” she grumbles. “Like being tied to the back of a bus and dragged down Main Street.”
Horrified, Franky pushes up to his elbow. “Not really, though, right? You didn’t get dragged?”
“Not really.” She swipes her thumb beneath his eye, shifting his glassesand wiping moisture from the top of his cheek. “I just meant it hurt a bunch. But it was totally worth it, don’t you think?”
Chris steps around me, bristling and throbbing with anxiety, and crossing to the bed, he presses a long kiss to Alana’s forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“You weren’t worried, were you?” She squeezes his wrist, smiling up at herfirst-first baby. The one she had even before Franky. “Having babies is pretty safe nowadays. Hundreds are born every single minute.”
Shaking his head, he backs up and falls to the visitor’s chair with a harrumph. Tired, he opens his legs, tilts his head back, and though he tries so friggin’ hard not to, his eyes swing across to me and the baby.
He’s exhausted. But more than that, he’s sad.
His heart breaks for every moment I hold Hazel, and he doesn’t.
“I wasn’t worried,” he lies, peeling his eyes away and looking at Alana instead. “I was busy dealing with that menace over there and her terrible house manners.”
“She stole Chris’ fork,” Franky snitches proudly. “Even when he asked for it back. She took it and licked it, so then Chris ate with his hands.”
“Since when are we dirty little tattlers?” I roll my eyes and circle away from Tommy—breakinghisheart, too—then I saunter to the bed and lean close enough to kiss Alana’s cheek, just half an inch from her lips. “Congratulations, Momma. She’s the cutest little stinker you could have ever conjured.”
Her eyes glitter, emotion and exhaustion warring for dominance. “I think so, too.”
I turn quickly, catching Chris’ mean-man scowl just half a moment before he remembers to wipe his face clear, and because I know it would mean the world to him, I settle on the arm of his chair and offer the baby.
He startles and jerks up straight, flapping his hands because he has no damn clue what he’s supposed to do with them. “Wait, wait, wait, wait,” he panics. “I’m not ready.”
“Make a cradle.” I hold the baby in just one arm—horrifying, according to his expression—and use the other to position him correctly. Then I inch closer and gently place her against his chest. “See how she fits right there over your heart? She was made to fit exactly like that.”
“She’s so small.” His heart races visibly against the side of his neck and in the rapid lift and fall of his chest. His cheeks flush warm, which is oddly and annoyingly charming, and though his eyes remain glued to Hazel’s sweet face, he wiggles on his chair for a new, better, safer baby-holding position.
I’d hate to break it to him, but he’ll never find it. Because his discomfort isn’t a result of his butt or the chair. It’s him, freaking the hell out. “Holy shit,” he breathes, choking on a garbled laugh. He folds his legs, then unfolds. He tries again. Then straightens them out. “Hoooooly cow. Hi, Hazel. Hi.”
“She looks good on you, Uncle Chris.” I set my hand on his shoulder and earn a long, lazy grin from the man who looks damn good wearing one.He should try it more.
Confident his mom is okay, Franky slides off the bed until his feet touch the cold linoleum floor, then he wanders across and perches on Chris’ other side to finally take a peek at the little girl he’ll go to war for when he’s older.
So, while they’re busy, I push to my feet and crawl onto the bed instead.
