Page 119 of Play the Game
Evan turns to look at me, her eyes bouncing between mine. “I want to be,” she says, and her eyes widen a little as if she’s surprised by her own admission. “I want to learn how to be.”
“Together,” I say, kissing her softly, my heart squeezing at the vulnerability in her tone. “We’ll learn together.”
Evan nods, turning back around to look down at our daughter.
Our daughter.
I’m a dad.
As I reach back around to cup my hand over Evan’s on the back of the baby’s head, I watch her tiny mouth open in a yawn and her eyes start to droop closed, and I know that I am exactly, perfectly, where I am supposed to be.
“She needs a name,” Evan murmurs, her gaze still locked on the baby.
I nod in agreement. “She does. Got any ideas?”
Evan turns to look at me. “Me?”
My lips turn up at the corners as I press a kiss to her forehead. “You grew the baby, Ev, and made every single inch of her with your own body. She’s your masterpiece. I think naming rights belong to you.”
Evan smiles, turning back to study the baby. “I know what it should be.”
“Do tell, Rhodes.”
When she says the name, my chest warms, and I could swear I feel a little click deep inside me—the missing piece of a puzzle sliding into place, the final brushstroke of a flawless painting. A really beautiful life, exactly as it should be.
Tightening my arms around my girls, I laugh at the joy of it all.
“So that’s a yes to the name?” she asks, tipping her head back to look at me, humor in her tone.
I lean down and kiss her, long and slow. “That’s a one million percent yes. It’s absolutely perfect.”
CHAPTER FORTY
EVAN
“Where are my girls?”
I hear Cece before I see her, laughing as her booming voice echoes off the walls of the maternity floor. The baby startles at my sudden noise, her arm flailing up and her tiny body jerking slightly. Rubbing my hand over her back to settle her, I talk quietly into her ear, inhaling her new baby smell. I never thought I would be the kind of person who thinks a new baby smells amazing, but it turns out I kind of am. I am also the kind of person who is utterly freaked out by the idea of nursing and am grateful beyond measure for the very kind nurse who assured me that fed is best and told me to feed my baby in whatever way feels right to me.
I think this is what balance feels like.
“That’s your great-grandma Cece,” I whisper. “She does what she wants to do and goes where she wants to go, and if she wants to yell on a maternity floor at ten o’clock at night, you better believe that’s exactly what’s going to happen. She’s an absolute icon. She’s also one of the best people I know. Your dad’s whole family is. You’re lucky to have them.”
“We’relucky to have them,” Cooper says from his perch on the side of the bed, his gaze drifting between the baby and me with a soft smile on his face. He hasn’t moved from my side in the five hours since the baby was born or taken his eyes off of either of us. “They’re your family too.” He reaches out and strokes a gentle hand over the baby’s hair, then tangles his hand with mine as if he’s still trying to convince himself that this is all real. That we’re here. Together. A family.
I think maybe I’m trying to convince myself too.
This is all a little surreal.
I should be exhausted. It feels like a million years ago that I woke up with what I thought were practice contractions. A thousand years since I reamed out that lawyer for coming in with an unprepared client. A hundred years since I quit my job and had a baby two and a half hours later.
It feels like a different life. Like all of those things happened to someone else.
Like I gave birth to my daughter, and I became someone new, too.
I’m me, but also not.
It’s a mindfuck, but I’m not entirely sure it’s a bad one.
