Page 85 of The Jackpot Screwer
She nodded and snuggled down under the blanket. I was pretty sure she was asleep before I’d even reached the door.
“Oh my God, he’s here,” Mom cried as I walked into the visitor’s room. “Tell us, is everything okay?”
Everyone gathered around me, but Mom and Darcy pushed them all out of the way to get closest to me. When I pulled my phone from my pants’ pocket Darcy shrieked like a teenage girl.
“You have a picture. Oh, my goodness.”
“Okay, honey,” Jim said, pulling her back against his chest. “Let Carter tell us all about it first.”
She grumbled under her breath at him, but I knew she meant nothing by it. They were back on track. Jim had been home a month and it had meant everything to Bronte that all was good between them again.
“Do I have a niece or nephew?” Ellie asked, leaning tiredly against Hunter.
“Please let it be a nephew.” Austen’s voice rumbled from behind her and I was surprised he was there, seeing as he no longer had to have a sitter and had been home alone. “It’s bad enough Mom insisted Dad come fetch me when I could have been sleeping, so please God I hope it’s not another girl to really top my night off.”
So, that explained that. I laughed and took a breath, looking at all the expectant faces staring at me.
“We have a son,” I rushed out. “He’s beautiful. A little tuft of blond hair, my eyes, Bronte’s mouth and nose and—”
“Does he have your winky, honey?” Mom asked in all seriousness. “Because I gotta say, you may have been covered in poop but your winky and cahoonas were pretty impressive for a newborn. Weren’t they, Henry?”
“Sure were. You were a Maples through and through.”
“I still am,” I protested. “And yes, my boy is packing, okay?”
Mom slapped my back. “I knew he would be. Anyway, less penis talk, we want a name and a picture.”
I rolled my eyes—she’d been the one who started the conversation.
“Yes, c’mon, buddy,” Hunter added. “What’ve you named him?”
“Baby,” Ellie cooed to him. “I’ve told you. It won’t be Hunter.”
She rubbed his chest as he pouted and I kind of wished I’d just stayed in the room with Bronte.
“Just tell them the name, Carter,” Austen groaned. “Then I can go home and back to bed.”
“Okay, he’s a strong little guy and we didn’t know when we both said we liked it, but this name means strong and fierce. I let Bronte pi—”
“Dude, really.” Austen sighed and slapped his forehead. “Just tell us, show us a picture and then go back to my sister.”
God, he was getting to be a little turd.
I pulled up the picture on my phone—my favorite. It was one Annalise took of the three of us. Bronte and I were gazing down at our son, while he looked right at the camera; already loving the limelight.
“This is my son, Everett Carter Maples. Weighing six pounds exactly and he came out screaming from what we hope are a good set of lungs.”
Everyone cooed and gushed how gorgeous he was, and I’d never felt prouder. I got slaps on the back and hugs and I knew that deep-down he was going to be okay. My son was perfect and even though he was early, he was a fighter and we would all be home together before long.
“Hey,” Hunt said. “Something I need to ask.”
I turned to him with a smile, thinking he was going to ask if he’d be Godfather. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Did he shit himself like his dad?”
I have no idea why everyone thought he was so damn funny—I thought he was a dick and no, he was not being Godfather.
It was time. We were going home with our baby.
