Page 125 of Alpha's Redemption

“You could have named the last one, but we would need to make it match my chosen middle name. That’s what I’m having trouble with-a name to go with the middle name,” Valen tells me, and I narrow my eyes at him accusingly.

“You'll like the names, I promise,” he says, smiling slyly.

ChapterFifty-Six

Valen

We’re finally going home, and I’m beside myself with panic. I think this is the slowest I’ve ever driven in my life. Cars are honking their horns behind me and I glare at the driver in my mirror. Does he not see the ‘baby on board’ sticker?

“Valen 45 miles per hour is already too slow for this strip. You're doing 20 under,” Everly hisses at me as cars overtake me.

“We have fragile cargo in the car. What if their little heads wobble?” Just saying that has me reducing my speed more. It isn't worth the risk!

“We’re more likely to get hit with you going this slow,” Everly scolds, and I sigh. “I'm serious, Valen. Speed up or let me drive. They're more durable than you think.”

“They’re newborns!” I catch Everly rolling her eyes.

“I get this is your first newborn and you want to wrap them in cotton wool, but seriously, they’re durable, geez. Valarian fell off the bed once, screamed his damn head off, but he’s perfectly fine,”

“You dropped him off the bed?” I ask, horrified.

“No! Of course not! He rolled off. Damn near had a heart attack.” She laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” I ask, outraged. She’s not holding them if she’s going to drop them.

“Nothing. Just something your mother said when she raced to our room because I was screaming like a banshee thinking I killed him.”

“What did she say?” I asked, curious.

“I told her what happened, and her reply was ‘He's screaming, he's fine. It's when they don't make noise that you worry’.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “How old was he?”

“Six months old. Don't even get me started on how many times I smacked the kid's head on the door frame lifting him into his car seat. He turned out perfectly fine,” she states, while all I can think is how the heck my son is still alive? He should have brain damage with all these bumps to the head.

“Perfectly fine? The kid has OCD. See what dropping him did?”

Everly sighs and shakes her head. “I wonder where he gets that from. I bet the entire house is baby proofed,” she taunts.

“OCD is not genetic,” I tell her.

“I would debate otherwise,” she retorts.

“And I don't have OCD,” I argue.

“So you didn't babyproof the entire place?” she scoffs, and I swallow.

“Of course not!” I tell her, opening the mind-link. She shakes her head and peers out the window.

‘What's up?’Marcus asks. He’s watching Valarian for me since I couldn't fit everyone in the car.

‘All the baby proofing stuff—hide it. Undo it. I need to prove to Everly I don't have OCD. She thinks I’m OCD,’I scoff.

‘Ah, but you do have OCD,’Marcus replies and I bite back the urge to growl at him.

‘No, I don't! Just do as I ask, damn it. I’m five minutes out.’

‘On it,’Marcus says, and I cut the link.

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