BABIES AND BLUEPRINTS
Archer
Archer Bellamy: Man of the world.
Bank Account: Millions.
Heart: Broken.
Click my profile if you dare.
I’ll break yours too.
“He’s lighter than I expected.”I kept my voice down, afraid the baby would wake and go off like a live grenade. My forearms shook with seven pounds and three ounces of baby love in them. He couldn’t be any more pink and perfect.
Maisy smiled from the hospital bed, cheeks flushed. Motherhood looked good on her. “That’s because you’ve been lifting heavy rolls of blueprints for the last decade, Archer.”
“I’ll have you know we design digitally now.” I stared down at the little face swaddled in a white blanket patterned with tiny blue footprints. He slept, totally unfazed by me.
“Brooks still teaches his students to design with blueprints,” she countered.
“Because my brother is old school.”
“Who are you calling old? I simply respect classic architecture and think my students should, too.” Brooks stood at the foot of the bed, so protective of his loved ones.
That face of his I’d only seen twice before—on the day he married Maisy and the day their first child came squalling into the world. The look said he would fight any enemy for his growing family.
It also said:I haven’t slept in nineteen hours and I would kill for an espresso.
The babe made a fist the size of my thumb knuckle and punched the air. “Whoa. Violent. Clearly, he takes after his Uncle Tucker. Speaking of, is he coming out to visit our nephew soon?”
“He and Whitney called to congratulate. He’ll be in town next week when the Vipers play New York,” Maisy supplied. Our hockey playing brother already had four kids of his own with Whitney in L.A., so to him seeing a newborn was nothing new. To me, a wonder.
“So I’m the first uncle to see him, which means we’ve imprinted. I’ll be the greatest hero to both your kids.”
“Careful of the baby’s head, Arch.” The overprotective father warned.
“Don’t worry. I babysat Wren countless times, and look how she turned out, the smartest toddler ever.” I ticked my chin toward the baby. “So are we going to keep calling him ‘the baby’ or have you chosen to make my life complete by naming him after me?”
Maisy’s eyes watered. “We did think about you.”
“We were thinking Everett.” Brooks’ mouth pulled to one side.
I only teased, but the fact they were considering my middle name thrummed in my chest like someone plucked a string. “Everett.”
Maisy repeated quietly, “Everett Oliver Bellamy.”
Oliver, for her dad, no doubt. Dr. Oliver Calhoun had passed long before she met Brooks. As for Everett… My throat worked, and I stared hard at the sleeping infant so my eyes wouldn’t give me away.
“The name sounds like an extremely smart geek who’ll spend way too much time in the library instead of playing sports, and hold dangerous opinions about the future of technology.”
“Archer!” Maisy laughed and then winced and pressed a hand low on her stomach.
“Are you okay?” Brooks moved instantly, a palm to her shoulder, the other reaching for the nurse’s call button. That was my brother—always ready to push buttons for the woman he loved.
“I’m fine. Everything’s shifting back into place.” With her hand still on her torso, she tilted her head for him to kiss it. “Everett seems to like you, Arch. No crying so far.”
“Excellent taste runs in the family.” A strange feeling braided behind my ribs. “He’s going to get beaten up in the eighth grade, you know.”
