Sobbing, she kisses his head, and my son calms in an instant.
Still working on the other side of the curtain, the OB congratulates us. There’s beeping, and the anesthesiologist checks something on the monitor and inserts a syringe into Aurora’s IV. The neonatal team waits to whisk Eli away, but Aurora and I are in a bubble. The world can fuck right off.
She stares at our son through tear-soaked lashes, searching his face. “He looks like you.” Her tone is slightly slurred and weak.
“He has your nose and lips. He’s beautiful. You did it, baby.” My chest swells with pride. “You fucking did it.” I kiss her temple, her hair, her forehead.
A different doctor—the pediatrician, I believe—clears his throat, hovering with the gentlest persistence. “Dad, we need to take him to the NICU now.”
I press my lips to the baby’s soft cheek. I don’t want to let him go. I don’t think he should leave my arms. They take him from me anyhow, and suffocation builds in my lungs. My gaze remains fixed on Eli as they lay him in the bassinet.
“Go with him, Ethan.” Aurora’s voice fades, and her eyelids slip closed.
I’m torn. I wish one of the other guys were here to stay with her.
The anesthesiologist reassures me she’s fine—her blood pressure spiked, and they’ve given her some medication. They’re finishing the surgery, and I’ll see her soon.
With a heavy heart, I listen to Aurora and follow the pediatric team through the swinging doors and down the corridor.
***
Reece
Jax stares at the door, his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled at his lips. He sits so close on the couch, his thigh is pressed to mine. He even rested his head on my shoulder a few times. Months ago, no one could touch him except Aurora. Now, he soaks up affection as if he’s starving.
I can empathize. Jax and I possess similar qualities. I hadn’t realized how alike we are until I came face-to-face with my fucked up family.
Meeting Lucas taught me to accept people I was conditioned to hate. Jackson showed me how to embrace my flaws and move forward. He never once gave me shit about my parents. He welcomed Harper and Danny without question. He could’ve been a dick to them to spite me, but he genuinely cares.
I put an arm around him and squeeze his shoulder. “Not much longer.”
We were safety-checked, tagged with bracelets to match the baby’s, and moved to a locked area near the NICU. That was over an hour ago, and Jackson has been coming out of his skin, alternating between pacing, questioning the nurses, and tearing up.
All we were told was Aurora was in recovery and the baby was in the NICU. If cleared by the doctor, he’d be able to stay with us in the specialized postpartum suite.
The door swings open, and a nurse wheels in a clear bassinet, Ethan close behind. He’s still in scrubs, his hair damp and tousled, his face tight with worry.
Jax leaps to his feet. I follow slowly, tilting my head to peer past them, searching for our girl. My stomach sinks. She’s still not here.
Ethan doesn’t wait for the bassinet to stop before he scoops up the fussing infant and cradles him to his chest. “Do either of you know if Aurora plans to bottle or breastfeed?”
“Both,” I answer. “So we can all bond with Eli.”
Jax leans into Ethan and gazes at the baby, his eyes glassy. He brushes a knuckle across the infant’s cheek. “He’s so tiny,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, a shaky breath escaping him.
Ethan’s nostrils flare.“Five pounds and eight ounces. His blood sugar is a tad low, but they won’t allow me to feed him without Aurora’s permission.” He shoots a harsh glare at the nurse, his jaw clenched.
Oh shit. Daddy mode has kicked in. Ethan is not about to let his son go hungry while Aurora recovers, and she’d want us to feed the baby.
“She plans to supplement with formula.” I slip my phone from my pocket. “She picked out a brand if needed. I have a picture.”
The nurse smiles politely. “That won’t be necessary.” After checking our bracelets, she retrieves a pre-made bottle.
Jax gives his boyfriend pleading eyes. “Can I feed him?”
“Of course.” Ethan’s expression softens. “Remove your shirt. The doctor said preemie babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact.”
Jackson yanks his shirt off, tosses it on the couch, and sinks into the recliner. Ethan carefully hands the infant over, and I help adjust the blanket. Eli releases a cute little cry and shoves his fist in his mouth. He’s so small; he looks barely bigger than my hand.
