Atticus stayed still, braced, letting her use him without question, exchanging a worried glance with Jericho. When it passed, he waited until her breathing evened before asking, “How far apart are your contractions?”
“Every fifteen minutes or so,” she said, inhaling deeply, then exhaling with a shaky sigh. She glanced up at him, then her eyes slid from him to Jericho.
“Why are you both all red and sweaty?” she asked, gaze narrowing.
“Why areyouall red and sweaty?” Atticus countered stupidly.
“I’m in labor,” she said dryly. “You?”
“Oh, Freckles was doing some heavy labor too,” Jericho offered with a smirk that absolutely did not help.
Atticus shot him a look, then turned his attention back to Cricket. “We need to get you inside. Is your midwife on the way?”
He didn’t release her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door. Walking would help this early on, he knew that, and he stayed close enough that she could lean into him whenever she needed. Theycrossed into the drop-zone between the garage and the house, the cold air biting at their flushed skin.
Cricket gave him an uneasy look. “I still haven’t heard from her. She said she was on her way, but now she’s not answering.”
“There are dead zones everywhere tonight,” Jericho said, falling into step on her other side. “Storm’s knocked out half the city. There’s a blackout too. Thomas already sent someone to grab the other kids.”
Atticus nodded, though unease curled tighter in his chest. He didn’t say it out loud, but his brain was already shifting gears, doctor mode snapping into place whether he wanted it to or not.
“Okay,” he said gently, squeezing Cricket’s shoulder. “We’ve got you. One step at a time.”
Behind them, the garage door finished closing with a dull, final thud, sealing away whatever calm existed before tonight officially became chaos.
“Your kid’s about to have more people attend his birth than Jesus,” Atticus said, shaking his head as they navigated another turn of the hallway, the sound of voices echoing faintly through the house.
“Good,” Cricket shot back. “Maybe one of them can deliver this baby if my midwife no-shows.”
Atticus arched his brow. “Iama medical doctor. I may not be an OB, but surely I’m more qualified to deliver my nephew than a twenty-five-year-old mechanic or a hair stylist.”
Cricket shrugged, still looking pale, one hand braced against the wall as they paused. “I just figured it was toomessy for you.”
“It’s not ideal,” Atticus admitted, “but I made it through an entire OB rotation. I can handle one night.”
Cricket patted his cheek, affection threaded through the exhaustion. “Thanks, Freckles.”
“Hello?” Jericho called once they reached the main portion of the house, his voice carrying easily through the open space.
“They’re upstairs,” someone answered.
Atticus frowned at the boy who’d spoken. He’d met him before. At least twice. Matty’s friend. His name started with a J. Jeremy? No—Jordan.
“Jordan, right?” Jericho asked.
Of course,heremembered.
The boy nodded. “Thomas and Aiden are in Cricket’s room. Matty took the kids to the nursery to play, to keep them out of their hair.”
“You didn’t go?” Jericho asked, his voice shifting into that tone, the one he used whenever a new kid drifted into the hostel by the garage. The one that saidyou’re safe talking to me.
Jordan grimaced slightly. “No offense, but growing up with five siblings made me kind of edgy around kids. Besides…,” he hesitated, “he should have some alone time with his… nieces and nephews?”
“Hi. Hello,” Cricket cut in. “Not to interrupt the bonding moment, but do you think someone could take me to my room?”
“Yes, right,” Jericho said quickly. “Let’s take the elevator up.”
As they moved, Atticus noticed Jordan lagging behind just astep, staring at Jericho with an expression Atticus recognized, but not in the way people usually looked at his husband.
