“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me.”
And just like that, no one argued.
Cricket looked down at her son, love bleeding from her eyes. It softened the hard edges of the room instantly.“He’s fine,” she said. “The girls are going to want to be here when their brother is born anyway just like they were with Allister.”
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t try to deliver the baby,” August said ruefully.
“Speaking of, I’m gonna go check on our kids,” Jericho said.
Atticus turned to follow. “I’ll go with you.” He glanced back at Cricket. “Have someone come get me if you need me for anything.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Freckles.”
Atticus dipped his head in return. He used to hate the nickname, loathed it even. At least on anyone but Jericho’s lips. Now it tugged something warm and grounding out of him, even now.
“Weeeee’re heerrrrreeee,” someone shouted from the bottom of the staircase.
Levi? Nico? It was one of them. The sound carried with it the unmistakable energy of their older children, like a pressure change before a storm.
Matty caught Jericho’s eye from the door leading to the children’s wing. “Are you gonna be here for a few minutes? I—Uh—I just want to go check on Jordan.”
“Yeah, we’ve got them,” Jericho assured him.
The playroom was utter chaos.
Jett and Jagger hurled foam blocks at each other with wild abandon while Ari and Adi launched oversized Squishmallows at Oscar, West, and Theo, knocking them down like bottles at the county fair. Every time the boys hit the ground, theydissolved into helpless giggles before scrambling back up and sending the plush missiles flying back.
“Hi, Daddies!” Jett called.
“Hello, littles,” Atticus said, his voice automatically shifting into that softer register he reserved just for them.
“We made cookies!” Jagger announced proudly.
Jericho took in their red-and-green-streaked fingers and faces. Their shirts were a crime scene. “Did any of the icing make it onto the cookies?”
Jagger narrowed his eyes in a way that looked so much like Jericho that Atticus had to bite back a smile. “Are you bein’ sarcastic?”
Atticus scooped him up, hugging him close. He smelled like sugar, vanilla and sweaty baby. The embrace lingered just long enough for Jagger to start squirming.
“Ignore him,” Atticus said. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“I’m very funny,” Jericho said. “Hilarious, even.”
Atticus set Jagger back on his feet, and the boy immediately darted back into the fray, joining the Squishmallow dodgeball game without missing a beat, his brother following a moment later.
Atticus found a spot against the wall, safely out of the line of fire, and sat down. Jericho joined him, shoulder brushing his. Without thinking, Atticus dropped his head gently against Jericho’s.
“Feeling sentimental, Freckles?” Jericho asked.
“They’re getting so big,” Atticus said quietly. “I miss when they were little. When they wanted to be carried everywhere. All the time.”
“Really?” Jericho asked.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Atticus said.
Jericho huffed out a soft laugh. “A little. You were so squeamish about having kids. Now you’re missing the stickiest part?”
Atticus watched the kids play, eyes tracking the familiar chaos. “Don’t you?”
