For a heartbeat, his breath caught—the familiar weight of an infant in his arms, the trust in her little grip. As Anna blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes, his chest tightened. He’d avoided holding babies since?—
He severed the thought and forced himself to focus on his niece, who gurgled and reached for his face with her tiny, perfect fingers.
Dragging in a bracing breath, he carried her to the changing table. “I know I’m not Grandma Grace. But unlike your Uncle Matt, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m admittedly rusty, but I know the routine… Wet diaper off, wipies everywhere, clean diaper on, then snap the onesie back in place. See, I can do this.”
The motions came easily—like riding a bike. When he lifted her again, Anna’s tiny fist gripped his shirt and she curled up against his chest, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his.
He eased into the rocking chair and fell into the gentle sway of the glider, cradling her protectively in his arms.
Anna’s downy hair tickled his neck as she settled against him, trusting and perfect. He breathed in that sweet baby scent—powder and milk and innocence. This he remembered. And to his shock, he’d actually missed these tender moments.
Seth closed his eyes and began humming some half-forgotten lullaby. Whether he meant to calm her or himself, he wasn’t sure.
As he carried the tune, he stared down at her, so small, so fragile. He held her safety, her existence, in his hands.
The realization was both humbling and terrifying.
She cooed, her little legs pumping. And he froze. Tristan had babbled these same sounds, made the same motions.
As memories slammed into Seth, his world tilted sideways.
Suddenly, he was in the past, his three-month-old son falling asleep in his arms after a 2 a.m. feeding, exhaling that same contented sigh. Giving him that same unguarded trust.
A week later, Tristan had burned alive in his car seat.
Seth’s breath stuttered. Sweat broke out across his back. He tightened his grip on Anna as his heart hammered against his ribs—right where her tiny body pressed against him, warm and alive and so goddamn vulnerable.
He forced himself to breathe.
Jesus christ, what the hell was he doing? He couldn’t even hold his niece without freaking out, yet he’d sworn to Beck and Heavenly that he was ready to start a family. He’d stripped off his condom, buried his cock inside Heavenly, and convinced himself his choice meant he’d healed. That plowing ahead was the same as being emotionally prepared for the consequences.
But sitting here, holding Anna, feeling her absolute trust and fragility, he knew the truth he’d been avoiding. He wasn’t ready—not even close. He hadn’t been honest with them. Hell, he’d even fucking lied to himself.
All that crap about working through his fears, about choosing their future over his past—it had been well-meaning lies. Bullshit. He hadn’t worked through a fucking thing. He’d shoved his terror into a box, slammed the lid shut, and hoped that by the time Heavenly handed him their newborn, he’d magically be ready.
That sounded logical…but it was unrealistic as hell.
The terror was still there, just as vicious as it had ever been. Maybe worse, because now he knew what it meant to lose everything.
What if Heavenly was already pregnant? What if, right now, their baby was growing inside her? The thought that should have filled him with joy made him break out in a nervous sweat.
Anna stirred in his arms, her tiny hand flexing against his chest. Seth looked down at her happy face. She was so perfect. So innocent. She had no idea that the man holding her was a fucking coward who couldn’t protect the people he loved. Who’d gotten his wife and son killed because he’d been too arrogant, too reckless, too convinced of his own invincibility.
What the hell are you going to do?
The question ricocheted around his skull, brutal and unforgiving.
He couldn’t tell Beck and Heavenly that he was having second thoughts, that he’d committed to starting a family before he was ready, that the thought of being a father again scared the fuck out of him. They’d waited for him to get his shit together. Beck had drawn a line in the sand. Heavenly had walked away. They’d barely given him one last chance, and he’d promised he was all in. But what else could he have done? Losing them would destroy him.
And what would having a baby do?
If he didn’t want to lose them, he only had one option: figure out how to get over this shit before their baby arrived. Force himself past this terror—somehow. Fake it until it became real. He’d white-knuckle his way through Heavenly’s pregnancy and delivery, and when they put that baby in his arms, he’d scrape together the will to be the father they needed him to be.
Even if the fear never left. Even if every moment was hell. Even if he had to pretend for the rest of his fucking life.
The familiar sound of the front door shutting jolted him back to the present. Anna squealed as Seth stood, his legs unsteady, and carried her downstairs, projecting a calm he didn’t feel.
“Hi.” Grace set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “When did she wake up?”
