Page 121 of Code Violation

Early August

I’d read more baby books than I could count and attended so many birthing classes with Vesper that we could run our own meeting at this point.

But no chapter—or human—could have prepared me for that moment when the midwife passed me my child.

Their tiny feet and fingers, the way they smelled like heaven. When Alfie first opened his blue eyes, I had to take a seat in the corner of the delivery room because this six-foot-five hockey player was seconds away from losing his balance.

Overwhelming doesn’t cover it.

The stress you feel as a man, watching the woman you love fight through the worst pain imaginable, is a new level of torture, and we aren’t even the ones giving birth. If I could’ve done it all for Vesper, then I’d have been on that bed in a heartbeat.

Not that she would’ve let me take over, even if it was a viable option. My girl is too fiercely stubborn for that.

“Are you ready to go home, Alfie?” I ask my seven-pound, three-ounce son as I rock him in my arms, praying he’ll stay calm for a few more minutes so his mommy can rest a while longer.

Yesterday was wild and frantic. Today, we hope to take him home to a serene environment, away from beeping machines and bright fluorescent lighting. Now I have the family I always wanted but never had, and I get to look after them forever.

“Your grandma would be so freaking proud of you,” I say, sliding my pointer finger into his tiny palm.

He gently closes his fingers around it, and I can’t help but stare at the mass of black hair peeking out the sides of his light-blue bonnet.

I knew he would end up with his mom’s eyes and hair, but I never expected him to be her image. He’s fucking perfect.

“Si?” Vesper’s soft groan steals my attention, and I look up to find her arranging the pillows behind her back.

“Wait, hang on,” I say, standing with Alfie and walking across the room to her bed.

I lower Alfie into his bassinet and go about plumping up Vesper’s pillows.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” she asks, her voice still hoarse from the birth yesterday. A fourteen-hour labor that ended in a forceps delivery and stitches.

My fucking heroine.

Reaching out, I slide the black strap that’s slipped down her shoulder back where it belongs.

“Is that even a question?” I reply, rounding the bed and coming to sit behind her.

She tips her chin over one shoulder, a question in her eyes when I pull the black scrunchie from her hair and loop it over my wrist.

“What are you doing?” she asks, collecting Alfie in her arms so she can feed him.

“Right now?” I sigh. “Trying not to be jealous.” I tip my chin at my son as she releases the clip on one of her straps and Alfie begins feeding.

Vesper tosses her head back, laughing, and I take advantage of the moment by setting a kiss against her forehead.

When she pulls her head up, I run my fingers through her hair. It grew so much while she was pregnant, and it’s really thick and shiny.

“Silas,” she says anxiously, “what are you doing?”

Pulling my phone from my jeans pocket, I unlock it and quickly research the best way to braid a girl’s hair.

Seems simple enough.

Picking up Vesper’s black brush from the side table next to me, I watch her shoulders relax when I begin combing.

“How did you know this was what I needed?” she asks.

I shrug even though she can’t see me, sectioning her hair into three parts. “Because you’ve always taken care of yourself, and just because you’re a mommy now doesn’t mean all that has to change.” I gather the hair covering her left ear into my hand and whisper into the shell, “But you’re going to need help managing everything, Ves, and I want you to let me be your extra pair of hands. We’re a team, remember?”