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Aunt Joe rolls her eyes as she pats his back. “Pretty sure it’s a mixture of both our names. So, shrink that fat ass head of yours.”
“Y’all didn’t know?” Bash pipes up, like it was no big secret. I had been trying for months to get Evie to tell me her name and she’d skirt around it.
At the same time, Charlie’s small voice breaks through, “How’s my mama?”
“Your mama’s doing great,” I answer, the warmth of reassurance steady in my voice. “You’ll get to see her shortly.”
Knowing Evie needs time to rest, we decide not to overwhelm her with the entire crew at once. So, naturally Maggie and the boys head back first.
I sink down into the chair, the cool plastic pressing against my skin, and almost immediately Dallas sidles up beside me. His presence is quiet but steady. “So, how was it, Louis?” he asks, eyes bright with curiosity.
I offer a tired smile, the mix of emotions still swirling in my chest. “Terrifying, exciting, and anxious—all rolled into one.”
His brilliant blue eyes lock onto mine, shimmering with a teasing light. “Did you know they were naming her after you?”
“No, I didn’t,” I admit, my voice soft.
“Well, thank God they stuck with Lou and not Louisiana.” He smirks, a crooked grin playing at the edges of his mouth.
“Yeah, thank fuck for small miracles, kid,” Mercy chimes in from his spot near my sister and Allie, his voice warm and easy.
Too drained to shoot back a witty comeback, I simply hum my agreement, leaning my head onto Henry’s strong shoulder. His hand, warm and steady, slides down to wrap around my thigh, grounding me. Shortly after, a small, soft head settles into my lap, a tiny arm curling around my waist, anchoring me in this fragile, perfect moment.
“Wildflower, come on, sleepyheads—it’s our turn.”
Henry’s gravel-rich voice rumbles through the haze of sleep, low and warm, tugging me gently back to consciousness. The weight of exhaustion still clings to my limbs, but the sound of his voice—steady, familiar—grounds me like sunlight cracking through morning fog.
Dallas stirs beside me, his grip around my waist loosening as he shifts, still half-asleep. Henry leans down in front of us, blocking the soft glow of the hallway light, and there’s nothing but love carved into the lines of his face—quiet, steady, and so achingly tender it makes my chest tighten.
“This is a nice view to wake up to, Henny,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep as I reach up and trail my fingers down the ink winding along his neck.
He gives me one of those rare, almost bashful smiles—the kind that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle—and gently urges us up. “Come on, wildflower,” he says, voice gravel-low.
The second we step into the room and Henry lays eyes on Maddox cradling that tiny pink bundle, it’s like the air shifts. His whole face transforms—lit up with a fierce, unshakable pride that damn near bowls me over. He beams at his brother like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and for a moment, there’s nothing else in the world but that look.
He crosses the room without hesitation, placing a steady hand on Maddox’s shoulder. His voice cracks just a little when he says, “You did it, Maddy. She’s precious.”
Maddox, still holding his entire world in his arms, just nods—eyes glassy, jaw tight, heart wide open.
Dallas leans over carefully, eyes wide with wonder as he stares at the tiny bundle in Maddox’s arms. “She’s so small,” he whispers, voice full of awe.
“If you wash your hands, you can hold her,” Evie calls gently from where she’s propped up on the hospital bed, her voice still hoarse with exhaustion but filled with warmth.
Dallas whips his head toward Maddox, eyes round. “I can?”
Maddox nods, smiling. “Absolutely.”
I swear I’ve never seen two people move so damn fast. Dallas and Henry scramble to the sink like it’s a race, scrubbing their hands with the kind of urgent energy usually reserved for high-speed chases.
“That was only sixteen seconds,” Henry mutters.
“It was twenty, I counted,” Dallas shoots back.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Shut up and dry your hands,” I say, smiling despite myself.
