Cross-Checked (Boston Rebels #3)

AJ

Boston, MA

Nicholas

We’re dying out here without an update.

I glance at the text and sigh. I know they’re all out in the waiting room—Nicholas, Nicole, and by now, probably everyone who was with us up at the lake. I know they all want to be kept in the loop, just like I would be if I was out there. But I’m trying to stay focused on Lindsay and the birth of our babies.

AJ

They haven’t started the surgery yet. I promise I’ll text you once there’s any news.

Lindsay looks up at me, her eyes glassy as she squeezes my hand.

“It’s going to be fine,” I tell her. “You’re doing amazing.”

Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Are you guys doing okay?”

I glance at the doctors in surgical masks and caps standing on either side of her, talking to each other on the other side of the drape that’s blocking our view of her abdomen, and then over at Ronan, who’s trying very hard to not hover. With his huge frame, it feels like he takes up an inordinate amount of space in this small operating room.

“Yeah We’re just so grateful that we made it here in time, and that they let us both be present with you as planned.” I squeeze her hand, so appreciative that the hospital allowed us both to be here to witness the birth of our children, even though they normally only allow one support person during a C-section. “And I’m so proud of you that you carried both these babies for so long. I can never truly repay you.”

She huffs out a laugh, because we both know what we already paid her, and at twenty-seven it’s enough to set her and her young daughter up nicely. I’m so happy that we could help with that, given all that she’s giving us.

“I’m honestly really happy for you guys,” she says. “You’re going to make great parents—I mean, you already are great parents to Abby, but I’m so glad you get to give her two little sisters.”

I just gulp in response. I didn’t expect to grow so close to her throughout this process—I had no idea that, by the end of it, she and her daughter would feel like an extended part of our family.

“Okay,” a doctor says, looking over the small curtain draped between us and the operating area. “We’re going to begin. It’ll take me about ten to fifteen minutes to take both babies out, and they’ll go straight to the special care team,” he says and nods toward the corner where there are two incubators, and a team of three additional doctors and nurses, “to be checked over. If everything is okay, we’ll bring them over for skin-to-skin contact right away.”

Lindsay squeezes my hand so tightly my fingers ache. “Okay.” The word barely squeaks out through her clenched jaw.

“I’m going to need you to relax,” the doctor says.

“You’re about to cut me open,” Lindsay says, her voice tinged with panic.

“You’re not going to feel a thing, except maybe some pressure as we remove each baby. The best thing you can do for yourself and these babies is to stay calm and relaxed.”

Her shoulders loosen as she exhales, and she sinks back into the pillows behind her, looking more comfortable than she has since we entered the operating room. I figured for sure she’d be done with surgery before we arrived, but things have moved more slowly than I expected—which is a sign that she and the babies are not in any imminent danger.

Taking off from the lake in the tiny seaplane, flying low on our way to Boston, and landing in the Harbor before pulling up to a dock—I’m grateful that Jameson arranged that for us, but it’s an experience I’d prefer never to repeat.

I’m relieved that our nanny, who was already watching Lindsay’s daughter, was able to meet us and take Abby before we hopped in the town car Jameson had sent and sped off to the hospital.

If I’d realized that two hours after she called us, the surgery would just be starting, I would have preferred to drive. But we’re here, and everyone’s okay, and that’s all I can ask for.

I spend the next ten minutes talking quietly to Lindsay, telling her she’s doing amazing, and trying not to peer over the curtain to see what’s going on. Ronan, on the other hand, keeps lifting his head to peek, and then turning away from us—probably so that Lindsay can’t see him grimace.

And when I hear the first newborn cry, I let out a sob of relief. There are tears running down Lindsay’s face as the surgeon holds up our first baby and confirms we have a girl.

My body folds over, my head resting on Lindsay’s shoulder as we both let the tears fall, and Ronan reaches under the operating table and grabs my free hand, giving it a squeeze.

Only minutes later, the surgeon is holding up our second baby, confirming it’s another girl. We watch the nurse cut the cord before they hand her over to the team of specialists, and that’s when I see the tears under his eyes as well. My big, gruff softie of a husband is moved to tears by the birth of his children, and I don’t think my heart will ever recover from the sight. I didn’t think I could love this man more, yet here we are.

He takes Lindsay’s other hand and all three of us are linked together as we listen to the glorious sound of two newborn babies crying as the doctors finish closing Lindsay up.

I know there will be days in our future where I’ll not be overjoyed by the sound of our babies crying. But in this moment—knowing that we have two girls breathing on their own—the sound is a miracle I’m immensely thankful for.

When the nurses bring the girls over, allowing us a few minutes with them before they’re taken to the NICU, I’ve never known such relief or gratitude.

As we unwrap their blankets and hold them against our chests, trying to give them as much skin to skin contact as the scrubs will allow, I watch my daughter snuggle into me and look up with her big eyes and impossibly long lashes that remind me of my husband’s. And then I lean toward Ronan, trying to get a good look at our other daughter.

“I’m shocked how much they look alike,” I say. “I mean, for fraternal twins, I’m not sure I can tell them apart.”

“Did you finalize the names?” Lindsay asks.

“Yeah,” Ronan says, with a small smile gracing his lips. “We’re calling them Waverly and Willow.”

“God these things are heavy,” I grunt as we walk down the hall toward our condo, each of us with a baby car seat in our hands, me with a diaper bag over my other shoulder and Ronan carrying Abby with his other arm.

“This is nothing. Just wait until they weigh twenty-five pounds each.”

“That’s when you’ll be carrying them both,” I say as I enter the code to our condo on the keypad.

I push the door open and am shocked to hear a loud chorus of voices calling out, “SURPRISE!” As I spin to look back at Ronan, he has a big smile on his face.

“You knew about this?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, like he’s not even carrying a baby in his hand. “Someone had to give them the code to get in.”

We’re greeted by all of our friends and family, everyone thrilled to witness the first time we walk through that door as a family of five. The past two and a half weeks with our babies in the NICU has been a bit of a blur. There were moments of panic, like when Willow stopped breathing, and moments of triumph, like when both girls were eating enough to regain their birth weight and we were finally allowed to bring them home.

Jules offers everyone food and drinks, our babies are passed around and admired, and little kids run through our house chasing each other. I look around at the chaos of our family—Nicholas and Nicole, Sloane and her girls—and our friends who have become family, and I almost weep with gratitude.

Were there really years and years of me walking through my own front door, met with nothing but silence and a cat who only hissed at me? Where my new place felt so little like a home that I didn’t even bother to unpack my moving boxes? Where I worked eighteen hour days to fill the aching loneliness in my chest, convincing myself that work was all I needed?

I look around at our place, the toys scattered around and baby swings against one of the living room walls, all the kids running around shrieking in happiness, and all the adults who have become family smiling and laughing. It’s no wonder this is the first place that has ever felt like “home” for me.

“What is that look?” Ronan asks as he sidles up beside me, sliding his arm around my lower back and wrapping his fingers against my hip as he presses his lips to the top of my head. I love the way this man can’t keep his hands and his lips off me. I wish we hadn’t wasted so many years pushing each other away, and at the same time, I recognize that we met each other halfway once when we were both ready.

“Just thinking how perfect this all is.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

I glance up at him. “Are you happy?”

“Alessandra,” he says, those green eyes glinting as he stares down at me. “I didn’t even know this kind of happiness existed.”

I rest my cheek against his shoulder. “Me either.”

“I have one more small surprise for you,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you now, or wait until the spring, but Audrey and Jules convinced me that you’d want to know.”

My head snaps up to look at him again. “Yes?”

“Uhh . . .” He pulls his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. “I sort of bought a house.”

I pull away, spinning to face him. “You sort of bought a house? Without even talking to me about it? We just remodeled this place, I don’t want to move.”

He holds the phone out and I’m stunned at the picture on the screen. I recognize this view. It’s the same one I saw every time we returned to the dock after a day on Lake Winnipesaukee this summer. “This is the house on the other side of Drew and Audrey’s.”

“Yeah.”

I look up at him, my mouth hanging open. “You bought a lake house?”

“Yeah.”

I flip through a few more pictures on his phone. “It looks like it needs a lot of work.”

“It does, but it’s mostly cosmetic.”

“Why didn’t you ask me first?” I’m not mad, per se. But I am trying to figure out why he’d do something as huge as buy a lake house without talking to me about it—that’s not the kind of relationship we have. Normally, we run everything by each other.

“Because I went to see it the last morning we were at the lake?—”

“When you went to the ‘marina’ with Drew?”

“Yeah. And then everything happened so quickly with Lindsay and the babies, and I knew you weren’t in the headspace to make a decision about it.” He pauses and lets out a small chuckle. “I probably wasn’t either. But I knew that we’d regret not buying it, because the years of enjoyment we’ll get out of spending time up there with our friends and family will far outweigh the initial headache of the renovations.”

“I can’t even think about renovations right now,” I say, shaking my head.

“You don’t have to. Jules and Audrey are going to help with it.”

“What? Audrey’s about to have her third kid!”

“She said she can fit in drawing up the plans before she’s due. And Our House can’t do the renovation, but Jules said she’s happy to consult with the contractor I’m going to hire.”

“But . . .” I stumble over what to say next. With two new babies and hockey season starting up, I don’t have the capacity to be involved in this. Then again, neither does he.

“But you want a say,” he says, as he looks down at me knowingly. “It’s your house, Alessandra. You should be as involved in this as you want to be.”

I sigh. “What if we spend a little time in the evenings when the kids are in bed coming up with some inspiration photos, and then we can pass those off to Audrey to see what she comes up with. I’m going to want a say in the finishes, too. But all of that is probably months away. We’ll be in the thick of it then.” I already feel overwhelmed at the thought of adding this to our plate.

“Just think, though . . . when we’re traveling during the season, we won’t have kids with us. Our nights will be ours. We’ll have time to make these kinds of decisions then. We can put together mood boards and hire a designer to work with the contractor and make sure everything’s how you’ll want it.”

I lean toward him, like I always do, and he meets me halfway, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against his chest. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“For what? Adding stress to your life?” His chest shakes with quiet laughter.

“For not letting us pass up this opportunity. You’re right. In the end, we’ll be so happy to have that house. To have the time up at the lake with the kids and with our friends. God, I love it up there.”

“We’re going to have decades up there together. Summers. Maybe holidays if we want. Eventually, when I’m not playing hockey, we can go up in the winters and the kids can learn to ski. They can skate on the lake. We can set up a hockey rink out there in the depths of winter.”

“And where will I be during this? Still traveling with the team?”

“If you want. Or maybe, eventually, you’ll want to retire too?” The sound of hope in his words has me tilting my head back to look up at him.

“What if I’m not ready to retire?”

“You’re not. But someday you will be. We’ve got years before our kids are ready for winter sports. And if at that point you still want to work, that’s what we’ll do. But if you want to retire, then we’ll do that.”

“I can’t imagine not working.”

“Which is how you know it’s not time. But eventually, we’ll see.” He shrugs. “Maybe you’ll want to do this forever. Maybe you won’t. Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Whatever we want,” I clarify. “We’ll figure out what’s best for our family, together.”

“Like we always do.” He leans down to kiss my forehead and I relax into him.

I don’t know what I did—what we did—to get so lucky. We’ve worked hard at our relationship, at keeping things fresh and fun even though we work and live together. But there’s no doubt in my mind that somehow, somewhere, the universe gave us a little push that brought us together and made this all possible—this family I always wanted, and the friends who surround us, lifting and supporting each other along the way.