Chapter 31 Brooks
Brooks
“Well, that was fun,” Dani rasped, her voice wrecked but wry. “But I’d rather not do it again.”
Her head lolled back against the hospital pillow, her hair damp with sweat. In her arms was the tiniest, most perfect girl I had ever laid eyes on—well, tied for first. Pink cheeks, green eyes, and a head full of dark hair already escaping her custom, knitted Roasters hat.
Our baby.
I huffed a laugh, my chest too full to manage anything more. “You were incredible, kitten,” I said, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. “Absolutely fucking incredible.”
She tilted her head enough to meet my eyes. “I had a lot of help.”
I swallowed hard, brushing a thumb down her cheek.
Truth was, I hadn’t done a damn thing compared to her.
Sure, I’d held her hand, barked at a few nurses, whispered every encouragement I could think of.
But the real work? That had been all her.
Nine plus hours of sweat, pain, and grit as she pushed our girl into the world.
And she’d done it with a strength that made me fall in love with her all over again.
“Help?” I said, shaking my head. “Dani, I just sat there like a useless fool while you did the impossible. You carried her. You brought her here. That was all you.”
Her lips curved, tired but sharp as ever. “Uh-huh. And now you’re stuck loving me even after seeing my vagina turn into a crime scene.”
I barked out a laugh, startled and hoarse. “Jesus, kitten.”
“You are still gonna love it, right? Even after . . . all that?”
My chest tightened, and I bent closer, letting my lips graze her ear. “Kitten, I’d build a shrine to your pussy if I thought the hospital would let me.”
Her tired laugh caught, broke, then melted into a grin that hit me harder than any foul ball.
The sound quieted, leaving just the steady beep of the monitors and the soft squeak of the baby shifting in her arms. I let my forehead rest against Dani’s, reminding myself for the umpteenth time today that she was safe, our baby was safe, and I was the luckiest bastard in the world.
“She’s beautiful,” Dani whispered, her voice cracking on the word.
My throat closed as I looked at her. I’d bet my left nut that every parent thought their kid was the most beautiful baby in the world.
The difference was, they were all wrong.
Because this one, our girl with her scrunched-up nose and perfect little fists, she was the real deal. And she’d gotten it all from her mama.
I brushed a kiss across Dani’s damp temple, my voice rough with conviction. “Sorry, but it’s official. Every other parent’s been lying to themselves. Ours is the reigning champ.”
Dani huffed a soft, watery laugh. “Coach, you can’t just turn our daughter into a competition.”
“Can and did,” I said, grinning down at her like she’d just clinched the World Series. “She’s already my MVP.”
“I can’t believe she’s really ours.”
I slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me so I could look too, our daughter nestled between us like the missing piece we hadn’t even known we’d been waiting for. My chest squeezed so hard it almost hurt. “Yeah,” I said, my voice wrecked. “Ours.”
For a long while, neither of us spoke. We just stared at her, counting every finger, every breath, letting the quiet wrap around us like something sacred. And in that silence, I knew without a doubt—no game, no win, no championship ring could ever come close to this.
Finally, Dani dragged her gaze up to me, eyes still shining with exhaustion. “So . . . ,” she whispered, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Did we win?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied, leaning in to kiss her again. “I already won.”
For a minute, I just breathed her in—her sweat, her shampoo, the faint antiseptic of the hospital room—and then, like a replay on the jumbotron, flashes of how we’d gotten here rolled through me.
Pink’s panicked voice on the bullpen phone.
Dani’s voice, raw and uneven, telling me it was time.
The way my chest had split wide open when I’d glanced across the field and seen her, doubled over, waving at me from left field while I’d stood frozen at the dugout rail.
I didn’t even remember dropping the phone.
Just running, barreling through the tunnel, ignoring every shout behind me.
The ten-minute car ride to the hospital had felt like an hour—me gripping the wheel like I was a character out of The Fast and the Furious, Clarke in the back seat, trying to coach Dani through her breathing, Dani cursing me and my “incredible cock” for getting her into this mess.
And then came the hospital. Doctors barking orders. Me at her side, holding her hand so tight my knuckles cracked, kissing sweat from her forehead while she bore down through hours of pain I couldn’t shoulder for her.
And somehow, she’d done it. My fierce, stubborn, impossible woman had brought our daughter into the world.
“You still with me, coach?” she asked softly.
I blinked back to the present, my vision blurring when I looked at her again. “Always,” I said, my voice breaking.
Her lips curved, tired but teasing. Then she looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms, brushing a fingertip over our daughter’s downy hair. “Want to hold her again?”
“Yeah,” I rasped, already reaching before the word was out of my mouth.
Dani shifted carefully, easing our little girl into my arms. My throat went tight because somehow, she was both fragile and indestructible, everything I’d never known I needed until she was here.
I rocked her gently, brushing a thumb over the softness of her cheek. “You know, at some point we’re going to have to give her name. Unless you want to stick with BB?”
Dani’s voice came quiet, tentative. “I was thinking about Bailey.”
My gaze flicked to hers. “Bailey?”
She nodded, smoothing a silvery-blue strand of hair back from her damp forehead. “Bailey Bernal. I know you wanted her to have your name . . . and I do, too. This way, she gets a little piece of both of us.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Just looked from Dani, glowing and spent in the hospital bed, to the tiny miracle in my arms.
Bailey Bernal. Our girl. Ours.
My chest squeezed, a laugh catching in my throat. “Kitten, that’s perfect.” I bent, kissing our daughter’s forehead, my heart hammering. “Bailey Bernal.”
The name settled in my bones, steady and sure, like it had always been hers.
Like it had been waiting for us, for this moment.
I traced a finger along the curve of her tiny ear, marveling at how something so small could tilt my entire world on its axis.
She was only a few hours old, but already she had me wrapped around her itty-bitty finger.
“Bailey,” I repeated.
A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.
Dani’s brows lifted in surprise as the door eased open.
Allie stepped inside, her hand resting lightly on Carolina’s shoulder.
She looked tired, because who wouldn’t be after shepherding a six-year-old through the longest night of their little life?
Nonetheless, her smile was warm and genuine.
“Congratulations,” she said softly, her gaze flicking between Dani and me before settling on the bundle in my arms.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice thick. “You didn’t have to stay so late.”
“Somebody insisted she meet her little sister.”
Carolina practically vibrated with energy, bouncing on her toes as her eyes went wide. “Can I see her? Is she here?”
Dani’s smile spread, luminous even in her exhaustion. “Of course you can, sweetheart. Come meet Bailey.”
Allie gave Carolina’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then stepped back, letting her daughter dart toward us, her excitement filling the room like sunlight.
Carolina’s eyes went as round as saucers when she reached the bedside.
She climbed carefully onto the chair beside me, her knees tucked under her, and peered down at the tiny bundle in my arms.
“She’s so small,” she whispered, awe written all over her face. Then, after a long pause, her little brow furrowed. “She looks like one of my dolls.”
Dani let out a tired laugh, brushing her hand through Carolina’s hair. “She’s real, I promise.”
Carolina studied her sister another beat, then grinned, showing off the small gap where her tooth used to be. The tooth fairy had visited twice in the past month. “And she poops, right? Because my dolls don’t do that.”
The room filled with laughter. But when Carolina leaned closer, pressing one tiny finger to Bailey’s palm and gasping when her sister’s fist curled tight around it, her smile softened.
“She likes me,” she whispered, her voice reverent. Then she wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, leaning closer to sniff. “She smells kind of like sugar cookies.”
Dani blinked, amused. “Sugar cookies, huh?”
Carolina nodded seriously, her eyes never leaving Bailey. “Mm-hmm, warm and buttery. I guess that means she’s gonna be the sweetest sister ever.”
Silence fell for a moment, thick and fragile, and I thought my chest might split open right there.
I pressed a kiss to the top of Carolina’s head, my voice like gravel. “That’s exactly right, sweetheart.”
Dani’s breath hitched, and then the tears came fast, hot, and unstoppable. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, laughing through the sob that broke free. “Oh my god,” she choked. “You can’t just say things like that.”
From the doorway, Allie smiled softly before slipping out, closing the door with the kind of quiet grace that made me grateful all over again for how we’d learned to move forward. And then it was just us.
The four of us.
I settled Bailey back into Dani’s arms and helped Carolina curl up beside them.
Within minutes, both of my little girls were asleep, their breaths syncing like some unspoken lullaby.
Dani’s lashes fluttered closed and then opened again.
It was a losing battle, trying to fight off the exhaustion.
I had a feeling that any second now, she’d be out like a light, too.
Now, though, the hospital room was still. Just me, half sprawled in a chair with my arm draped across the bed so I could keep a hand on Dani, my little girl warm in the crook of her arm, Carolina’s soft hair tickling my wrist.
My whole damn world, right there in one frame.
Dani shifted, her tired eyes finding mine. “You okay, coach?” she whispered.
I huffed a laugh, leaning closer, careful not to wake the girls. “Better than okay.” My throat worked as I looked at her, at them, at everything I never thought I’d get to have again. “Would this be an inappropriate time to ask you to marry me?”
Her eyes went wide, then narrowed in disbelief, her mouth curving like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Extremely inappropriate,” she whispered back. “You’re running on no sleep and hospital Jell-O, and I’m rocking the world’s least sexy adult diaper. Try again later, Coach Daddy.”
I smirked, brushing a thumb over her knuckles where my hand rested in hers. “Noted. I told you once, kitten, I’m playing the long game.”
Her lips twitched, that sharp, knowing grin flashing for just a second before exhaustion pulled at her again. “Good,” she murmured. Her lashes fluttered, her voice already thick with sleep. “And just so you know, when I do say yes, I won’t be wearing some white, frilly dress.”
I huffed a low laugh, leaning in to brush my mouth over her temple. “Kitten, I don’t give a damn what color you wear—black, red, neon green. The only thing that matters is that I get to take it off you after we say ‘I do.’”
Even half-asleep, she smirked. “Pervert.”
“Yours,” I murmured back, watching her finally drift into sleep.
I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple, then to the baby’s downy head, then finally to Carolina’s crown where she slept curled between us.
My girls. My family. The rest could wait.
For now, this was the only victory I needed.
Dani’s breathing evened out, soft and steady, leaving me in the quiet hum of the hospital room. I shifted, careful not to wake either of them, and cradled Bailey closer against me. Her eyes blinked open, a flash of bright green so much like her mama’s it nearly undid me.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I greeted her, my voice low, meant just for her. “Do you want Daddy to tell you a story? It’s about how your mama and I fell in love. And funnily enough, it started with these blue donut socks . . .”