Chapter 22
Ollie
I think I’m In Love With You by Chris Stapleton
It’s my day off, which means I’m trying to relax.
Life is finally slowing down and I’m here for it.
I’m halfway through my first cup of coffee, standing in the kitchen in gym clothes, already running through my mental checklist for the day.
Gym first. Text Maggie to see what she needs help with over at The Dogwood.
Swing by the store and grab some groceries.
Normal stuff. Easy stuff. I like easy. Because after living in chaos for so long, I need easy. We all do.
My phone starts vibrating on the counter.
I ignore it at first, take another sip, and tell myself if it’s important, they’ll leave a message. The buzzing doesn’t stop. I reach for it, thumb hovering, and that’s when I see it.
Seven missed calls. Same unknown number.
My chest tightens, sharp and familiar, like my body already knows something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet. Then the voicemail notification pops up. Bridger Falls Memorial Hospital. Whatever this is, it isn’t routine. It isn’t nothing. My hands go cold as I hit play on the voicemail.
“Mr. Kendrick, please call us back as soon as possible at this number.”
I hit redial, already pacing back and forth in the kitchen. All those missed calls and a voicemail from the hospital can never mean anything good.
“This is Ollie Kendrick returning a call,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
The receptionist pauses. “Hold please.”
I pace the kitchen, unable to stand still. I know Owen’s at school, and Poppy’s at the high school. And Cami is out at the ranch with Jack. I’m guessing it has nothing to do with them, or I would have a lot of text messages.
There’s a pause. Then, “Ollie?”
I jerk back in confusion. “Mom? Are you okay?”
“You need to come down to the hospital right away,” she says. Her voice is clipped, professional in that way that means something’s wrong. “Come up to the fourth floor. I’ll meet you there and explain everything.”
“Is Cami okay?” I blurt. “Is she hurt?”
“Everyone’s fine,” my mom says quickly in a hushed tone. “Just get down here.”
That’s not comforting. Not even a little. I don’t like this.
I’m in my truck two minutes later, and every red light feels like a personal attack. By the time I pull into the hospital lot, my hands are shaking. I take the elevator and don’t even notice where I’m going until I step out onto the fourth floor.
Labor and Delivery. The freaking maternity ward.
I stop short. “What the hell?” I mutter.
My mom stands at the nursing station, scrubs on, hair pulled back, eyes locked on me the second she sees me. She doesn’t smile and looks serious, and it’s freaking me out.
“Come with me,” she says. “I have to show you something.”
My pulse roars in my ears as she leads me down the hall and into a room. It smells clean and warm and quiet. Too quiet.
There’s a bassinet by the hospital bed with a baby in it. I glance around the room, waiting for someone to explain what the hell is going on. It’s just my mom and another nurse, and they’re watching me intently.
I freeze in the doorway, backing out into the hall, running into my mom. “Mom,” I say slowly. “Whose baby is that?”
She turns to me, expression unreadable. “Apparently yours now. The mother said it was your father’s, but she told the hospital to call you. This is your sibling.”
The room tilts. I jerk back as if this is a joke that isn’t even remotely funny. “That’s not funny.”
“The mother gave birth and left,” my mom continues. “She told the staff to call Ollie Kendrick. They paged me because I was on shift, and they know you’re my son. What are you going to do, Ollie?”
I stare at the tiny baby swaddled tightly in a white blanket. Pink little face sleeping peacefully. No bigger than a loaf of bread. So tiny. I’m glued to the floor in the doorway, unable to pass through. Because if I step inside that room, that baby becomes very real.
“Did you know about her?” my mom asks softly. “Did your dad mention anyone?”
“No,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Who is she?”
My brain scrambles, searching, and nothing comes to me. I haven’t talked to my dad in a very long time.
My mom steps aside. “Do you want to hold her?”
Her. She’s a girl. My heart squeezes when I look at her. A rush of emotions overcomes me. Emotions, I can’t even place a name on right now.
I move toward the bassinet like I’m underwater. The card clipped to the edge catches my eye.
Baby girl Kendrick.
Holy shit. This is freaking REAL.
I stare at her for probably a full minute, her little pink lips moving. What kind of joke is this? This feels like a sick joke.
She starts to cry, and her eyes open, searching the room. My mom watches, her hand to her mouth, unsure what to do. She doesn’t make a move to get her, and I look around for the adult in the room and realize...it’s me. She needs someone.
I reach without thinking and lift her carefully, my hands shaking, and the second she’s against my chest, something cracks wide open inside me.
She’s warm and smells like clean skin and something soft and new that I already know I won’t forget.
The weight of her settles right over my heart, like she found her place.
It’s a feeling I could never fully describe or forget.
“Hi there,” I whisper, because anything louder feels wrong.
The blanket slips and her tiny fingers curl around my thumb, warm and sure, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she already decided I’m hers.
“Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, hey.”
My legs finally give out, and I sit down hard in the chair, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I stare at her face, the soft curve of her cheek, the way her lips twitch like she’s working through something important.
Fear hits first, sharp and immediate. I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know how you keep something this small safe when the world keeps proving it isn’t gentle.
Then awe follows right behind it, just as strong because she’s here. And because somehow, impossibly, she’s family.
My mom’s voice echoes in my head, careful and tight when she said the word baby. The nurse saying my name like she wasn’t sure I’d stay. Like she wouldn’t blame me if I didn’t. The idea that someone looked at this tiny human and decided I was the answer makes my chest ache.
And then Poppy’s voice slides in, uninvited and unavoidable. I don’t really want a family, Ollie—Owen’s enough for me.
The words land heavier now than they did then.
At the time, I told myself I understood.
I told her it made sense. She’s spent her whole life carrying more than her share.
Wanting less feels like survival, not selfishness.
And we finally come together and reach a place where we can live, not just survive.
But this changes things. This complicates everything.
What does this look like to her? Me walking out of the hospital with a baby she never asked for.
A responsibility she never wanted. A future that doesn’t match the one she imagined.
Panic curls low in my stomach. What if Poppy decides it’s too much?
What if she sees me with this baby and walks away from everything we’ve just put together?
The thought of losing her hits hard but the thought of this baby alone in the world without parents makes my stomach turn.
I look down at the baby in my arms, and my grip tightens without meaning to.
The idea of putting her down makes my chest seize.
I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t plan for it.
But the truth settles in fast and unmovable.
Neither did her mother it sounds like. But how she could walk away from her is beyond me.
I’m not walking away from this baby. That doesn’t mean I’m walking away from Poppy either, because Poppy has never left when things got hard.
Not once. She stayed when my mom made things messy.
She stayed when life felt heavy, uncertain, and unfair.
She stayed when I needed her and didn’t know how to ask.
And I’ve stayed too. We’ve always shown up for each other. Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it cost us something. Especially then. We’ve always been there for each other. Always you. That echoes in my head, something we’ve always said to each other. And we mean it.
The baby shifts against my chest, a soft sound barely there, and my body responds before my brain catches up.
I think of the memory of Poppy holding Owen when he was smaller, the way she looked exhausted and completely determined all at once.
I think of how she didn’t plan for that life either, but she took it on anyway because someone needed her.
She understands this kind of choice better than anyone. She’ll understand. Will she? Yeah, she has to. She loves me and I love her. And if this baby is part of my family, she’ll love it. I hope.
The baby’s tiny fingers tighten around my thumb, her grip small but fierce, and something in my chest steadies.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, my voice breaking just enough to scare me. “I don’t know how yet. But I’ve got you.”
“What are you going to do, Ollie?” Mom asks from the doorway and I realize I’d forgotten she was there.
“I’m going to call my wife,” I say and I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Wait,” my mom says. “Do you think you should find your father? I heard he’s in a lot of trouble with drugs these days.”
I glare at her. “Can you leave?”
She scoffs. “I’m only trying to help. The mother might be scared and she left because she didn’t...”
“Out,” I clip, glaring at her.
She stands there gaping at me.
I call Poppy.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Poppy, I need you,” I say, voice breaking. “I’m at the hospital.”
There’s a pause. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I need you,” I say. “Can you come?”
“Is it Owen? Are either of you hurt?” she asks, frantic, and I can hear movement on the other line.
“No one’s hurt,” I say softly. “Just please come right now. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
“Okay,” she says immediately. “I’m on my way.”
I look down at the baby again, my sister, and swallow hard.
Everything just changed between us.
And somehow, even terrified, I know exactly who I want beside me when I figure it out. I need my wife and my best friend.
I’m sitting in the chair by the window, the baby tucked against my chest, when my mom finally breaks the silence.
“So,” she says. “You’re not even going to consider what I have to say?”
My heart is still trying to catch up to the news that just shocked me and I don’t understand why she’s still here ruining my moment with this baby.
“I don’t know why you’re still here,” I say honestly.
She pulls a chair closer. Too close. “Why can’t you let me voice my opinions?”
I look down at the baby and then back at her. “Because you’ve never helped me. You’ve never been the mother I needed you to be. And I’d like for you to leave.”
The words hit harder than I expected. My chest tightens, and my thoughts start racing, overlapping, piling up too fast. CPS. Poppy. Owen. The shop. Money. The way my life just split open without warning. And Mom’s here adding to the chaos. I don’t need her. I need Poppy. I’ve always needed Poppy.
I want my mother away from me. I want to be left alone.
She studies my face, then huffs out a breath. “Fine,” she says. “I’m leaving.”
The door closes behind her, and the room finally goes quiet, and I look down at the baby in my arms.
She’s beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache. I lift the tiny knit hat and find soft, dark hair underneath, already curling a little, already familiar. Her nose is small and perfect, her mouth a delicate bow.
I ease the blanket back just enough to check on her, careful not to break her.
Tiny toes flex, pink and wrinkled, her legs tucked in close.
A little diaper on her, looking comically large.
I wonder how much she weighs. It can’t be much.
Her arms are small and strong, fists opening and closing like she’s testing the world.
She looks healthy and solid. But so tiny.
I check her fingers next, slow and careful. She wraps one around mine like she’s got a grip on me already. Like she’s saying, please don’t drop me.
“Hey,” I whisper. “I’m kinda freaking out, just so you know. Our other sister is a lot bigger and scarier than you. But you’ll love her, too. She’s pretty great.”
She makes a soft sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and my chest aches so hard it almost hurts.
I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t see what the future could even look like now, but I know one thing.
I can’t leave this baby here all alone like Madison did.
That’s the kind of stuff my parents did.
And I will never be like them. But I look at her again, and one thing settles, deep and steady.
Whatever happens next, I’m not walking away.
I press a careful kiss to the top of her head and hold her a little closer, waiting for Poppy, waiting for my world to catch up to this moment.