Chapter 30
Thirty
EASTON
Quinn is six months old already.
She isn’t fragile anymore. She’s sturdy in my arms, her head steady, and her laugh bubbling out whenever I make a fool of myself with ridiculous faces. She kicks hard enough to bruise if I’m not careful, grabs fistfuls of my hair, and tries to gum anything that gets too close to her mouth.
Harley is different, too. The shadows under her eyes haven’t vanished, but there is a light in them now.
She’s bonded with Quinn in a way that used to feel impossible in those early NICU days.
Sometimes I’ll walk into the nursery and just stop because the sight of Harley holding our daughter, completely at peace, is enough to undo me.
She quit her job at the paper a month ago.
I know how much she hated giving up a piece of herself like that, but therapy has helped her see it wasn’t failure.
Just a new chapter. I stepped in as the sole provider, and for once, it doesn’t feel like a burden.
My parents even adjusted my work hours with half days, so I can be at home more.
For a man who spent years completely certain no one would lift a finger for him, their support still knocks me sideways.
Kennedy is still living with us, and for all her chaos, I have to admit she’s become part of the rhythm of our days.
She never comes home empty-handed, always lugging in bags of baby clothes Quinn will outgrow in a month or toys she doesn’t need but loves anyway.
She calls herself “Auntie Ken” and can get Quinn belly-laughing with her ridiculous voices faster than anyone else.
Sometimes she drives me nuts, cluttering the counters with half-drunk iced coffees and leaving her TikTok ring light in the living room. But truth is, she carved a place in our little family … and I can’t imagine giving her up.
And me? I made a promise months ago to never let Harley doubt she was enough for me, for anyone, ever again.
And I’ve kept it.
I walk into the apartment with a bandage still fresh over my shoulder. Harley is bouncing Quinn on her hip, humming softly. When she looks up, her brows furrow.
“What happened?”
I grin, pulling the sleeve of my shirt up just enough to reveal the ink.
It stretches over my shoulder and down onto my bicep, the lines clean and sharp, but soft where they need to be.
At the very top, just over the curve of my shoulder, a hummingbird hovers, wings outstretched like it’s been caught mid-flight, and angled downward as if watching over what lies beneath.
A bouquet. It flows down my upper arm, just one stem, tall and proud.
A marigold, Quinn’s birth flower. Its petals fan open delicately, carved in fine black and grey detail, strong yet fragile all at once. Just like my little girl.
I left space around it, empty stems waiting to be filled. Room for more blooms if life gives us more children. A family that will grow down my arm, one flower at a time, each one tied together by the same roots.
The hummingbird faces them all, wings forever in motion, guarding them. And above it, hidden but not forgotten, the snake across my collarbone coils like a reminder of who I used to be. Survival inked in one line of skin, and hope inked in another.
“For you and Quinn, and space for a future of many more.”
Harley’s lips part, eyes filling instantly with tears. “Easton …”
“I want you both here,” I say, stepping closer and brushing my fingers over Quinn’s tiny head, making sure not to wake her.
“With me, always. You two are my world, and every tattoo I have means something, but this one …” I press my palm over the hummingbird, feeling the sting of fresh ink beneath the bandage.
“I’ve been meaning to get it for years. It’s yours because you are my heart, Harley. And she’s my little fighter.”
Her breath hitches, eyes flooding as her gaze darts from my chest to my face. She places Quinn in the bassinet, her hands shaking as she reaches for me. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” I kiss her, slow and certain. “I needed to do this.”