Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
CHASE
It’s amazing how quickly your life can shrink—in the best possible way.
Once upon a time, I measured my worth in bottles emptied, bridges burned, and apologies half-meant. Now?
Now, well… I still measured my day in bottles emptied, but they went along with naps successfully transferred from chest to bassinet, the number of burp cloths I went through before noon, and the squeaky little sound Lucía made when she stretched in her sleep like a cat in a sunbeam.
And I wouldn’t trade a single goddamn second of it.
At 9:06 a.m., I was strapping Luci into the baby carrier like it was military-grade tactical gear.
She was snoozing with one fist curled under her cheek, wearing a pale-yellow onesie that said New to the Crew in bold block letters.
Her tiny legs dangled out of the bottom like plump little drumsticks.
“You ready, sweet pea?” I asked, gently bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Time to go buy overpriced bread and pretend to understand heirloom vegetables.”
She sniffled in reply.
I took that as a yes.
We hit the Saturday farmers market like it was our goddamn runway.
I had on my softest hoodie, my comfiest joggers, and the smug-but-wholesome aura of a man who had purpose. People smiled at me like I’d done something heroic just by existing in public with a baby strapped to my chest.
One older woman literally clutched her heart and said, “Oh my, isn’t she just precious?” before whispering to her friend, “And he’s wearing her.”
Yes, ma’am. I pushed up my sleeves and grabbed a basket of early strawberries. I am wearing her. And I am crushing it.
We did a lap—bread, cheese, overpriced jam I absolutely did not need—and ended at the flower stand. Because Elena deserved flowers just for being Elena.
“Grab the ranunculus,” I whispered to Lucía like we were making a covert op decision. “They’re fancy as hell and hard to pronounce. Perfect for your mom.”
She yawned dramatically.
By the time we got home, Luci had drooled through her second bib and was doing that half-snort, half-sigh sound that meant she was three minutes from passing out or launching into a banshee wail. Possibly both. And, honestly, same.
I punched in the code to unlock the front door with my pinky finger while juggling the flowers, a loaf of sourdough, and a baby who was flapping her arms like a baby bird preparing for takeoff.
“Home sweet chaos,” I muttered, kicking the door closed behind us.
The house was quiet. Elena was working her first full shift back at the ER since Luci was born, and I’d been pretending all day that I wasn’t counting the seconds until she got home. Spoiler: I absolutely was.
I carried Luci into the kitchen, plopped the groceries on the counter like I was prepping a cooking segment, and unstrapped her from the carrier.
“One rustic sourdough. One wedge of smugly expensive cheese. A tiny jar of fig jam that cost more than my first fake ID. And,” I added, holding up the bouquet like it was a trophy, “a bunch of flowers I still can’t pronounce.”
I glanced at the haul and laughed under my breath.
Two years ago, my idea of grocery shopping was grabbing gas station jerky and a bag of Cheetos. Maybe a Red Bull if I was feelin’ fancy.
Now I was out here buying ranunculus.
Personal growth via parenthood. Who knew?
Luci blinked up at me from the floor, her tiny limbs flailing on the playmat like she was doing interpretive dance to invisible music.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You’re still allowed to love trash snacks. But you’re also gonna know what triple-cream brie tastes like before kindergarten, because your dad has taste now.”
She gurgled in agreement. Probably. It might’ve been a poop.
I sat cross-legged beside her on the rug, her little hand curling around my finger, anchoring me to this exact second in time.
And god, if I could’ve frozen this moment, I would’ve. Not because it was perfect, but because it was ours. Messy, mundane, absolutely magic.
The front door creaked open.
Elena.
I turned just in time to see her step inside, ponytail askew, badge lanyard shoved in her pocket, dark circles under her eyes—and still the most beautiful fucking thing I’d ever seen.
She spotted us on the floor, flowers on the counter, baby on the mat, and her mouth quirked up in that tired, familiar smile that made my whole damn heart do backflips.
“We survived,” I said. “I didn’t cry. She did. Twice. Maybe three times. I bought bread with seeds on it.”
“You’re basically a domestic god,” she murmured, kicking off her shoes and crossing the room toward us.
Elena sank down beside me, pressed a kiss to Luci’s cheek, then one to my mouth.
“Thanks for holding it down.”
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and exhaled slow. “This… this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
For the first time in my entire life, I didn’t feel like I was chasing something I’d never catch. I didn’t feel behind. Or wrong. Or broken.
I felt... enough.