29. Respect Your Elders
29
Respect Your Elders
OLIVER
The only sound on the planet sweeter than our baby’s first cry after a long, grueling labor was his mother humming to herself in my arms.
“You did incredible, love,” I murmured, probably for the thirtieth time. I couldn’t help it. I was in awe of her—of her strength, her grit, and her stubborn, unshakable trust in me through all of it.
Our son was bundled up and snoozing contentedly in Paxton’s arms—who’d somehow managed to make one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs look like a recliner—and we’d jumped at the chance to finally get Leighton showered off.
“Mmm,” she purred, resting her head on my shoulder, eyes closed as her face tilted into the spray. I slid a soapy palm over her collarbones and swollen breasts, washing away the gunk and silently thanking every higher power I could name that she was okay. That they both were.
In the past forty-eight hours, I’d stared down my worst fears. And by grace alone, I was here—holding her, counting blessings. The kids would be by soon to meet their brother, and my bride wanted to “wash the yuck off.” Couldn’t blame her. My own chest had taken on a sticky sheen of vernix and assorted birth fluids, and I was itching to do the same.
The stall was a tight fit for two, but after twenty-six hours of back labor—right around the time my forearms seized from applying counter-pressure and I had to start squeezing her hips with my thighs—Leigh had finally opted for the epidural. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a relief to watch her doze through contractions instead of fighting her way through every last surge.
Still, she was on fall watch after a dizzy spell earlier, the first time they let her stand.
Enter me—the watcher. Because over my dead body was some nurse going to be the one washing her hair right now.
“I love you, Leighton Alexandra,” I breathed against the shell of her ear, shifting her slightly to rinse out the conditioner she’d packed in her baby bag.
“I love you too.”
“You’re a fucking warrior.”
“Nah,” she sighed dreamily. “I’m just a mother.”
I smiled, chuckling softly as I combed my fingers through the slick strands, gently working out the tangles. “Same thing.”
“Maybe,” she murmured, voice light.
Peaceful. After everything—after all the chaos—Leighton had come out the other side peaceful. Even as she rolled her eyes at me, I took my time. I cleaned her skin and her hair. I soaked in the privilege of being here—wanted, trusted, valued—as I helped her into those awkward, diaper-adjacent postpartum briefs, and then into the cozy floral pajamas she’d packed from home.
Paxton was still curled beside the window, letting sunlight soak into his skin while the baby snoozed in his arms. Leighton padded back to the bed, grimacing as she climbed up with my help. Once she was settled on the crinkly sheets, I grabbed her brush and the almond-scented oil she loved for her hair. I was still brushing the long strands when a gentle knock drew both our gazes to the door.
Kaia peeked in, smiling through tears as she stepped inside.
“Hey, lovebirds. How are we?”
“Sleepy,” Leighton admitted with a yawn. “How are the kids?” God, I loved this woman.
“They’re just fine, Mama Bear. Grey and Alice crashed at your place last night so they could sleep in their own beds.” And not be inside a murder scene, no doubt.
“And Alice?”
“She’s okay.” Kaia’s smile wobbled as she stepped inside, careful, like she didn’t want to disturb anything. She held a drink tray with four coffees. “Reality will probably hit later, but you know Alice—obstinately pragmatic. It was him or her and the kids. She’d make the same call every time. Any of us would. They all just want an update on you, sissy.”
“We’re good,” Leigh said, stifling another yawn. “Just exhausted.”
“Well, squeezing an entire human out of your body will do that,” Kaia quipped, setting the drinks down on the bedside tray. She peeked at the baby in Paxton’s arms, then crossed to Leighton, gently shooing me aside. Kneeling behind her, she brandished a tool more weapon than comb and began parting Leigh’s hair with swift expertise.
“How you doing there, Daddy?” she asked, glancing up at me. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Clearing my throat hurt. The sound felt jagged, like it didn’t belong in the room. “Just… unspeakably grateful.”
Her smile softened. “Good answer.”
“Your sister is a champion.”
“Just a victim of physiology,” Leighton said airily, making Kaia snort as she tied off the first braid and started on the second.
“That really was terrible before the epidural. But then the epidural is terrible because you turn into a useless limp noodle. There’s no winning in the labor department.”
“But you finished,” Kaia pointed out proudly. Paxton smiled down at our little man, his giant hand dwarfing my son’s tiny face as he silently trailed a finger down his nose.
“And he’s perfect,” he declared.
“Agreed,” Leighton murmured with a sleepy smile. “Just like his daddy.”
Her heavy lids fluttered open long enough to find me, a blissful little grin tugging at her lips.
“Hardly,” I scoffed.
“The man has all the money in the world and never bothered to buy a mirror,” Kaia muttered in a stage whisper.
Her comment earned a sharp pinch to the leg, which sent her snickering as she finished the second braid. “Just looking, no touching.”
“I’d hate to have to get rid of you.”
Leighton scooted back automatically when Kaia slipped out from behind her. “I’ve grown rather fond over the years.”
“For once in our lives, I actually have a chance at outrunning you.”
“Shut up and respect your elders.”
“ Elders ,” Kaia snickered like she hadn’t heard the same joke her entire life. “Lean back.”
She fluffed a pillow into place, letting Leighton sink into it. And I just… watched. Really watched.
My bride tilted her face toward the morning sun pouring in through the window, her eyes closed, her features relaxed—like a tulip in bloom. Mom had loved tulips. She would’ve adored Leighton.
She’d always been beautiful, but there was something transcendent about witnessing her surrender to something so much bigger than us. About seeing her trust our medical team—trust me—when she couldn’t even form words anymore. It magnified everything.
She was radiant. Magnificent.
And glowing with that exhausted, new-mommy bliss that stole the air from my lungs.
Her hands still rested over her swollen belly, my ring already back on her finger, glinting in the light.
The baby whimpered and squirmed in his uncle’s arms.
Paxton smiled gently. Revered like a god on the football field, he was just an enormous teddy bear in person. Stiff from training, he stood and lumbered over, carefully settling on the edge of the bed with tears in his eyes.
“I think he’s hungry,” he said, grinning as he ran his knuckle over the baby’s cheek. The little guy turned instinctively toward him.
“Two hours on the dot,” I observed.
“Your child would eat on a schedule,” Leighton teased as she nervously accepted the bundle.
Pax stepped back toward the window as she worked to get him latched, her hands shaking slightly with focused, clumsy tenderness. I smiled, even as the bridge of my nose started to burn.
None of this was easy—not even close—but I was already convinced she’d take to it so naturally that in a few days we wouldn’t even remember how scared we’d been.
“There you go, little prince,” she cooed.
All I could do was watch.
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, uncertain if she was doing it right, and I was floored.
“You’re perfect,” I promised.
“Yeah?”
She looked up from our son’s sweet face and dark, thick hair, gifting me a watery smile.
“Yeah, Trouble.”
Months ago, I’d been terrified I was walking into a repeat of the past. That I’d stumbled into another train wreck, destined to go up in flames.
But sitting here with two of her infinite siblings, with my girl completely at peace—watching our son at her breast—I knew how wrong I’d been.
This woman was everything.
My best friend. The lover I’d spent years dreaming of.
She was where my life both began and ended.
The space between breaths where the world fell away and I could just exist.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, she’d become mine.
A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, breath catching, just as Tillie collided with my chest, burying her face in my hoodie.
“Hey, babygirl.”
“Hey, Daddy. Is Leigh okay?”
“She’s doing great. So is your brother. You alright?”
“I’m okay,” she insisted.
I opened one arm, and Beau wriggled free from Alice’s hold, sprinting to me and wrapping his little arms around my leg.
“Hey, big guy. You okay?”
“Yeah. I jus’ miss you.”
“I missed you too, bud. You wanna meet your brother?”
They both nodded emphatically. I glanced up at Grey, who smiled softly and pulled Alice closer as the room suddenly felt even smaller.
“Quiet now—he’s pretty sleepy.”
Another round of nods.
Beau scrambled onto the bed, clambering over Leighton’s legs and giggling when she snagged him under the arms and hauled him up with a kiss to the cheek.
“Easy, Leigh. You just had a baby,” Pax scolded gently.
“And I needed to smooch my other one,” she chirped, completely unfazed as she tucked Beau against her side.
Pax shot me a look, all smirk and silent warning— good luck —and he wasn’t wrong.
Matilda stepped carefully to Leighton’s side, peering over the swaddle like she was afraid she’d detonate a bomb if she moved too quickly.
“What’s his name?” she asked softly, peeling the blanket back just enough to see. Her nail polish—Leighton’s handiwork from earlier this week—was already chipping.
The room held its breath.
Every gaze shifted to me.
I looked at Leigh, who gave me an encouraging nod.
“Guys,” I said, voice tight with emotion, “meet Beckham Rhodey Hart.”