Chapter 5 #2
He didn’t release her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the door.
Walking would help this early on, he knew that, and he stayed close enough that she could lean into him whenever she needed.
They crossed into the drop-zone between the garage and the house, the cold air biting at their flushed skin.
Cricket gave him an uneasy look. “I still haven’t heard from her. She said she was on her way, but now she’s not answering.”
“There are dead zones everywhere tonight,” Jericho said, falling into step on her other side. “Storm’s knocked out half the city. There’s a blackout too. Thomas already sent someone to grab the other kids.”
Atticus nodded, though unease curled tighter in his chest. He didn’t say it out loud, but his brain was already shifting gears, doctor mode snapping into place whether he wanted it to or not.
“Okay,” he said gently, squeezing Cricket’s shoulder. “We’ve got you. One step at a time.”
Behind them, the garage door finished closing with a dull, final thud, sealing away whatever calm existed before tonight officially became chaos.
“Your kid’s about to have more people attend his birth than Jesus,” Atticus said, shaking his head as they navigated another turn of the hallway, the sound of voices echoing faintly through the house.
“Good,” Cricket shot back. “Maybe one of them can deliver this baby if my midwife no-shows.”
Atticus arched his brow. “I am a medical doctor. I may not be an OB, but surely I’m more qualified to deliver my nephew than a twenty-five-year-old mechanic or a hair stylist.”
Cricket shrugged, still looking pale, one hand braced against the wall as they paused. “I just figured it was too messy for you.”
“It’s not ideal,” Atticus admitted, “but I made it through an entire OB rotation. I can handle one night.”
Cricket patted his cheek, affection threaded through the exhaustion. “Thanks, Freckles.”
“Hello?” Jericho called once they reached the main portion of the house, his voice carrying easily through the open space.
“They’re upstairs,” someone answered.
Atticus frowned at the boy who’d spoken. He’d met him before. At least twice. Matty’s friend. His name started with a J. Jeremy? No—Jordan.
“Jordan, right?” Jericho asked.
Of course, he remembered.
The boy nodded. “Thomas and Aiden are in Cricket’s room. Matty took the kids to the nursery to play, to keep them out of their hair.”
“You didn’t go?” Jericho asked, his voice shifting into that tone, the one he used whenever a new kid drifted into the hostel by the garage. The one that said you’re safe talking to me.
Jordan grimaced slightly. “No offense, but growing up with five siblings made me kind of edgy around kids. Besides…,” he hesitated, “he should have some alone time with his… nieces and nephews?”
“Hi. Hello,” Cricket cut in. “Not to interrupt the bonding moment, but do you think someone could take me to my room?”
“Yes, right,” Jericho said quickly. “Let’s take the elevator up.”
As they moved, Atticus noticed Jordan lagging behind just a step, staring at Jericho with an expression Atticus recognized, but not in the way people usually looked at his husband.
It wasn’t hunger. Not quite admiration either.
It was… hesitation. Like there was a question caught behind his teeth.
Atticus slowed just enough to fall into step beside him. “You okay?”
Jordan nodded, eyes still tracking Jericho’s back.
“Did you need something?” Atticus asked again, gentler this time.
Jordan hesitated, then halted, finally looking at him. “You’re… kind of like Cree’s foster dad, right?”
Atticus stopped short, blinking at him. “What?”
“Like, I know you’re not really his foster dad,” Jordan rushed on, “but he’s no-contact with his adoptive parents, and he doesn’t know his real ones, and he talks about you and Jericho more than any other… adults.” He made air quotes around the word, like it tasted strange.
“Okay…” Atticus said carefully.
“What is it with you people and that word?” he muttered under his breath.
Atticus genuinely had no idea where this was going. “Did you want to ask me something? Or tell me something? Are you okay?”
Jordan started to nod, then stopped himself. “Yeah—never mind. It’s nothing. Well. Not nothing, but not important. Not when there’s a pregnant lady about to pop any second now.”
Oh. Ohh.
“You like him,” Atticus said before he could stop himself.
Jordan’s eyes went wide. “No. Well—yes. But, like, I don’t really know him either. Just that he’s really quiet and likes movies and Lake and he’s really sweet and—” He swallowed. “And really pretty. So. Yeah.”
Atticus felt something click quietly into place, like a puzzle piece he hadn’t known he was holding.
They’d all been focusing on whatever they thought might eventually unfold between Lake and Matty if they were ever in the same room again, but had failed to miss the ship sailing right in front of them.
Atticus bit back a smile. “You’ve just summed up about all I’ve learned about him in the several years I’ve known him. If you managed to glean all of that from him in the short time you’ve been here, I’m guessing he likes you back.”
“Really?” Jordan asked, voice cracking just a little.
Atticus nodded. “Really.”
Jordan’s face split into a grin that transformed his whole expression, like someone had turned on a light behind his eyes.
It was clear he wasn’t trying to be cool or guarded.
It was true joy. Atticus could see why Cree liked him immediately.
He was Cree’s opposite in almost every way, open where Cree was closed, expressive where Cree was reserved.
Loud where Cree was quiet. Light where Cree was dark.
Cute.
“He’ll be here later,” Atticus added.
Jordan flushed, hugging himself and rocking slightly on his heels, like he was trying to physically contain his excitement. “I know,” he said. “He told me.”
Yeah. Very cute.
“Anything else you want to ask me?” Atticus asked gently.
Jordan shook his head quickly. “No—I’m—I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay,” Atticus said, but he lingered, instinct kicking in, the same one that kept him hovering near kids who looked like they might bolt if left alone with their thoughts.
“I think I’ll just… go wait for the others in the kitchen,” Jordan said, pointing vaguely in that direction.
Before Atticus could respond, a voice rang out from the front door.
“Hello?”
Noah.
“We’re in here,” Atticus called back.
A moment later, Adam and Noah appeared in the entryway, snow clinging to their coats, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Noah’s brow furrowed as he took in the scene. “This was definitely not the we I expected.” His gaze flicked to Jordan. “Hey, man. Where’s your other half?”
“Huh?” Jordan croaked.
“Matty. Your bestie.”
“Oh, right,” Jordan said quickly. “He’s upstairs with the kids. I’m—uh—I’m gonna go to the kitchen now.”
“Alright…” Noah said, watching him go with a confused look on his face.
The second Jordan disappeared down the hall, Noah rounded on Atticus. “What was that all about?”
“I think someone has a crush,” Atticus said, still watching the space Jordan had vacated.
Noah’s eyes lit up. “Tell me it’s on Cree. Please.”
Atticus nodded. “Yeah. He was asking what Cree’s like. What he’s into. That kind of thing.” He paused. “But he already seems to know more about him than most of us do.”
Noah’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit. That means they’ve been texting since Halloween.”
“It does?” Adam asked.
“Yeah, duh,” Noah said, shooting him a look that clearly meant don’t derail this. Then he turned back to Atticus. “Where’s Cricket? She’s here already, right? Safe?”
“Jericho just took her upstairs,” Atticus said.
“Is she gonna pop this baby out before midnight, you think?” Adam asked, sounding only mildly invested.
“This is her third delivery,” Atticus said. “Her contractions are still fifteen minutes apart, but that doesn’t mean much. Could be six hours. Could be thirty minutes. At this point, her body knows what it’s doing.”
Noah tilted his head suddenly, studying him more closely. “Wait. Did you guys just get here?”
“Yes,” Atticus said cautiously.
“Then why are you all flushed and sweaty?” Noah asked.
Atticus scoffed. “I’m neither.”
“Oh, no,” Adam said. “You totally are. Lucas said you were already on your way when he called us. Wouldn’t that mean you got here, like… thirty minutes ago?”
“What are you implying?” Atticus asked, his jaw tightening.
“That you let your husband bang you like a snare drum somewhere on the property before you came inside,” Adam said cheerfully. “Or before he did, anyway. Pool house? Shed? Coat closet?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. The garage.”
Atticus felt heat crawl up his neck and into his ears. “You’re just making shit up now.”
Adam grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself.
“Oh, it was totally the garage,” Noah said, cackling.
Atticus huffed out a breath through his nose. “It was not.”
“There’s cameras,” Noah reminded him in a sing-song voice, far too pleased with himself.
Atticus glowered at him. “If you’re so desperate to watch my husband fuck me, I’m sure he has a few recordings he could loan you.”
He turned on his heel and headed for the marble staircase, chin tipped up, dignity clutched in a death grip, feeling a little superior as he heard Noah say, “Damn, someone’s feeling feisty. You really think they record themselves?”
“The way Jericho can’t stop climbing on top of him?” Adam said, grumpily. “They could probably fill a Blockbuster.”
Upstairs, Cricket’s bedroom was controlled chaos.
She reclined on her queen-sized bed, having changed out of her street clothes into a black sleeveless gown with buttons down the front.
It looked more like a dress than a hospital gown, soft and elegant in a way that felt very her, and loose enough to allow her to move freely throughout the room.
She’d pulled her long blonde hair on top of her head in a bun, two pink pieces framing her face. She looked…ethereal.