Chapter 5 #3
Thomas and Aiden hovered nearby, fussing in their own particular ways, handing her the remote for the television, then the Bose speakers, then arguing quietly over whether the playlist should be instrumental or something with lyrics.
An ice machine hummed softly in the corner, and the temperature of the room sat in that careful middle ground, neither too warm nor too cold.
Noah breezed into the room not even thirty seconds after Atticus, immediately making a beeline for Cricket.
“Hey, girl, hey,” he called, perching on the edge of the bed. “So… what’s new?”
Cricket snorted. “Oh, nothing much. Just hanging around in my nightie with six gay men. The usual.”
Adam wandered in behind him. “You really will do anything to get out of wrapping presents.”
Cricket flipped him off, though a small laugh escaped anyway, the tension breaking just enough to make the room feel lighter.
“Mommy?”
Everyone turned to see Allister peeking around the doorframe, eyes wide and serious. Matty followed immediately behind him. “Sorry,” he said. “He was insisting he heard his mom… and he was right. Hi, Cricket.”
“Hey, Matty,” she said warmly. Then, to Allister, “Come here, baby.”
Allister didn’t hesitate, running to her and climbing onto the bed. Atticus felt something tighten in his chest at the sight, the instinctive pull toward the smallest ones, the quiet gravity they carried without knowing it.
Allister snuggled into Cricket’s side and whispered, “Does it hurt?”
“No, baby,” she said softly. “Not right this second.”
He nodded solemnly, then rested his head against her, as if he’d appointed himself her personal guardian.
August and Lucas burst through the door moments later, both of them visibly deflating at the sight of Cricket settled in bed with Allister tucked against her.
“Oh, thank God,” Lucas breathed, shoulders sagging as if he’d been holding himself upright on sheer panic alone.
August glanced at Adam and Noah. “How the hell did you beat us here?”
Noah gave them a haunted look. “Adam drove.”
Lucas winced sympathetically. “Well… glad you made it in one piece.”
August’s brow furrowed. “Where’s Petra?”
Cricket shrugged, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Somewhere safe, I hope. I can’t get a hold of her.”
That must be the midwife. He’d never heard her name.
Lucas’s gaze slid immediately to Atticus.
“I can do it if she doesn’t show,” Atticus said before Lucas could ask.
Relief softened Lucas’s expression instantly. He moved to Cricket’s side and gently combed his fingers through Allister’s hair. “Hey, baby. Why don’t we give Mommy a little space?”
He tried to lift him, but Allister clung tighter, shaking his head.
“No,” he said firmly. “She needs me.”
And just like that, no one argued.
Cricket looked down at her son, love bleeding from her eyes. It softened the hard edges of the room instantly. “He’s fine,” she said. “The girls are going to want to be here when their brother is born anyway just like they were with Allister.”
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t try to deliver the baby,” August said ruefully.
“Speaking of, I’m gonna go check on our kids,” Jericho said.
Atticus turned to follow. “I’ll go with you.” He glanced back at Cricket. “Have someone come get me if you need me for anything.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Freckles.”
Atticus dipped his head in return. He used to hate the nickname, loathed it even. At least on anyone but Jericho’s lips. Now it tugged something warm and grounding out of him, even now.
“Weeeee’re heerrrrreeee,” someone shouted from the bottom of the staircase.
Levi? Nico? It was one of them. The sound carried with it the unmistakable energy of their older children, like a pressure change before a storm.
Matty caught Jericho’s eye from the door leading to the children’s wing. “Are you gonna be here for a few minutes? I—Uh—I just want to go check on Jordan.”
“Yeah, we’ve got them,” Jericho assured him.
The playroom was utter chaos.
Jett and Jagger hurled foam blocks at each other with wild abandon while Ari and Adi launched oversized Squishmallows at Oscar, West, and Theo, knocking them down like bottles at the county fair.
Every time the boys hit the ground, they dissolved into helpless giggles before scrambling back up and sending the plush missiles flying back.
“Hi, Daddies!” Jett called.
“Hello, littles,” Atticus said, his voice automatically shifting into that softer register he reserved just for them.
“We made cookies!” Jagger announced proudly.
Jericho took in their red-and-green-streaked fingers and faces. Their shirts were a crime scene. “Did any of the icing make it onto the cookies?”
Jagger narrowed his eyes in a way that looked so much like Jericho that Atticus had to bite back a smile. “Are you bein’ sarcastic?”
Atticus scooped him up, hugging him close. He smelled like sugar, vanilla and sweaty baby. The embrace lingered just long enough for Jagger to start squirming.
“Ignore him,” Atticus said. “He thinks he’s funny.”
“I’m very funny,” Jericho said. “Hilarious, even.”
Atticus set Jagger back on his feet, and the boy immediately darted back into the fray, joining the Squishmallow dodgeball game without missing a beat, his brother following a moment later.
Atticus found a spot against the wall, safely out of the line of fire, and sat down. Jericho joined him, shoulder brushing his. Without thinking, Atticus dropped his head gently against Jericho’s.
“Feeling sentimental, Freckles?” Jericho asked.
“They’re getting so big,” Atticus said quietly. “I miss when they were little. When they wanted to be carried everywhere. All the time.”
“Really?” Jericho asked.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Atticus said.
Jericho huffed out a soft laugh. “A little. You were so squeamish about having kids. Now you’re missing the stickiest part?”
Atticus watched the kids play, eyes tracking the familiar chaos. “Don’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” Jericho admitted. “But like you said, we already have seven other kids. More if you count spouses. Soon they’ll be having kids.”
Atticus made a strangled sound. “Is that going to make us grandparents?”
Jericho snorted. “You should be more worried about Ever having his own kids and no longer wanting to help raise ours.”
“Ever and Arsen’s kids would be so cute,” Atticus mused.
As if summoned, the door flung open and Ever dropped dramatically to his knees. “My babies.”
The kids shrieked in delight and immediately swarmed him, the chaos intensifying instead of calming. Atticus leaned more fully into Jericho, smiling despite himself.
“Have they ever been that excited to see us,” Atticus asked around a smile.
Seven children launched themselves at Ever at once, barreling into him and taking him to the ground.
Sharp peals of laughter filled the room as he went down under the combined weight of limbs and sugar highs.
Arsen stood in the doorway, watching with open adoration as Ever was smothered in kisses by several frosting-stained children, his protests entirely unconvincing.
“Do you want another one, Freckles?” Jericho asked quietly.
“No,” Atticus said, too quickly, his heart twisting around the word even as it left his mouth.
Jericho hummed. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”
“Everything is perfect as it is,” Atticus said, eyes still on the children. His voice softened, careful. “What if they felt like they were being replaced?”
Jericho reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “We could just ask them what they think of the idea.”
Atticus let out a slow breath. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger.” He hesitated. “Isn’t it irresponsible to have a baby at our age?”
“A baby?” Jericho echoed, sounding like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “You want a baby baby?”
“I don’t want anything,” Atticus said quickly. “We’re just talking. I’m about to deliver my nephew. Of course I’m thinking about babies. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It doesn’t not mean anything,” Jericho said gently. “You know we can always talk about it. Besides, look at your Dad and Aiden. They have kids younger than ours and they’re both older than us.”
Atticus nodded, resting his forehead briefly against Jericho’s hair.
“I can’t believe Cricket’s gonna have a Christmas baby,” Jericho murmured.
Arsen crossed the room, to where they sat. Jericho patted the space beside them. “What’s new, kid?”
“Cree is downstairs making heart eyes at our new boy,” Arsen said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
Atticus smiled. “Yeah. He asked me what Cree was like.”
“He did?” Arsen perked up. “What’d you say?”
“The truth,” Atticus replied. “That he learned more about Cree in a couple of months than most of us managed in several years.”
“Is Lake here?” Jericho asked. “Has he seen Matty since… you know?”
“Since they hooked up?” Arsen filled in. “No. He’s still at work.” He snorted. “It’s weird not telling them who their mysterious hookup was…but also kind of fun watching them both pretend not to care.”
“Both of them?” Atticus asked.
“You’re becoming quite the gossip, Freckles,” Jericho teased.
“I don’t see you leaving,” he said, then refocused his attention to Arsen. “Both of them?” he repeated.
“Mmm,” Arsen said. “When we asked Lake, he said he barely thinks about it. That it was just a ‘crazy night’. But Cree says Lake brings it up all the time. That he finds reason to mention it—mention him.” He shook his head.
“And—According to Cree—who apparently heard it from Jordan—Matty keeps insisting it was just a one-night stand, but he won’t stop ranting about how ‘weird’ Lake was and how he wouldn’t stop being nice to him. ”
“That bastard,” Jericho mocked fondly.
It was so obvious how proud he was of how he’d raised them to be good men.
“I know, right?” Arsen laughed. “What is it with people who want others to be mean to them in relationship? It is bizarre. Even Zane—who likes being bitten—demands Asa be nice to him outside the bedroom.”
“Like Aiden,” Atticus said thoughtfully. “Matty probably has Daddy issues.”
“Probably,” Arsen agreed.
Atticus didn’t know for sure, but it tracked—the push and pull, the resistance to kindness, the way Matty bristled at being included and then lingered anyway. He’d seen it before. Too many times.
Lucas appeared in the doorway, pale and tight around the eyes. “Petra was in a minor car accident,” he said. “She’s fine but she’s not coming. You’re up.”
Atticus inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Doctor mode slid into place with practiced ease. “Got it.”
“Go get ’em, Freckles,” Jericho teased, leaning in to kiss him when Atticus offered his mouth.
Atticus squeezed his hand once before letting go—then stood, already moving, already focused.
“Bet you never thought you’d have your hand in another woman again, huh, Freckles,” Arsen taunted, yelping when Jericho smacked him in the back of the head.
Atticus gave his husband one last longing look. “I’ll be back soon.”
Jericho’s smile had his stomach doing backflips. “We’ll be here waiting for you.”
We…
Atticus had so many people who loved him.
Enough to fill a house.
Wild. Truly wild.