Chapter 36 Tucker
TUCKER
The brass quartet is crammed into the elevator, their instruments gleaming under the overhead lights. I paid them triple their usual rate to play a single song in my penthouse at ten in the morning on a Thursday. Worth every penny.
"You ready?" I ask the lead trumpet player, a woman in her sixties, who looked at me like I'd lost my mind when I explained what I wanted.
She nods, adjusting her mouthpiece. "On your signal."
I take a breath and push open the bedroom door.
Sloane is propped against a mountain of pillows, her laptop balanced on the overbed table Dad assembled for her. She's wearing one of my old Fury t-shirts and has her hair twisted into a messy bun. She’s grouchy and uncomfortable these days—but she's beautiful. Always beautiful.
"Hey," she says without looking up from her screen. "Can you grab me more water? I think I'm dehydrated again."
"In a minute." I move to the side of the bed. "I need you to close the laptop."
"Tucker, I'm in the middle of transcribing this interview. Dr. Newman needs my analysis by—"
"Sloane."
Something in my voice makes her look up. She studies my face, suspicious. "What did you do?"
"Nothing bad." I gently lift the laptop from the table and set it on the dresser. "Trust me?"
"That's a loaded question."
"Fair." I pull the garment bag from behind my back. "But I'm asking anyway."
Her eyes widen as I unzip it, revealing the royal blue graduation gown with gold trim. The Pittsburgh University wildcat gleams on the sleeve.
"Tucker..." Her voice cracks. "What is this?"
"Your commencement." I lift the gown carefully from the hanger. "You worked too hard to miss it just because these girls decided they prefer you lying down."
Tears are already streaming down her face. "I can't go to commencement. Dr. Patel said—"
"I know what she said. Strict bed rest until the babies arrive." I sit on the edge of the bed, mindful of the monitors and gadgets checking on the girls. "So, I'm bringing commencement to you."
I help her sit forward, easing the gown over her shoulders. Her belly is enormous now, pressing against the fabric. Shula and Aurora have been measuring ahead of schedule since week twenty, and Dr. Patel thinks they could arrive with healthy lungs any day now.
"Arms through here," I murmur, guiding her hands into the sleeves. "There we go."
Sloane blows her nose. "How are you making commencement happen?"
I fasten the front closure, working around her belly. "You finished every requirement. Turned in your final project last week, even though you were conducting phone interviews from bed while simultaneously gestating two humans. You earned this degree, Sloane. You deserve to celebrate it."
"But—"
I press a finger gently to her lips. "No buts. Just let me do this, okay?"
She nods, and I retrieve the mortarboard from the garment bag. The tassel is gold, already positioned on the right side.
"Ready for the full experience?" I ask, twirling a finger at my waiting musicians.
"What do you—"
The opening notes of "Pomp and Circumstance" blast from the doorway.
Sloane's mouth falls open as the brass quartet begins to play, the ceremonial march filling our bedroom with all the pageantry she was supposed to experience in the arena with three thousand other graduates.
"Tucker Stag." She's laughing and crying at the same time. "You are so extra."
"Had to make it official." I place the cap carefully on her head, mindful of her bun. "Can't have a proper commencement without the music."
The quartet continues playing the march, and our other guests file into the procession as Sloane’s mouth drops.
Mel wheels in first, dressed in business casual and grinning like she just won a case.
Professors Newman and Khan follow, both wearing their academic regalia.
Pete was supposed to be here too, but called this morning with some vague excuse about an emergency he couldn't get out of.
The band finishes their song and rests their instruments on the floor, standing politely to the side of our makeshift ceremony.
"Ms. Campbell." Dr. Newman's stern expression softens into something almost tender. "I believe congratulations are in order."
Sloane is openly sobbing now. "You came."
"Of course, we came." Dr. Khan moves to the bedside, her own eyes suspiciously bright. "You've been one of my best students, despite some rather extraordinary circumstances."
"Your service learning project was exceptional," Dr. Newman adds. "The interviews with BIPOC prenatal care providers in the Pittsburgh region revealed systemic gaps that need to be addressed. Your analysis will inform policy recommendations for the health department."
"Really?" Sloane wipes at her face. "You're not just saying that?"
"I don't just say things." Dr. Newman's tone is dry, but kind. "Your work matters, Ms. Campbell. Which is why the dean approved your completion and conferred your degree."
I pull out my phone and prop it against the lamp, angling it so the camera captures Sloane. "Okay, everyone watching at home—you can unmute yourselves and applaud."
My phone screen fills with faces. Mom and Dad in the kitchen at their place. Alder in his apartment, Lena visible over his shoulder. Gunnar at what looks like Stag Law's office. Odin and various other Stag cousins all crammed into one frame.
"Did we miss it?" Mom asks urgently.
"It’s all happening." I move behind Sloane's bed, one hand on her shoulder. "We're about to flip the tassel."
Dr. Khan steps forward with a dignity that makes this bedroom feel like a grand auditorium. "Sloane Campbell, having fulfilled all requirements for the degree, I am pleased to present you with a Bachelor of Science in Public Health from Pittsburgh University."
She hands over the diploma—actual parchment, embossed with a gold seal, completely official because I made about seventeen phone calls to get it handled in January, even though the semester technically ended in December.
Sloane takes it with shaking hands, staring at her name printed in formal script.
"Now the tassel," Dr. Newman says, and there's actual warmth in her voice. "Go on and turn it, Ms. Campbell. You've earned it."
Sloane reaches up and moves the tassel from right to left. The simple gesture feels monumental.
"Congratulations, graduate," I whisper, leaning down to kiss the top of her capped head.
The phone erupts with cheers. My family is whooping and clapping, and I can hear Mom actually crying. Stellan is recording everything on his own phone, probably for some Stag family archive.
Mel wheels closer and takes Sloane's hand. "I knew you could do it."
"I couldn't have without you." Sloane squeezes back. "Any of you."
"Speech!" Odin calls from the phone screen.
"No speech," I say firmly, but Sloane shakes her head.
"It's okay." She looks around the room—at Mel, at her professors, at Stellan, at the phone full of Stags.
Then her eyes find mine. "I spent most of my life thinking I had to do everything alone.
That asking for help was a weakness, that depending on people meant losing myself.
" Her voice steadies. "But this degree, these babies, this life I'm building—none of it would be possible without all of you.
Without Tucker showing up every single day, even when I pushed him away.
Without my professors extending deadlines and believing I could finish.
Without Mel being the sister I never had.
" She pauses. "I'm graduating today because I finally learned that accepting help isn't giving up control.
It's building a foundation strong enough to hold all of us. "
I'm not crying. I'm absolutely not crying in front of everyone.
"I want to say thank you while I still can. Thank you for showing me what family means."
"Okay, now I'm crying," Mom announces from the phone.
"Me too," Lena admits.
"Group hug!" Odin yells, and several Stags pile into the frame, all of them laughing.
Dr. Newman clears her throat. "Well. This has been highly irregular, but also deeply moving." She adjusts her regalia. "Ms. Campbell, I expect great things from you in your career. You have a gift for seeing systemic problems others miss."
"And for asking questions that make people uncomfortable," Dr. Khan adds with a smile. "The field of public health needs more of that."
They say their goodbyes and slip out, and I start to usher everyone else toward the door. "Okay, graduate needs rest—"
"Tucker." Sloane's voice is strange. Tight.
I turn back. She's gripping the edge of the overbed table, her face suddenly pale.
"What's wrong?" I'm at her side instantly.
"I think..." She looks down. "I think my water just broke."
For a second, nobody moves. Then everything happens at once.
Mel is on her phone, calling Dr. Patel and grabbing the hospital bag we've had packed for weeks. The French horn player is clearing a path to the door. My phone screen is chaos as my family starts yelling advice and congratulations at once.
"Okay." I force myself to stay calm even though my heart is trying to punch through my chest. "Okay, we've practiced this. We know what to do."
"Tucker." Sloane grabs my hand, and she's smiling through the fear. "We're having our babies."
"We're having our babies," I repeat, and suddenly I'm grinning like an idiot. "Holy shit, Sloane. We're having our babies today."
"Best graduation present ever," she manages before the first contraction hits.
I help her out of the gown—carefully, because she insists she wants it for photos later. After all, Sloane Campbell doesn't do anything halfway. Then I'm easing her into the elevator, grabbing the hospital bag, giving rapid-fire instructions to Mel about locking up.
"We'll meet you there," Mel says, shooing people toward the door.
I grab her shoulder. “You hear from Pete?”
She shakes her head. “Not today. Your uncle said they’re working on his legal paperwork.”
I grunt. My oldest cousin came through for me big time when I was drowning in my own family crisis. Now Pete needs us, too, and I’m still facing my own responsibilities.
Mel pats my arm. “Go get your girls.”
My phone is still on FaceTime, and the last thing I see before ending the call is my entire family cheering.
"Go get 'em, Tucky!" Alder yells.
"You've got this!" Mom calls.
Dad's voice cuts through the noise. "Be the father those girls deserve, son."
"I will," I promise, and I mean it with everything I am.
Then I'm driving Sloane toward the hospital, her hand gripping mine so tightly I'm losing circulation, and I've never been more terrified or more certain of anything in my life.
"I love you," I say as we wait for the gate to open to leave the building. "I need you to know that. I love you and Shula and Aurora more than anything."
Sloane looks up at me, her green eyes bright with tears and joy and fear and hope. "I love you too. Even when you hire brass quartets and orchestrate elaborate bedroom ceremonies."
"Especially then," I correct.
The light turns green, and I drive Wyatt’s SUV slowly and carefully with precious cargo on board. Just the two of us for these last few moments before we become four.
"Ready?" I ask.
She interlaces her fingers with mine and nods. "Let's go meet our daughters."