7. Ransom
7
RANSOM
N oah makes a little snuffling noise from his spot nestled against my chest. He's so tiny. Holly would disagree with me, and yeah, he's gotten a fuck of a lot bigger, but my hand can still cover his whole back. How is it even possible that something this tiny and precious can turn into a full-grown person? It's pure fucking magic.
"It's snowing, buddy," I whisper to him. His eyes blink, slowly, apparently unimpressed. He's fading. His first Christmas, and he was a total champ. Just sitting on the floor, clapping his hands, laughing as we all tossed wrapping paper in his direction. He only tipped over once, but you can't blame him for that. His head is fucking massive.
Pressing a kiss to that gargantuan head, I move away from the twenty-foot-tall windows and wander back into the destruction. Thanks to the women, the penthouse is decked out for Christmas. A massive tree stands in the corner, dripping with lights and ornaments. Garlands wrap around banisters, and stockings hang from the mantle. It's like Santa's workshop exploded in here.
The sound of laughter drifts down from upstairs. Sounds like the movie crowd is having a good time. I could go join them, but if I do, someone's going to try and snatch the baby from me. So I'm good right here.
Shuffling through the wrapping paper — not stepping on another Lego, thank you very much — I make my way to the living room and peek inside the big cardboard box in the middle of the floor and have to hold back a bark of laughter. Mia and John are both crashed inside. John's flat on his back, Mia on top of him, the toy hammer clutched in her fist pressed against his scarred cheek. Her legs are straight up the side of the box, and I have no fucking clue how either of them can sleep in that position. But any family gathering that involves big fucking presents, there they are.
I don't even remember what gift was inside that box. For all I know, the box was the gift.
Noah squirms a bit, rearing back to stare at me, scowling, then lets out a drunken laugh and face-plants back into my neck.
"You comfy there, buddy?" I whisper, chuckling. Noah just yawns in response.
"You're a natural," a voice says behind me.
Turning, I smile at Janey. "He's easy."
"Is he? I don't really know much about babies. They're not all like he is?" she asks.
Putting my hand on her back, I guide her to one of the couches. Holly and Micah are asleep in the corner of the other one. She sits, curling her feet under her, then grins up at me. "That looks good on you."
"The baby?"
"The onesie. The baby too, but seriously, I think we should have a onesie day at work. Maybe every Friday."
Peeking down, I take in the onesie I'm wearing. It's becoming a tradition. This year, everyone got a different animal. Janey's a sweet little bunny. Noah's a lion.
Mine is a cow. With big dangling udders.
A fucking cow.
"Interesting idea," I murmur, settling into the corner of the couch. "Though I’m not sure anyone's going to take me seriously going into a negotiation like this."
She giggles, muffling the sound with her hand as she glances at the sleeping couple. "Maybe not, but it would be great for morale."
I give her a glare, and she laughs, which makes me all kinds of happy. "How are you doing, Janey?"
"Me?" she asks, surprised. I don't know why. "I’m wonderful."
"You are."
She blushes, which is adorable, then leans her head on the couch. "How are you? You've seemed a little out of sorts the last few months. Is it the work on the new office? Cara says it's coming along nicely."
"It is. They're a little ahead of schedule. We should be moved in by the end of April."
"So soon," she breathes. "That'll be a big change."
"Yeah. It will." Especially since Janey and Maya won't be coming over. I wanted to move the marketing and HR departments over, but neither one thought that would be a good idea. "Are you sure I can't convince you to move offices?"
She gives me the kind of smile my mom used to give me when I asked for an extra slice of cake. Indulgent but firm. "No. HR needs to be where the bulk of the employees are. You corporate goons don't need my services."
I bark out a surprised laugh. "Shit. Sorry, baby," I murmur to Noah, who didn't move an inch. Thank fuck Micah and Holly haven't raised him to be the kind of kid who can only sleep in a dark, quiet room. ’Cause quiet isn't really a thing around here.
"If you change your mind," I tell Janey, "I'll get you moved over in a heartbeat."
"Jonas said the same thing. He says he's worried about missing quality time, whatever that means. Most of the time he's so wrapped up in his work, he doesn't even realize it's the end of the day. You know that."
"I do know that." I'm not going to be the one to tell her the quality time Jonas is talking about is lunchtime sex. She still thinks they're being sneaky. She has no idea he's not as discreet about it. Not that he's acting like some bragging jock, but he's always so fucking happy after being with her, it's obvious to anyone why.
Silence falls between us, and I find myself lost in the tiny miracle nestled against my chest. Noah's breathing is soft and even, his warmth seeping through my stupid cow onesie. I breathe in deeply, savoring that indescribable baby scent—a mix of powder, milk, and something uniquely Noah.
His little hand rests on my collarbone, fingers splayed out like a starfish. I gently take it in mine, marveling at how his entire hand barely covers my thumb. His skin is impossibly soft, and I can't help tracing the little divots of his knuckles.
"He's perfect," I murmur, more to myself than to Janey.
She hums in agreement. "Have you ever thought about having one of your own?"
I look up, meeting her curious gaze. "What, a baby?"
Janey nods, her eyes sparkling. "Yeah. Finding someone special, settling down, starting a family. You're so natural with Noah."
I chuckle softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant. "Nah, that's not in the cards for me. Never has been."
"Really?" Janey's brow furrows. "But you're so good with kids. And you seem to love being around them."
"I do," I admit, looking back down at Noah. His little nose scrunches up in his sleep, and I have to resist the urge to boop it. "But I'm happy being the fun uncle. Marriage, kids of my own—it was never the plan." Maybe once, just for a little while, I considered it. But not since.
"I don't understand," Janey says, her voice gentle. "Don't you want a family of your own?"
The weight of her words settles on my chest, heavier than Noah could ever be. Memories flash through my mind—a house engulfed in flames, the acrid smell of smoke, the crushing weight of guilt. Then other images: McKenna's kind eyes, Blair's fierce grin, the day I met each of my brothers.
"I have a family," I say quietly, my voice thick with emotion. "Right here in this building. You, Jonas, all my brothers, their partners, these kids." I press a soft kiss to Noah's forehead. "This is my family."
Janey's silent for a moment, and I can feel her studying me. When she speaks, her voice is soft. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to?—"
"It's okay," I cut her off gently. "I know it might not make sense to most people. But this—" I gesture around the room, to Holly and Micah curled up on the couch, to Mia and John in their cardboard fort, to the sounds of laughter drifting down from upstairs "—is everything I need." Maybe, if I'd found my way back to Blair a decade ago, my answer would be different. But I put in my time.
I'm fucking tired.
Noah stirs in my arms, letting out a tiny sigh before settling back into sleep.
"I understand," Janey says finally. "And we're lucky to have you."
I meet her eyes, seeing the sincerity there, and a warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with the baby I'm holding. Her eyes drift down to Noah, and her gaze sharpens. Her fingertips absently scratch at her stomach.
Something about the motion makes me sit up straighter. "Do you…are you having a baby?" There's no way I can't ask. I am incapable of keeping my nose out of my family's business.
Her cheeks pinken, and her hand balls into a fist. "No. Well, I don't know. Maybe. I'm…you know," she glances over at Micah and Holly, still asleep on the other couch, then leans in closer. "Late," she whispers. "My um…you know, is late."
"Your period is late." As expected, as I hoped, her cheeks blaze. "Janey. I'm a grown-ass man. I understand how women's bodies work. It's okay to say the word 'period.'"
She presses her palms into her eyes and groans. "I didn't grow up that way."
"I know." She grew up with a fucktard of a brother and a drunk of a dad who made her feel bad about everything that makes her a wonderful woman. Though her dad's shaping up to be an okay guy. If I concentrate, I can just pick out his laughter from upstairs. "So your period is late. Is that a good thing?"
It's slow to start, but her lips curve, and her smile, when it finally appears, is blinding. "Yeah. I think it's a really good thing."
“So do I.”
There's a rustling at the box, and we both watch as Mia crawls out. John's groan of pain makes me smile. It's the sound of Mia's knee firmly lodging itself in his balls. It's a sound, and a feeling, I know well.
She couldn't have hit him too badly though, since the low snores pick right back up. I can't blame the man. He woke up at the buttcrack of dawn to start cooking. He's earned that nap.
Toys still clutched in her hands, she comes over, resting her cheek on my shoulder and gazing at Noah. We're all a little nuts for him. "Uncle Ransom?" she mumbles.
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"Is it time for more presents?"
I chuckle. "I think you've opened them all, sweetheart. How about some hot chocolate instead?"
She perks up at that, eyes rounding. "With marshmallows?"
"Of course. Hot chocolate without marshmallows is just gross."
Balancing Noah in one arm, I lead Mia to the kitchen. "Alright, munchkin, let's see if we can whip up some hot chocolate without waking the whole house."
I flick on the lights, open the cupboard, and immediately groan. Everything's different. Again. "Dammit, John," I mutter under my breath.
"What's wrong?" Mia asks, climbing onto a stool at the island.
"Nothing, sweetheart. Your Uncle John just likes to play hide and seek with the kitchen stuff." It's annoying as fuck. Apparently, the places I keep things are 'fucking insane,' and while I might not agree, there's no fucking way I'm going to risk upsetting him.
The man's got mad skills in the kitchen, and I don't want to risk missing out.
I start opening other cabinets, searching for mugs and cocoa mix. Noah snuffles against my chest, and I adjust him slightly.
"Are you sure you know how to make hot chocolate?" Mia's voice is skeptical.
"Of course I do," I reply, more confidently than I feel. "It's just... a little tricky with only one hand."
She watches me fumble through drawers. "Maybe we should wake up Uncle John?"
"Nah, we got this. It'll be our secret mission."
After what feels like an eternity, I finally locate the cocoa mix. "Aha! Victory!"
Mia giggles, but her eyes narrow as I struggle to open the container one-handed. "Uncle Ransom..."
"I've got it, I've got it," I insist, finally popping the lid off. I grab a mug—thankfully, those were where I expected—and start spooning in the mix.
"Now, for the milk," I mutter, heading to the fridge. I open it with my elbow, nearly knocking over a jar of pickles in the process.
"Are you sure you don't want help?" Mia asks, her little face scrunched with concern.
I pour the milk into the mug, miraculously not spilling a drop. "See? Uncle Ransom's got skills."
I pop the mug into the microwave, hit the buttons with my elbow, and turn back to Mia with a triumphant grin. "And now we wait."
She shakes her head, a smile playing at her lips. "You're silly, Uncle Ransom."
"That's why you love me," I wink at her.
The microwave beeps, and I carefully retrieve the steaming mug. "Now, where did John hide the spoons? And the marshmallows?"
Hours later, my apartment is silent, everyone gone to their own homes and their own beds downstairs. I designed this penthouse for family gatherings, and it's perfect, with room for everyone to spread out. But when I'm alone? It feels like a fucking museum.
I flick the lights off, one by one, bathing the whole space in darkness. Then, yawning, I take the steps upstairs one at a time. This floor is a little smaller than downstairs, but not by much. Nearly 10,000 square feet of 'private' living space. Not sure what the designer meant for me to do in all this private space, though. The loft TV room is where I spend a lot of my downtime. The couch is deep and massive, and as comfortable as my bed. And the TV takes up most of the wall, so it feels like you're right in the movie. There's even an old-fashioned looking popcorn maker in the corner that I didn't see the point of, but gets used all the time. That, the dishwasher, and the coffee machine are the only appliances I use here.
And the microwave. Can't forget about that little fucker.
Tonight, I head past the loft and down the hallway, passing doors to the private living room that I never use, the home office that I almost never use, three guest rooms,and my private gym.
I don't think I've ever stepped foot in there.
When we were all crammed together at the Knight Street garage when we were kids, all trying to live in that one small space, I would have done anything for a little breathing space. But here? Space is the last thing I want. This whole building was designed to bring everyone together, so why the fuck would I want to use this gym when I could use the one a few floors down and probably run into one of my brothers?
That's really been my strategy for the last decade: create opportunities for connection in the mundane. We collide at work. We collide in the hallways. We collide in the gym. We also used to wander into each other's apartments, but now that the women are here, that's not happening as much anymore.
But my door is always open.
Always.
That's why, if I'm working at home, I do it down at the kitchen island, so I'm available if someone pops by. If there's a fuck of a lot of work to get done, I stay at the office or do it up here late at night when everyone's sleeping.
My family comes first. Always.
Usually, after a day like today, filled with great food, laughter, and lots of kid time for me, I would go to bed happy. But tonight, I'm restless and feeling off. I wasn't lying when I told Janey this Christmas is everything I've dreamed of. My dreams now center around this family.
But I had dreams before. Dreams of forever. Dreams of Blair.
I thought I'd put them in the past. I thought I could let them go.
But lately, they're fucking haunting me. She's haunting me.
So I don't crawl into bed. She'll find me there. She always does.
Instead, I head back down the hall and drop onto the big couch in the loft, click on the TV, landing on the classics channel and some black-and-white movie, and stare blankly at the screen.
The squeaking a few minutes later isn't a surprise. Neither is the little body climbing my pant leg and settling into my chest. I carefully stroke the tiny hamster's back, enjoying the feel of her soft fur. "Hi buddy. What were you up to today?" She doesn't answer, of course. I'm not a fucking lunatic. I know hamsters don't speak. But she's been my secret little buddy for over a year.
We lost a few hamsters in here last year, and eventually, we found them. Except for this little one. She's smart and stays hidden during the day. Mia and I put food out for months, and it would be eaten, but otherwise, there was no sign of her.
But one night, right around this time last year, on another lonely Christmas night, she crawled up onto the arm of the couch and watched a movie with me. Within a month, she'd moved to sitting next to me. The month after that, she'd decided that I was safe enough to nap on.
I know I should get her a cage and keep her safe, but she's happy. She eats the food I leave her and seems healthy. Maybe I should be grossed out at the idea of her pooping around the place, but I have a great cleaning crew, and besides, I lived in way worse conditions when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure battling the mice and bugs was a full-time job for my mom.
"Pretty sure she would have liked you," I say to my little friend. "You're really good company." She squeaks again and curls into my palm, falling asleep.
My eyes get heavier and heavier, and just before I fall asleep, I say a little prayer that Blair will finally leave me in peace.