32. Liam #2
“I am.” She watches the street ahead. “I’ve been more than a sister since Dad died. Our stepmother’s around, technically. But nurturing isn’t really her strength.”
“That’s a heavy role.”
She shrugs. “You do what you have to.”
I nod.
“So,” she continues, “you’re pretty close to Max too.”
“Yeah.”
“Both of you grew up here?”
“Born and bred.”
“Same,” she says, bright as ever. “Parents still in the city?”
I clear my throat. She catches it immediately.
“Oh. Sorry. Ignore me.”
“We ran from home when I was fifteen.” The words come out easier than they should. “Max was eleven.”
Her hand covers mine as much as it can, tiny but doing its best. “Liam…that must’ve been tough.”
It was. I don’t explain the foster homes. The nights on the street. The cash from odd jobs that I turned into something bigger because I was willing to bet it.
As I make the turn, she starts to withdraw her hand.
“Stay there,” I say quietly.
She does without probing further. She pushed when she was chasing Red Fox. She cornered me into lunch at Hunt & Hunt. But here she leaves the space intact.
The fact that I said it at all surprises me. I don’t usually volunteer that piece of history. With her, it doesn’t feel like I’m trading a story for closeness. It feels natural.
I lift her hand and brush my lips across her knuckles. “Next time, we do this properly. A real Sunday.”
I’m not generous with access. Yet here I am, lowering the barrier without a fight.
For a few seconds, I forget that at the end of this drive, someone is likely to say, “Do you want to hold him?”
“Liam. Flowers,” Helena says as I power through the maternity ward.
“Right. Good call.” I scan the display. “Which one?”
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
She gestures toward a compact blue-and-white arrangement. “White roses and blue delphinium. Classic without being obnoxious.”
“Done.”
I grab it without further analysis.
Max is waiting outside the ward and spots me immediately. That tiny, loud, brand-new creature I once knew has turned into a fully grown man. For a moment, I take him in.
He squints at me, but his grin widens when he sees Helena. “You brought backup.”
“She insisted,” I reply, which earns me a glare that would look more convincing if she weren’t fighting a smile.
“Good,” Max says, steering us toward the post-delivery suite. “Marcus is going to need someone stable in there.”
“I am stable.”
He rolls his eyes, then he clasps his hands and announces, “Mother and baby are healthy.”
“Oh, that’s great news,” I say.
He then says, “Go meet Elliot.”
Helena slows near the door. “Maybe I shouldn’t. This feels…personal.”
Marcus hears her. “Helena, get in here.”
I step closer to her. “To be honest, this is exactly why I brought you.”
She looks at me like she’s trying not to enjoy my desperation. “Fine. But if you faint, I’m catching the baby. Not you.”
“Catch me,” I murmur.
She pretends not to hear that as we step inside.
Iris looks exhausted, yet somehow brighter than I’ve ever seen her. Marcus is beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, his hand firm at her upper arm.
And in Iris’s arms—
A very small human.
“That’s him,” Marcus says unnecessarily. “Elliot.”
“Lio,” Iris adds softly.
“Congratulations you two!” I say, kissing Iris’s cheek before pulling Marcus into a tight hug. He holds on a second longer than usual. I let him. We both know what it took to get here.
When I step back, Helena is already beside Iris, one finger caressing the baby’s forehead.
“Hi, Lio,” she says, her voice so gentle it feels like a new side of her. “I’m Helen. Nice to meet you.”
Iris beams. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“We wouldn’t miss this,” Helena says.
“Look at those beautiful flowers…” Iris says, caressing the blue petals. “Thank you.”
Marcus glances at me. “Middle name’s Liam.”
For a moment I don’t process it.
He adds, “You’ve been there for me at my lowest point, Hunt.”
I look at the baby again.
Elliot Liam Lockwood.
“That’s…” I clear my throat as a flutter spreads through my chest. “That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s not,” Iris says.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Helena’s fingers brush my wrist. The touch is subtle, not calling for attention.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
I nod.
Marcus carefully transfers the baby into my arms.
There is a very specific silence that falls when a man like me holds something breakable.
He is warm. Lighter than I expected. His head fits into my palm with alarming fragility.
I adjust automatically, supporting his neck.
Instinct, apparently, exists. He makes a small sound.
And I feel it again—that small flare. Not fear. Not even discomfort. Something larger.
I rein it in immediately.
“You’re very small,” I tell him.
Marcus laughs. “That’s generally how this works.”
Helena watches me, not the baby.
I hold Elliot for a moment longer then hand him back to Iris.
“I brought the second bag,” I tell Marcus, defaulting to logistics. “And your wallet. How you managed to forget that is beyond me. Imagine getting stopped on the way in.”
Marcus looks mildly insulted. “Police don’t pull over men escorting women in labor.”
“Still. Basic preparedness.”
Soon we talk about practicalities. The house. The dog—safely with Alaska and Olivia, minus certain upholstery casualties. Visiting hours. Schedules. Normal things.
Helena fits into the room effortlessly. Iris squeezes her hand. Marcus thanks her like she’s always been part of us.
Eventually we leave.
In the car, Helena waits a minute before speaking.
“Your anxiety about the visit?” she says. “Completely justified.”
“Huh. Thought I handled that well.”
She laughs. “You did. For someone who practically trembled at my door and forgot the flowers.”
“Thank you. So—dinner. Where do you want it?”
She looks out the window like she’s considering the options, then snaps her attention back to me. “You don’t want your own kids?”
I swallow. Hellion, indeed.
“It’s never been something I planned for,” I say.
She lets out a small laugh. “I don’t mean to insult you, but you’re closer to forty than thirty.”
That one hits, harder than any of my brother’s digs about my age. Not because of the number, because of what it implies.
I’ve built companies, acquired assets, structured futures for other people, but never once pictured my own with a child in it.
“Hey,” she says, softer, her hand giving a little rub over my palm. “I didn’t mean that as a jab.”
“I know. It’s just…It’s not something I’ve had to answer before.”
She looks at me, then says, “Tell you what? Let’s have dinner at my place. Olivia makes a New York strip that’ll fix your mood.”
“Oh, more grilling.”
“The steak,” she deadpans. “Not you. I promise.”
“Your stepmother will be joining us?”
“Nope. She won’t be back until late,” she says. “Come on, you’ve had a big day. You deserve one evening without thinking.”
“Too late.”
“We’ll help,” she says, already reaching for her phone. “And we’ll raid my stepmother’s stash. I know she’s hiding a top-tier Cabernet somewhere.”
“See? This is why you’re high risk.”
She smiles. “Tactical.”
When we get to Carroll Gardens, I park properly this time.
I cut the engine and reach for her. My hand cups her jaw before my mouth finds hers. I kiss her the way I should have at her door earlier. My hand slips into her hair as I deepen the kiss, possessive and thorough, until she has to brace a hand against my chest.
“Thanks for today, Helena,” I murmur.
“What happened to Hellion?” she teases.
“That’s a lot of fire for a day that involved a newborn,” I say.
Her smile turns curious. “If Lio could talk, he’d probably ask you to come back tomorrow. You’re more of a natural than you think.”
“I don’t want to talk about kids anymore. Please.”
She holds my gaze, then nods. “Okay. Dinner then.” She opens the door before I can get to her.
I rush to take her hand while she’s still seated, and pull her in, burying my nose in her hair. She smells of something warm and close. The moment she stands up, I lift her, leaving her no choice but to wrap herself around me.
“Whatever you smell like right now should be illegal.” I lower her just enough for her to feel the hardness behind my fly.
“Liam Hunt, what are you trying to do?”
“Depends how dinner goes.”
I set her down and she immediately punches me in the arm.
“What’s that for?”
“For getting ahead of yourself.”
I smirk and drape my arm around her shoulder. “Wrong body part to hit.”
She swings again, lower this time. I catch her wrist, though she gives me enough time to do it.
Her laughter spills out, and for a second she just looks at me, like she can’t quite help it. Then she leans in, closing the space she pretended to keep.
As we walk toward her house, somewhere in the quiet between us, a name surfaces in my head.
Elliot Liam.
And for the first time in years, I wonder why I’ve never allowed that possibility to exist.