James
Noire was louder than usual tonight. Laughter echoed off the black marble walls, music hummed low in the background, and the air smelled like whiskey and wood smoke.
It felt good to be surrounded by my people again.
Caleb, Calil, Knox, Maverick, my father, Dro, CJ, and Anthony were all there, talking, drinking, cracking jokes like we always did when life finally slowed down long enough to let us breathe.
Caleb was telling some story about Yanna dragging him to a yoga retreat, swearing he thought he was going to die, and everyone was crying laughing. For a minute, it felt like nothing in the world could touch us.
Then the bartender walked in with a small tray, setting down a black box on the counter. “Compliments of the house,” he said, nodding toward me.
I frowned a little, confused. “What’s this?”
He just smiled and walked off.
When I opened the box, everyone leaned in. Inside were cigars, thick and perfectly rolled, each wrapped with a sleek band that read, Welcome to the Dad’s Club.
The room went quiet for a second.
Knox was the first to speak, his deep voice carrying a hint of laughter. “Uh, JJ, you startin’ some new social group we don’t know about?”
Maverick leaned over, squinting at the cigars. “The Dad’s Club? What the hell does that mean?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Man, I have no idea. Maybe one of y’all are trying to tell me something.”
Caleb snorted. “Yeah, you wish. I’m done. Mine grown and gone, bro.”
The laughter picked back up, but something about it felt off, like the energy in the room had shifted slightly. I looked around, trying to piece together who might’ve pulled this. My father was grinning quietly, which was suspicious enough on its own.
“Alright,” I said, chuckling, “which one of y’all did this?”
Before anyone could answer, the lights dimmed slightly, and the music faded out. The screen behind the bar flickered to life.
Everyone turned to look.
At first, it was just static, then the grainy blur cleared, and a familiar sound filled the room. A rhythmic, steady thump.
A heartbeat.
My heartbeat picked up as the image on the screen sharpened. There it was, clear and real, an ultrasound.
I froze. My chest went tight, my throat suddenly dry.
And then, from the far side of the room, I heard a voice that made my whole world stop.
“Who’s in the Dad’s Club?”
I turned around, and there they were.
Calla and Amiyah.
Both of them were standing in the doorway, dressed in soft neutrals, glowing in the kind of way that made everything else fade out. Each of them was holding a framed ultrasound photo, their smiles trembling but sure.
My heart dropped straight to my stomach, then climbed back up and filled my chest so fast it almost hurt.
I stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe, until Amiyah’s voice broke the silence.
“Congratulations, Baby,” she said softly, her eyes shining. “You’re in The Dad Club!”
For a second, everything in me went still. The sounds around us dimmed, the world narrowed until all I could see were them, standing there holding the proof of something I didn’t even know I wanted this badly.
Caleb clapped a hand to my shoulder, his voice thick with a grin. “You good, little bro?”
But I couldn’t answer him. My eyes burned, and my mouth wouldn’t form words.
All I could do was look at them, at my women, at the family we’d somehow built out of love and chaos and second chances.
I took a slow step forward, then another, until I was right in front of them. Calla reached for my hand first, grounding me. Amiyah’s other hand slid into mine, and I felt the weight of everything I’d ever been afraid of lift.
I looked at the photo, then at them, and finally found my voice. “This is real?”
Amiyah nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s real, James, I’m 16 weeks today.”
The breath I had been holding escaped in a laugh that turned into a sob. I pulled both of them into my arms, holding on like I’d never let go.
Someone behind me whistled, another laughed, and the room erupted in cheers. The guys clapped, yelled congratulations, and a few pretended to wipe fake tears.
But I barely heard them.
All I could think about was the tiny heartbeat I had just seen, the one that would change everything.
When I finally pulled back enough to look at them again, my vision was blurry, my face wet. Calla smiled up at me through her own tears. “You’re crying.”
I laughed shakily. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Amiyah reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. “You’re going to be an amazing dad.”
I didn’t even try to speak. I just nodded, my throat too tight for words, and kissed her forehead, for once, I didn’t need to have control, or the right answer, or a plan.
When the noise started to settle, I finally looked at Amiyah again, really looked.
It hit me all at once. The glow I’d noticed over the past few weeks, the softness in her face, the small changes I couldn’t quite name before, they were all there now, clear as day.
The way her skin seemed warmer, the way her curves had deepened just a little, the way she touched her stomach absentmindedly like she already knew it wasn’t hers alone anymore.
Pregnancy was written all over her, in the quiet way she carried herself, in the peace in her eyes, in the love that poured out of her even when she didn’t speak. I felt my throat tighten again. How had I missed it?
Calla must have seen it in my face because she reached for my hand and squeezed it gently. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said quietly, her voice low enough that only I could hear.
I nodded, my chest heavy. “Yeah, it is. But it’s beautiful.”
She smiled at me, that slow, knowing smile that always grounded me. “We’ll let you have your moment with the guys and see you at home,” she said, turning toward the others. “We’ve got a table waiting for us at Olive they care about love. They care about being safe, about being seen. If they have that, they’ll grow up fine. Better than fine. They’ll grow up knowing that love doesn’t have to fit inside one box to be real.”
I listened to them, letting their words sink in.
Knox leaned back, grinning. “And for real, don’t pick now of all times to start caring what society thinks. Those same people preaching about ‘normal’ are usually the ones miserable as hell at home. Build your own normal, make your own rules, and cultivate your own happiness.”
The laughter around the table was easy again, the kind that loosened knots.