31

THE RUGBY TEAM

NORA

THE BABY IS HOWLING. I mean, I didn’t know a kid so little could make that much noise.

I approach Doc and fight laughing my ass off. His panic is hilarious. He’s bouncing Henry, desperately trying to calm him down. He came into this babysitting gig with such confidence. I thoroughly enjoy watching it disintegrate before my eyes.

“My love,” I say faux-sweetly, noting how quickly his eyes narrow. Shit, he’s learned all my approaches. Already! “Have you checked for poop?”

“What the fuck?” he asks, looking at me like I’m insane. “Why would I do that? And how do you do that? Fuck’s sake.”

“God in heaven, you have a niece,” I hiss. “Have you never changed a diaper?”

“No!” He acts like the idea is insane, then immediately backpedals. “Not that I wouldn’t, but I never have. Lynn was overprotective and adamant about making Jeff change as many diaper disasters as she could.”

I chuckle and grab Henry from him, holding him up to smell his butt. “Wooo! That is ripe. How did you not smell that?”

Doc falls ass-first onto the sofa and groans. “Your nose is better than a bloodhound, Beauty.”

I shrug. “I still can’t believe you couldn’t smell that.”

Sophie and Fox wanted an adults-only night out, and all the grandparents were either out of town or unavailable, so I came up next on the sitter list. It’s the first time I’ve been in charge of the rugrat since he was born. Thankfully, I’m feeling pretty confident now. Henry’s comfortable with me and seems to like me—as much as an eight-month-old can. After I get him cleaned up and smelling a whole lot fresher, I join Doc on the couch, propping the baby up on my lap.

“Why did we agree to do this?” I ask, thinking aloud. “I mean together. Obviously, we want to help out our friends, but—”

“Whoa, there. Sophie asked you, I asked if you wanted me to keep you company,” he says, acting all cocky. “Plus, you work tomorrow, and I have a shoot in Baja the next morning. I need to get my Beauty fill.”

I can’t help but giggle. “Weirdo. And you said you’d help, not just ‘keep me company.’”

“Was I not just holding him?”

“Like a terrified Chihuahua.”

“That’s harsh,” he says, leaning away from me and little H. “And makes almost no sense. Besides, I know how to hold babies.”

Henry coos at the faces I’m making. It’s crazy how I love this kid, not to mention the personality he’s developing. My therapist and I have discussed my wavering desire for children of my own, among all the other things I’m working through—the abuse and miscarriage, the fear of relationships and all that. And overall, I can’t say definitively, though I think I could handle it if it “just happened.” I look at Doc and smile, relieved and grateful he is still here with me, despite my attempts to keep him at arm’s length.

When I aired all my dirty laundry and he understood, he was the first to ask if I wanted to do joint therapy sessions. Sophie had been the one to convince me to start therapy in the first place, but I surprised myself because I wanted Doc’s take on the idea. Not to decide for me, but because I truly needed his input.

“I saw a counselor after a particularly bad botch-up during a stunt series that left a guy paralyzed,” he’d told me. “I’m not comparing, but, like, it was a great way to wrap my head around things, not blame myself an’ all that. It could be great for you. For us.”

“You think so?” I had been a bit shocked at his comfort level with the idea.

“Absolutely, love. Hell, if you want me to come to any of your sessions, I am fine with it.” He’d leaned in to wrap his arms around me, whispering in my ear, “If it means being closer to you, I am more than fine with it.”

“What are you thinking about?” Doc’s voice pops my thought bubble, bringing me back to the present, and the wiggly infant in my lap.

“Oh, um, kids, I guess.” My voice has a telltale tremble in it. He’s going to pick up on it right—

“Whose?”

“You know,” I say with exasperation. “If I want my own.”

Henry grabs his feet and squirms. I think I’ll try him out on some belly time. Fox says he loves it because clearly it’s like paddling on a surfboard. After I set the kid up with some toys on his blanket on the floor, he immediately starts rolling around and laughing.

“Definitely his father’s son,” I say. When I look up at Doc, he’s raising an eyebrow to me. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not avoiding the question.”

“I didn’t ask a question.”

Stiff eyebrow. “I’m still not sure I want kids,” I say, eyeing his unwavering smile—one that could almost convince me on the spot to toss my birth control. Almost.

To my surprise, he laughs heartily, and it warms me from toe to tip. “I’m not asking you to pop out a rugby team, let alone make any decisions right now.”

I hear my father’s words, joking about his request for a brood of kids that may or may not have driven my mother away. Yet this amazing man—who is warm and caring and gorgeous from the inside out—is simply asking for me. And I’m so grateful. I think of the conversations with Da and his adamant insistence that I will never be the cold fish my mother is (my words), and I’m grateful for that, too. I’m starting to believe it, and Doc makes me feel worth it. Every day.

“I know.” My answer is soft, though the beat of my heart is the loudest drum.

“Hey, we’re still working on some of the issues of being us—and I’m fine with that, with where we are right now.” He walks over and gently grips my arms to pull me closer to kiss me gently. “I love you. Maybe that means a wedding and some kids… someday, if you’re amenable,” he says. “But I’m in no rush. Hell, we still have the upcoming Monkhouse ‘I do’ fiesta to celebrate first.”

I offer a soft laugh while mentally sorting through my to-do list for that event.

“The only thing I know I can’t live without is you.”

A small smile plays at my lips as my full attention is quickly drawn back to him. This simple declaration offers his trust and love and respect, while he, my Declan, is the safest home my heart I could ask for.

I throw myself forward and wrap my entire being around him, sucking at his lips like they hold the voice of God.

“You won’t have to,” I say, breathless and so fucking happy. I’m giddy to the point of insanity—considering an appointment for a CAT scan. “Declan Martin Wellesley, I love you so much.”

“Christ, Bennett, tell me something I don’t know.”

Before he can pull me back in, I stop him. “I have a suggestion.”

His eyebrows perk, but he’s definitely intrigued. “Fire away.”

I delight in the plump curve of lips, tugging upward at the corners in anticipation. I’m pretty sure he’s not imagining what I’m going to say next, and that is nearly as thrilling as the thought of his hopefully wordless and universally consuming agreement.

With that hope and love, I leap.

“Let’s move in together.”

THE END