The moment Ogram steps toward Hope’s bedside, my gaze meets Cate’s. I’ve always seen through the mask she shows to those she wishes to keep at a safe distance, and now is no different. The small smile she gives me is intentional rather than genuine, and doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
I want to pull her into my arms. Comfort her. Ask her why she kept this secret from me. Why she cut me out of her life if she loved me so fucking much. Why she never told me she wanted a child.
“Grüsh, meet your nephew,” Ogram says, pulling my attention to the swaddled baby in his arms, where it should be in this moment.
“He kooks just like you did.” The memory brings a smile to my face. “I was barely five when you were born, but I remember asking why you didn’t have tusks, and not being thrilled to find out it was so you could easily suck milk from our mother’s breasts. I ran into the woods and stayed away until my desire to eat was greater than my mortification about how babies got their food.”
The story brings laughter to the room. Even from Cate.
“You never told me about that,” Ogram says.
“Just remembered it now. Probably repressed the memory back then.” That gets another laugh. When it fades, I give mybrother’s shoulder a careful squeeze, then incline my head in a nod toward Hope. “Your son is perfect. I’m very happy for you all.”
“Thank you, Grüsh.” Hope extends an arm from where she lies on the bed, squeezing my hand when I take hers. “We’re so glad you were still in town to share this special time with us. How long do you think you’ll be able to stay before your busy schedule calls you away?”
“To be determined. Hopefully for a long while.” I’m looking at Hope when I say it, but the words are for Cate.
“I hope that too,” Hope says, glancing from me to Cate. Then she jerks her attention toward Ogram, as if realizing she slipped up. “I think I should try to get a nap before our little boy is hungry again. He only slept an hour between his last feedings.”
“I will stay and take care of everything possible while you rest,” Ogram says, gently sweeping her dark hair from her face.
Smiling up at him, she leans into his touch when he cups her cheek. “Tell them his name before they go. It was so hard not to tell Cate when she got here, but I waited so we could all be together.”
Watching my brother and Hope together, there’s no doubt in my mind they’re true mates. If only I’d been more open-minded about the possibility of having a human mate.
Gently rocking the sleeping baby in his arms, Ogram smiles at Cate, then me. “Initially, we planned to name the baby after our parents, Grüsh. A combination of Drogh and Kinah, to honor both of them. But having you and Cate present for the arrival of our firstborn was a sign to give our child your names. May our son, Cagrü, know you well and love you always.”
Cate covers her gasp with both hands before using the backs of them to whisk tears from her cheeks. “I’m so honored. But you couldn’t have given me a bit of warning, Hope?” She half laughsas she wipes more tears. “You know I hate crying in front of people.”
I step to her side and take her hand, interlacing our fingers. A gesture of more than family, more than friendship. A public display of the affection we share. Of our connection.
When I turn my attention to Hope, she’s practically beaming, whereas Ogram looks as if someone turned on the light in the middle of the night.
“We’ll let you get some rest,” I say. “I promise to live up to the special gift you’ve given me.”
Before we exit the room, Cate turns and wags the index finger of her free hand back and forth between the new parents. “If you need anything, either of you, text or call me. Day or night.”
Hope blows her a kiss. “We will.”
In the corridor, Cate slips her hand from mine. “Thank you for the support. When she’s healed and back to normal, I’m going to give Hope shit for making me weepy.”
“Happy tears are nothing to be ashamed of. Neither are unhappy tears.”
“I’m not ashamed. I just prefer to keep things like that private. But since you have an opinion on the subject, when didyoulast cry in front of anyone?” The arch of her eyebrow indicates confidence that her point will be made. She’s not wrong.
“I have no memory of crying in someone’s presence.”
Her bottom lip drops. “Ever? Not even around Ogram when your parents died?”
“No, and neither did he. We returned their essence to the earth and honored their lives with song.”
Her gaze remains on my face as we pass through the sliding doors of the maternity ward. “Is that something you did just for them, or is it a troll tradition?”
“Tradition. Though we’d never experienced it ourselves.”
“Because it was just the four of you in that home out in the woods. No other trolls,” she says softly. “I remember.”
“None that we associated with. My parents had cultivated a trusted relationship with the farmer whose land Ogram now owns, and a few other humans who were aware and accepting of the nonhumans living in secret, but aside from that, we had to be very careful not be known before the Great Revelation.”
