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Right after I hit send, the extra-wide door pushes open.
Scout slips into the room first, clutching a giant stuffed alligator under her arm. "Where is she?" she stage-whispers, her eyes wide as she tiptoes toward us so she doesn't wake the baby. "Where’s my niece?"
Tatum and Ellie are right behind her, carrying a bouquet of flowers and a cluster of shiny Mylar balloons. Andie trails in next, her hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket, followed by Trace, who’s holding a gift bag and glaring at Colston.
The room shrinks around us, filling up with excited whispers, chaotic energy, and the smell of coffee and flowers.
"You guys," Goldie laughs, wincing slightly as she tries to sit up a little straighter. "You didn't have to bring all this."
"Shut up, yes we did," Ellie says, setting the flowers on the windowsill before practically diving at the bed to hug Goldie carefully. "You did so good, G. I’m so fucking proud of you."
"Yeah, you're a total badass," Tatum adds, dropping a stack of magazines onto the bedside table. "I brought snacks that aren't hospital food, and hydration masks because the air in here is basically a desert."
Trace walks straight past the bed and shoves the oversized gift bag into my chest. I catch it before it hits the floor, and Trace stops right in front of Colston. He squints at the baby, then crosses his arms. "Your elbow is too high. You look like you're holding a football."
"Back off, man," Colston whispers, twisting slightly to shield Frankie. "I’m having a bonding moment. You have to wait your turn."
"I drove an hour and a half across the bridge in morning traffic," Trace argues, keeping his voice low as a grin fights its way onto his face. "Hand her over."
"Nobody’s holding her until you wash up," I say, stepping between them. I point toward the sink in the corner. "That goes for all of you. Hands washed if you want to touch her."
"Yes, Dad," Scout mutters, already making a beeline for the soap dispenser.
"Hurricane Daddy’s got a point," Andie says, walking over to wash her hands. I cringe at the nickname but let it go.
When she’s done, she walks over to inspect the baby over Colston’s shoulder. The stoic, badass mechanic takes one look at Frankie, and her ice-blue eyes melt completely. She reaches out a tattooed finger and lightly strokes the top of Frankie’s knit cap. "Damn. She’s actually really cute. Most newborns look like grumpy old men, but she’s gorgeous."
"Of course she’s gorgeous," Scout says, dropping the giant stuffed alligator onto the shitty bench under the window. "Look at her parents. She’s going to break so many hearts. I’m already planning her outfits. I found a leather jacket that matches Andie's, but the smallest size it comes in is for a six-month-old."
"Send me the link. I’ll buy it right now," Andie says without missing a beat.
The room descends into loud, messy crosstalk. Tatum starts unpacking the box of pastries Colston brought, handing a chocolate-frosted donut to Goldie. Trace and Colston start arguing over exactly how many minutes count as a fair turn holding the baby, and Scout pulls up a chair right next to Goldie's bed, demanding to know if Goldie pooped on the table during the delivery.
"Scout! You can't ask that!" Ellie gasps, slapping her shoulder.
"What? It's a thing that could happen and it's fucking horrifying!" Scout defends herself.
I step back, leaning my shoulders against the wall near the window, and just watch them.
My whole life, I wanted a loud, crowded house. I wanted a family that showed up, loved unapologetically, and made life fun. I used to sit in that sterile, silent living room of the house I shared with Delia, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, thinking I was never going to get it. I'd convinced myself that loving my ex was enough, that I’d make it work because that’s what you did when you made a commitment.
It sounds cheesy, but less than a year later, all my dreams have come true.
It doesn't look anything like the traditional, picture-perfect version I had in my head. It’s a tattooed mechanic, drag brunches on the weekends, photo shoots, drunken nights on the beach, and a guy who goes by Jenny. It’s loud, messy, and unconventional.
And it’s exactly what I've always wanted.
My eyes find Goldie through the chaos. She’s laughing at Scout, a smudge of chocolate frosting on her bottom lip, her smile so wide and genuine it lights up the dull hospital room.
Like she feels me watching her, she turns her head, looking past Scout’s shoulder, and her gaze locks onto mine.
The noise in the room fades out. The banter, the crinkling balloons, the monitors—all of it drops away. We just stare at each other, grounded in this intense tether pulling between us. We’re both exhausted, running on pure adrenaline, but the look she gives me says everything I’m feeling.
We did this, you and me.
I hold her gaze, tapping my hand against my sternum right over my heart, and mouth the words, I fucking love you.
Goldie’s smile turns soft. And then she mouths it right back.
