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I pushed along with him.

“Are we almost there?” He flopped against me, his body covered in sweat.

“You’re doing great and the baby is almost here.” I pressed my lips on his scalp, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. “Let’s do this.”

Minutes or maybe hours later, River pushed out the baby’s head, and I cradled it with one hand. This was no longer a pregnancy but a birth. My mate panted and pushed, the shoulders emerged, and then I caught our son. He was slippery and warm and ours. My tears dripped onto him as I brought him to my chest. He wasn’t impressed, and his face grew more red with every scream.

Neither of us spoke as we looked at him.

I’d held my newborn daughters, but I’d never held a child that was half River. My hands shook, and I burst into tears. My mate held me and his eyes also brimmed with tears.

“Hey, remember me and your omega dad?”

The baby’s cries softened, and I handed him to River. In his omega father’s arms, he quieted. Neither of us spoke as we stared at our son. I was mesmerized by this tiny bundle with strong lungs and an even stronger grip who had his tiny hand curled around my finger.

“He recognizes your voice.” River leaned his head on my shoulder as the baby looked from me to him. “I know the world seems scary, little one, but it’s kind of an okay place.” He kissed our son’s cheek.

“A warning, you have three very loud sisters who’ll be fighting over which one gets to hold you.”

“And when you get older, they’ll probably argue with you.” My mate placed a hand on our son’s damp head. “You’ll have to be tough.”

I called in a favor and a friend collected our girls. I met them at the door and explained the baby was here. They were so fast, but I caught them as they attempted to trample up the stairs. Putting a finger to my lips, I told them to tiptoe, which they’d never once managed. They did their best at being quiet and admired the baby on River’s chest.

“Will the baby call you Papa?” Wren asked River as Ivy tried to get her brother to open his eyes.

“Probably.” River nodded.

I was Daddy, so Papa was an option.

“Papa. I like how that sounds.” Poppy tilted her head.

“Me too,” Ivy agreed.

EIGHTEEN

RIVER

We were in the heart of our home, the kitchen, and the girls were each performing for their little brother.

“Reed liked my dance, Papa.” Wren picked up her bacon-and-egg sandwich and peered inside, making sure I’d added hot sauce and not ketchup.

“But he clapped when I did my magic trick.” Poppy was holding a sausage, and I glanced at Sinclair. He mouthed “I’m on it” because when I turned my back, she would offer some to Reed.

“My turn.” Ivy did a cartwheel, a handstand, and finished with a headstand. I winced as she placed her head on the hard floor.

“Shouldn’t Reed be walking soon?” Poppy asked, and I shook my head. I knew where this was going as always. “It’s probably because he doesn’t eat enough meat.”

“Sweetheart.” My mate swung her into his arms as she attempted to pick up her little brother in his bouncer. “Reed doesn’t eat any solid food yet.” He bopped her nose.

Poppy gave him a look as if to say, “You’ve proven my point.”

The baby cried and reached for Ivy. “He said he loves me.” She squeezed her brother’s cheeks and kissed his brow.

Poppy started playing peek-a-boo with Reed, and he chuckled. “Reed says his favorite color is blue.” She folded her arms and grinned because that was the color of her flame.

“He did not.” Wren held three pens, blue, purple, and orange ones in front of her brother. “Which one do you like best?” She positioned the purple one in front of the others, and Reed lunged for it. My mate’s shifter reflexes saved the situation, and he grabbed the pens before the baby could stuff any in his mouth.

I doubted Reed could identify colors yet, but he’d chew on anything within reach.