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I felt like such a fool. I’d fucked up, and now Pippa was going to have to pay the price for my mistake.
And just like I knew they would, West and Doc had taken charge like the professionals they were and done what it took to treat Pippa while I’d just stood there as useless as a hood ornament.
I’d finally agreed to stay for a while and fetched the infant car seat from my car so Doc could put her to sleep sitting upright. Apparently, it helped with nasal drainage or something. What the hell did I know?
After the breathing treatment and a cuddle, Doc settled her into the car seat and took her back to his bedroom to watch over her. He seemed content to sit with her for a while despite the fact a million of his family members were present for a party. Maybe it was because so many people were there that he was happy to get some quiet time in his room.
West led me out of Doc and Grandpa’s room, closing the door behind us. His warm hand was still settled on my lower back, and he used it to pull me around to face him. We stood at the end of a long hallway with no one around.
“Do you trust Doc to take good care of her for a little while so you can catch your breath?” West asked in a soft voice. It wasn’t accusatory, more like sincerely concerned.
“Of course I do. Obviously, he can do a hell of a better job at it than I can,” I admitted drily. “I’m not cut out for this, West.”
“Stop that. You’re full of shit. Do you have any idea how many new parents wouldn’t have been nearly as on top of this as you were? She was perfectly healthy when I last saw her forty-eight hours ago, and Doc said he saw her just this afternoon in town. That means the virus came on quickly, Nico. Stop berating yourself. You did fine. You noticed she was sick, and you brought her to a doctor. Now cut that crap out and let’s go get a drink. I think we could both use one.”
“I think you might be right,” I told him as a laugh of relief bubbled up.
We began walking back toward the main part of the house when West spoke again. “Nico, about the birth certificate…”
“I believe you,” I said before he could say anything else. “If you say you aren’t her father, I believe you. I’m sorry I doubted you. I was really upset.”
West stopped and held me still by my shoulders. “I’m not her father, Nico. I promise I’m not. I never slept with your sister. I need you to know that. And I had no idea she listed me as the father on the birth certificate.”
“Do you know why she would have done it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe for emergencies? Maybe Honovi has a better idea. We can ask him tomorrow. Right now I want to introduce you to some of these crazies and watch you get more and more uncomfortable as the night wears on.”
His words were said with deadpan humor, but he wasn’t far off from the truth.
“Is this some kind of weirdo ‘meet the family’ ritual? Don’t you think it’s a little soon for all that?” I teased.
“Better now than waiting until after you’ve popped the question,” West said with a shrug. I barked out a laugh and smacked him on the ass as he turned back toward the direction of the increasing noise from all the people who’d piled back into the kitchen and family room. I had to admit it felt good to cede control of Pippa over to an expert for a little while.
Once we entered the kitchen, I noticed Griff had arrived somehow and was talking to an older woman I didn’t recognize. He was holding a glass of wine and laughing. I quirked a brow at West.
“Oh, I asked Hudson to run over and pick up Griff. I figured you wouldn’t want to leave them alone, and this way I could justify keeping you here longer.” He winked at me before reaching for one of the bottles of alcohol scattered across the huge kitchen island.
I greeted Griff and updated him on Pippa’s situation, learning that Rebecca had chosen to stay in and rest rather than coming over to “party with all the kids.”
After West brought me a stiff drink of some kind, he started introducing me around to everyone until my head spun. Someone had turned on music, and Mr. Wilde was dishing out bowls of chili. For some reason there were groans of complaints about the food choice.
“What’s wrong with chili?” I asked one of the sisters quietly. I was pretty sure her name was a combination of initials, but I’d be damned if I remembered which ones.
