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My brother grins, pride and joy painting his face. Trying to fight tears pooling in his eyes, he trembles, “He’ll be more handsome than his dad. Hell yeah.” He taps my cheek. “Go. Send them a hug from me, will you?”
I pat his shoulder hard as if he wouldn’t feel it if I didn’t.
“This way, Mr. Hartley,” the doctor gestures. If he looks this happy every time he delivers a baby, I don’t think he’ll ever age. “Your baby has a healthy appetite, that’s for sure.”
A hospital is never anyone’s favorite place, but seeing Isabelle and Faber in that room, surrounded by white, I feel like I’m in heaven.
I wrap Isabelle in my arms, showering her with as many kisses as I can muster. And right now, words simply escape me. All the things I was planning to say, I can’t get them out. I weep as I rest one arm around her waist, and the other reaching out to my son, caressing his rosy cheek.
“It’s daddy,” Isabelle says. “Faber, it’s daddy.”
“He’s perfect.” Finally I can utter something.
“He is.” Isabelle reaches for my lips to give me a proud-mama kiss. “Hold him.”
My heart bursts inside my ribcage with emotional confetti, my head overloaded with thoughts—how should I cradle him? How firm? How soft?
But as soon as he’s in my arms, everything falls into place.
Fatherly instinct? It’s more than that. What I’m feeling is an immense sense of humbleness, devotion, and protectiveness.
“Hey, Faber,” I murmur as I kiss his little forehead. He may not hear me, but we’ve known each other for months now, so he’s got to feel me. I know the bond between us will last a lifetime.
I turn to Isabelle, who’s wiping tears of her own. I ask, “How are you feeling?”
“A little exhausted, but I can’t be happier. It feels weird not having a load, though.” She observes and rubs her belly. Then she turns to me with a naughty gaze. “You know, Clayton, I’m gonna miss your massages.”
I chuckle.
“Seriously!” she adds. “You’ve got the best hands!”
“Here, hold Faber.” I hand our baby back to her. The boy seems to be content commuting between his parents.
“Oh God…” Isabelle moans as I massage her shoulders. “You keep doing that, and everybody will think I’m having an orgasm.”
“You’re allowed to enjoy it,” I justify my continued massage. But hell, she is moaning like my cock was in her. She didn’t do this at home. “Tell me, Baby Belle.” I hope my next question will settle her vocal somewhat.
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you if you want another one?”
She casts me a sweet, shy smile. “I do want another one, Clayton.”
“Um… I’m going to ask you this. Because you’re my wife and I know you’ll understand my question. You want a girl?”
She breathes out her last moan as I stop massaging—only because I need to see her expression.
“Every child is a blessing,” she says, tenderness and longing in her voice.
“I know. But, admit it…” I wink at her.
A lovely scarlet flush colors her cheeks. “Yeah… a girl would be nice, but really, I’ll be happy with another boy if that’s what life gives us.”
“We’ll try, Baby Moon Belle. I promise we’ll try.”
She stretches her neck to reach my lips. “You know me too well.”
“Because you’ve let me.”
