Home with Baby Rafe

I hear Sinclair sigh heavily beside me, murmuring, "Rafe…"

I ignore him, my eyes fixed on Hank, who blushes crimson at the doorway and looks down at his shoes. I say nothing, offering him no easy escape. Instead, I wait patiently for an answer.

"Cora is," he murmurs awkwardly, "very special to me…"

"I would imagine so," I reply, my voice harder than I expected. "She's a very special person."

Hank sighs and raises his eyes seriously to mine. I hold his gaze steadily.

"I'm very serious about Cora," he says evenly. "I want to build a life with her. But we are moving slowly. We both want to make sure this is right."

My heart warms at his words, but what does it mean? I pull my baby closer and shift in my seat.

"And do you want to have children—"

"Rafe!" Sinclair bursts in, his voice angry, a hand on my arm.

"What!" I cry, turning to him with a frown. "It's a legitimate question!"

"It's none of your business!" he hisses, his eyes wide with appalled indignation.

My sister's business is…

My frown deepens as I open my mouth to object—it is my sister's business, after all—but Hank clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him.

"If there's nothing else," he says, his eyes flickering between Sinclair and me, clearly hoping my questioning is over. I sigh, nodding, as Sinclair speaks.

"Thank you, Doctor," he says with finality, dismissing himself from my interrogation. "We'll look forward to seeing you soon."

I scowl as Hank leaves, my eyes on my baby.

"Rafe," Sinclair says slowly, admonishingly. I glare at him, still angry.

"We need to know, Sinclair. She's not with Roger because she thinks he wants children they can't have. If Hank isn't on the same page about kids, then what's the point?"

Sinclair's eyes widen in surprise. "And what's Cora's stance on kids?" he asks. "Does she want them?"

"Does Roger?" I ask, still bristling at his interruption.

He frowns, staring into space. "Actually, I don't know…" He looks back at me. "Either way, that's a conversation between Cora and Roger. Or Cora and Hank. Or… whoever."

"And me," I murmur, settling back against the pillows. "If they're all too stupid not to talk about it, then I will."

"Trouble is as trouble does," Sinclair sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I guess I shouldn't have expected any different."

"Damn straight," I murmur, smiling down at my baby. I kiss his little head. "Don't worry, baby," I whisper. "I'll teach you my troublesome ways. Then we'll torture Daddy together."

Sinclair chuckles softly but doesn't argue. He knows it would be futile.

Night had fallen by the time we finally got home, all three of us exhausted. Cora finally gave us the go-ahead when Rafe's final tests came back clean, and we happily left.

Crossing the threshold, I gasped at the array of gift baskets and flowers. "Oh," I breathed, fascinated, moving forward to examine them. Then I looked up at my mate. "Did you do all this?" I asked, eyes wide.

"No," he said, his eyebrows also raised as he checked some tags. "They appear to be gifts from friends and well-wishers. See?" He pointed to one filled with hand-drawn cards surrounding a fluffy teddy bear. "This one's from James and Isabel…"

"Oh," I said, reaching for it, tears welling up. "Oh, I miss them…" I bit my lip, overwhelmed by the love in the room, realizing I hadn't kept up with everyone as I should have.

"No, no," Sinclair said quickly, taking me by the shoulders and moving the baby and me toward the stairs. "We're way too tired for this—if you get into these cards now, you'll cry yourself to sleep—"

"But the teddy bear!" I cried, looking back at it as Sinclair guided me upstairs. "Rafe's first teddy—we have to get it!"

"It will be there in the morning," Sinclair said, yawning. "Now? Bed."

"Okay," I sighed, yielding to his wisdom. When we reached our bedroom door, my eyes filled with tears again.

"Baby," he murmured, cupping my chin, exhausted but present. "What is it this time? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, my voice trembling, looking between him and the baby. "Just… we're bringing him home for the first time, Dominic. Putting him to sleep in his own little bed. It's just…" I shrugged. "It's big."

Sinclair rested his head against mine, understanding unspoken. I know, he said simply. I rested against him, grateful for his unwavering support. He understood this was a dream come true, that every moment—even this one—was a miracle.

"Come on, darling," he said after a moment, pulling me into the room. "Let's get him settled."

And so we did. We brought Rafe into our room, changed him, fed him, and tucked him into the bassinet beside my side of the bed. Then we showered, changed into soft clothes, and curled up in bed, always keeping an eye on our precious boy.

Sinclair lay behind me, my body pressed against his. He propped himself up on his arm, looking over me and into the bassinet. I, too, looked down at the sleeping baby.

"I think he's really cute," I whispered, studying him carefully.

Sinclair chuckled softly, careful not to wake him. "Of course he is."

"No," I said, not taking my eyes off my son. "Really cute. Way cuter than most babies. And that's not just me being his mom—I think he's objectively… really cute."

"He takes after his mother," Sinclair said, laughing and letting his head fall onto the pillow. I snuggled closer, still watching my son.

"Yes, after me," I murmured, pleased and a little teasing.

"So he's cute," Sinclair whispered. "And he'll be trouble."

"No," I said, drifting off to sleep. "He'll be perfect."

"We'll just see about that," Sinclair murmured, his breathing deepening.

Fifteen minutes later, Rafe chose a side.

Unfortunately for me, he chose trouble.

And he cried.

All. Night. Long.