I wanted to be surprised.
I don’t think we’re gonna make it there with how many times she tries to trip me up.
“But you’re gonna know anyway because—“
“How? I thought you wanted neutral colors in the baby’s room.”
“I do, but—“ I run my hand down the side of her face and cup her chin.
“Emmy, I love you. But if you tell me anything about that kid other than being something wrong, I’m gonna…after your pregnant, I’m gonna fuck you so hard that—“
“You do that already.” Her brows furrow together like I’m telling her something she doesn’t know.
“That was one time. I got carried away.” Emmy hits me with a knowing stare. It’s something I’m working on.
“But for real,” she continues. “It’s important, and I’m truly not trying to ruin this for you.”
A whistle blows off the TV screen, and my attention flicks back to it to find yet another penalty.
“What the fuck,” I grit out, keeping my tone down because Alaric and Atlas are playing on their playmats in front of us.
We moved into our new house about four months ago, and Emmy has been nesting like a motherfucker. My sister comes over almost every day to make dinner while she orders Emmy to stay off her feet. We’re due in two months, almost around the same time her ex stabbed her with the twins, and she’s been a little on edge lately.
So if her telling me the sex of our child is going to elevate some of that stress…
“Alright,” I impart, still holding on to her face. “Go ahead.”
Emmy frowns, searching my expression to see if it’s okay. “Will you be mad?”
“No.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“But you wanted to be surprised.”
I shrug. “It’s not like we’re not going to have any more kids. We can do it the next time.”
“I could’ve kept it a secret if you’d stop going into the nursery,” she scolds as though I brought this conversation up and wanted to spoil my own secret.
“What’s that have to do with anything?” Emmy looks heavenward and pulls from my grip, clearly exasperated with me.
Rearranging herself on the couch, she scoots close to the edge and tries to twist her body, her big belly in her way. She’s still learning to navigate herself sometimes, the beautiful creature.
“Because you won’t stay out,” she repeats. “You’ll notice if I finish it.”
“It’s not done?” Brown eyes slit at me. “I mean…I thought it was.”
“It’s half done. Hardy can’t bring anything in because you walk in there like babies are gonna fall out of the sky and land in the crib.”
“Ems, tell me what you wanted to say so I can catch up here.”
“Twins,” she blurts. “We’re having twins. I need to have two cribs, two dressers. I want to make sure it’s all set up before we give birth. You keep standing in there, and it’s sweet and cute but, babe, I need to get it all done.”
I stare at her because she just said twins.
Twins still stand for two babies, right?
I glance down at Alaric and Atlas laying on their bellies, playing with teething toys, confirming my damn question.
“Two girls, right?” I flick my gaze to her when she doesn’t respond.
“Aw, babe—“ She reaches out to touch my cheek. “—you’re gonna be kissing my ass so hard for putting two boys in me.”
My eyes expand so much that I’m surprised they don’t roll out. “Fucking boys?”
“Two little Kace Bishops.” She rubs her belly. “Right here.” Emmy looks so peaceful at the news that I’m starting to believe that my racing heart is just me freaking out over nothing.
I mean, I can handle boys.
A few smacks to the back of the head, and we’re golden. But raising a good man is a pain in the ass. You gotta let them fuck up but not too much. You have to teach respect and how to treat people of all genders and sexual entities. Don’t go fucking the whole universe because you could get a woman pregnant and don’t catch an STD.
Men have it easy, no doubt with most shit, but we’re still the assholes that get elected in positioned powers.
My boys—all of them—are gonna get more than ass-whoopings as long as I’m living if I gotta reteach them.
“Emmy…” I trail off and she smiles, big and bright, settling my growing nerves. “I hope they’re like you.”
“Why?” She chuckles. “You’re charming.”
“And a dickhead.”
“Well, if we name one of them after your daddy, Jett, maybe we’ll only have to deal with one bad kid.”
I’m an action’s first, ask question later kinda guy, but I can’t do either.
My mind was set up to have a mental breakdown at the hospital, be the alpha douchebag that made sure Emmy had everything she needed while giving birth to our child—now children. I was entirely okay with bitching at everyone and possibly doing God knows after Emmy gave birth, but twins.
Boy twins.
A boy named Jett after my murdered father.
A name I haven’t uttered in I don’t know how long. It’s not that I don’t think of him. It’s just that he’s not a conversation I have with anyone.
“I’m not upset, Bish,” she coos quietly. “I’m actually thrilled.”
“You are?”
“Yeah.” Her smile grows wider. “I’ll have my own little army of boys. I’ll have to tell them to chill out when Atlas starts dating, but—“
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” I jerk my head back. “Come here.”
Emmy smiles and straddles my lap, but I quickly change my mind, laying her on her back and settling between her legs.
Fuck that I can’t do any more than that with our kids ten feet away.
“You are…” I hover my lips over hers, careful to keep my weight off. “Every-fucking-thing.”
“You like the idea? I didn’t want to upset you with it.” I shake my head and press a kiss to her lips.
“It’s perfect, thank you. Thank you…for loving me.”
“Ditto.”
“Da-da! Da-da!” Emmy and I snap our necks to see Atlas drooling over
