by Palmer, Dee
“Well, in that case, I’m really fudging happy then.”
“They are so bloody tiny.” Logan’s massive hands fumble with the sticky tabs on the nappy and with cream on his fingers I know he’s wasting his time and will need another one. The babies weighed in at an impressive five and just under five pounds despite being six weeks early and only needed a few days in the NICU. They are both healthy, vocal and doing really well, we all are.
It’s only the second week but Logan and Cass have both stepped up to full-on father role, happily doing everything except the feeding. They change nappies, do bath time, and rock the little ones to sleep.
I have a pillow over my C-section scar and I’m waiting to swap over the babies as my little boy has just fed and it’s my little girl’s turn. We haven’t decided on names but then we are waiting on the test results. It seems only fair that the father should have an input.
I get a sick twist in my tummy at the thought one of them isn’t going to be a father. I know what they both said about wanting me, wanting to be in my life regardless, but honestly, how would that work in reality? The father would naturally take a more dominant role. They are both proud, stubborn alpha males. Whoever is the father is going to make that fact very apparent, and I can’t see that ever sitting well with the one that isn’t the father. The problem is, I truly love them both. As selfish as it might be, I don’t want to choose. I want them, period.
“You know you’ve put her BabyGro on back-to-front, Logan?” Atticus laughs and Logan scowls.
“No I haven’t, it’s supposed to…oh, maybe you’re right. Look, it’s not really going to matter. She’s going to explode in her nappy just as soon as she feeds and shit all down the legs, so I’ll have to change her again anyway.” Logan carefully carries her in his arms. I smile because he holds his breath every time he picks one of them up, and despite his size, he looks petrified of the tiny bundle. I pass my son to Atticus as Logan lays my daughter on the pillow to feed. I gently cradle her close and take in the scene around me, savouring this blissful moment when everything is perfect. Even though I still can’t walk, I have everything I could possibly want right here in my arms and in this room. I couldn’t be happier.
The door opens and I know everything is about to change.
“The results.” The nurse holds up an envelope and walks over to me. Logan and Atticus shift and stiffen, I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them look so pale. We all look at each other, and I suck in a deep breath.
“Nothing changes, Tia.” Logan states, his jaw tense and the muscle ticking.
“I know.” But I don’t know that and my trembling fingers as I reach for the news that will change all our lives is a very good indication of that fact.
“It’s going to be okay.” Atticus adds.
“I know.” I don’t know that either and this is killing me. I rip the edge of the envelope with my teeth and lift the letter free. I shake it open and start to read. It takes a long moment to sink in, and even then, it doesn’t make sense.
“Is that even possible?” I frown at the jumble of information on the page.
“Is what possible, what? Who’s the father?” Logan asks but they both step closer.
“You both are.” I hold the letter up for them to see for themselves.
“What? Let me see.” Atticus takes the letter, and he scans the document until Logan snatches it from his hand.
“Show me.”
“It says I’m the father of your son and Logan is the father of you daughter,” Atticus explains as Logan reads the news for himself.
“That’s good right?” I ask, hesitation evident in my timid voice.
“That’s fucking fantastic!” Logan throws the letter high into the air and clasps my face in his meaty palms, kissing me soundly on the lips.
“Language, ass-wipe.” Atticus pulls him back and does the exact same thing to me, both taking care not to disturb the baby having her lunch.
“Language, dick-wad,” Logan retorts.
“Language, boys,” I admonish with a cheeky smile.
“This is amazing though, right? I mean we’re an instant fudging family, and you don’t have to choose.” Logan grins wide and bright and casts a knowing glance at Atticus, which has my Spidey senses tingling.
“I don’t?”
“No, you don’t,” Logan informs me.
“We’ve talked about this a lot, and this is your choice,” Atticus explains. They are standing shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall of mouth-watering manliness, both looking intense and serious and smoking hot. “You can choose one of us and the other will step back, a little, but still be in your life because of the baby…or…”
“Or?” I ask as he leaves the word hanging ominously in the room like an elusive lifeline.
“Or you can choose both of us.”
“Holy fu-dge!” Where is my fairy godmother because she deserves a fudging raise?
“Hold on, Atticus, she does have to choose.” Logan effectively throws the ice bucket over my fantasy future. I knew it was too good to be true.
“She does? We talked about this, Logan.” Atticus bristles with anger.
“She has to choose names for our babies.”
“You know your sense of humour is shit! So not funny, man.” Atticus punches Logan with enough force Logan has to step back to regain his balance. He laughs and holds his thumb and forefinger up with a tiny gap and quirks his lips when he replies.
“Little bit funny, come on Tia what are we calling these two?”
“Arran and Aurora.” I announce, my chest puffing with pride.
“As in the cardigan?”
“Two R’s, Logan.” I deflate and roll my eyes.
“I like it, Arran Ivan, after my real dad, if that’s all right with you?” Atticus rocks the bundle in his arms and I melt at the sight.
“I love it.”
“And Aurora Isabel, after my mother.” Logan sits on the bed and looks adoringly at his daughter latched and sucking down her lunch.
“Perfect.”
One month later
“Can you please move the sun shade?” Tia asks. She’s barely laid back on the sun lounger for a moment, fussing and worrying over everything and nothing. It’s a beautiful late summer afternoon and this morning’s physiotherapy session was particularly strenuous. An afternoon relaxing in the garden is just what the doctor would order. In his absence, I ordered it; if only she would relax.
“It’s covering them, Tia, and they haven’t exactly started crawling, wriggling yes, moving off of the spot we placed them, not so much.”
“Maybe move it a little closer.” She offers a soft placatory smile. “Make sure the shade covers the whole blanket. Or maybe put me right next to them, not three feet away, so I can at least move them away from the sun as it works its way across lawn.”
“I can do that. Would you like a refill first?” I take the two empty glasses and the jug from the table beside her lounger.
“Oh yes, thank you.”
“I’ll check on lunch too. I think Logan is baking the bread for the sandwiches from scratch with all the time he’s taking.”
“Make sure you tell him that with the same mocking tone and take pictures before he gives you a fat lip.” She raises a warning brow high and amused. I laugh and flash a cheeky wink her way.
“He’s yet to land a decent punch, princess. Besides, he knows I’m only jealous. Don’t tell him I said so, but I think he could give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money.” I lean down and keep my voice deliberately low.
“I heard that!”
“Of course he did. Be right back.” I roll my eyes and Tia giggles. That man has ears like an elephant, and he damn well never misses a thing with all the cameras he had installed. An unnecessary security measure now his sister is dead.
“If it’s not too much trouble, milord, could you get your arse in here and give me a hand?” he yells, tugging a long strand of his fringe in a mock bow.
“With lunch?”
“Lunch was ready an hour ago. I need help with the cribs.”
“Weren’t we going to do those tonight?” I call back, irritation clipping my tone.
“Well, I’ve started them now. They are growing fast and will be out of their Moses baskets before we know it.”
“They are going to outgrow them by tonight?”
“You’re funny. You know, we could continue to shout at each other across the lawn or you could just come and help.”
“I think it’s me going to be giving him a fat lip if he keeps that sarcastic tone.” I bend to give Tia a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be long, please.” I hate the catch in her voice, the uncertainty and fear every time she’s left alone with her own babies. She’s the best mum ever but also incredibly insecure.
“Tia, you’ll be fine. The babies will be fine. Relax, enjoy your book, smell the roses, and I’ll go and help Bob the Builder. I won’t be long.”
“Okay, just—”
“You worry too much.” I cut off a conversation we’ve had a hundred different ways.
“So would you if you were this helpless.” Her shoulders drop, and I can feel the frustration rolling off of her in sizeable waves.
“You’re not helpless Tia; you’re stubborn.”
“Stubborn?”
“Part of your brain is stubbornly refusing to listen to the part that knows you can walk.” I try and keep the tone of the conversation light because I know how much this is affecting her. She needs to stay positive and really believe she will get better. Logan and I can help but this ball is in her court now.
“Yeah, dumbass brain.” Her lips curve to one side in a half hearted smile but it’s better than nothing.
“We’ll get there princess.” I kiss her on the top of her head and sprint over to the house. Logan has disappeared inside, and I follow the sound of footsteps to his study.
“Where’s the cribs?” I look around at the array of screens and zero piles of crib paraphernalia.
“In the boxes in the nursery, we said we’d do them tonight.” Logan looks confused by my question, which interestingly, makes two of us.
“So why did you call me in here. You know she doesn’t like to be left alone with the babies.” I walk over to his desk.
“Look, look at this.” He turns the screen of his laptop to face me.
“What am I looking at exactly?”
“Watch.” He enlarges the image to full size, and the CCTV image of Tia in our bed fills the screen. The covers are pulled right back, and she’s sitting upright and seems to be sitting on her hands. She starts to pull her knees up, at least a few inches off the bed and drops them flat. She does this again once more before she relaxes back against the pillows.
“What the hell?” I move the cursor back and watch the recording one more time.
“She’s been doing this for the last few days. It was a little movement at first, and I wasn’t sure she was actually doing it because her hands were always resting on her thighs or knees. She could’ve been making the movement with her hands, but this…”
“She moved by herself?” I finish his sentence with my own question.
“Yep.”
“Why hasn’t she said something?”
“At a guess, she’s probably worried it might not be much more than this and doesn’t want to get our hopes up.” Logan points to the screen, and I although I can understand the sentiment, she’s crazy to keep this to herself.
“That would kind of make sense I guess. It’s still crazy that she’d want to keep this quiet.” I shake my head with a mix of excitement and sheer disbelief. “So what now?”
“Now we wait until she’s ready to share. I just wanted you to—”
“Logan! Cass! Come quickly! Logan! Cass! Now!” The terror in Tia’s voice has us both flat out sprinting for the back door. I reach it first and slam my hand across the doorway, preventing Logan from passing.
“Wait!” I hiss.
“Wait? What the hell, Cass, she needs us.” He growls, pushing his full force against my arm. The angle makes my bones creak, and it feels like my elbow is about to snap. I hold my position, and with my glare, I urge him to wait and shut the fuck up.
“Logan! Cass! There’s a huge fucking bee crawling toward the babies, please! Whatever you’re doing, drop it and come here NOW!”
“Cass, move your arm,” Logan grits. His nostrils flare with pent up rage.
“Just wait.” I keep my voice quiet but punctuate each word with resolute conviction.
“I can see the fucking bee from here, Cass. She’s not lying.” He pushes forward, and I wince from the pain shooting up my arm. I jerk my weight to push him back a little. His feet skid on the tile floor and all of a sudden he stops trying to get past me.
“I can see she isn’t lying, Logan. I can also see the bee is a fair distance from the babies and it’s barely moving. Tia on the other hand…look.”
“Oh my god!” Logan breathes out slowly, and we both watch, careful to stay out of her periphery.
“I’m going to fucking kill you two when you get out here!” Tia yells over her shoulder as she eases herself onto all fours and begins to shakily crawl the short distance from the lounger to the blanket with her babies. She grabs one of the teething toys scattered around and flicks the bumble bee clear off the blanket. She sags down next to the babies, who remain oblivious to both the unlikely danger of being stung and the miracle of their mother moving under her own power.
I let my arm fall, and Logan pushes past. We both jog over to Tia.
“You crawled.” Logan drops to his knees, a huge grin splits his face.
“You saw that did you? Didn’t think to come when I screamed though. You’re both arseholes, you know that, right?” She is drawing in some rapid breaths no doubt from the rush of adrenalin and the physical exertion.
“You crawled,” I repeat and sit down on the blanket beside her. She rolls onto her back and pitches up on one arm, using the other to shield the sun from her eyes.
“I did. I really did,” she says after she lets the smile on her face light up the whole damn world.
“Want to try and stand?” Logan asks.
“Yes.” She bites her bottom lip and nods enthusiastically, holding her arms up for assistance. We each take an arm and lift her to her feet. Her toes curl into the blanket and we both have to crouch so she can support herself on our shoulders.
It’s clear we’re no longer bearing all her weight. She takes a step forward and I want to cry. Tia does. She gasps and her cheeks are instantly soaked as she takes another tentative step.
“My legs feel very wobbly, but they are definitely listening to me.”
“You’ve lost a lot of muscle strength,” I explain. Even if she’s heard it a fair few times, this time it means something. This time she can actually feel what it means. “You have some because of all the exercises we do, and now that you can support yourself, muscle tone will really improve.”
“Let’s not go crazy. We both know I’m hitting the deck as soon as you let me go.” She looks at me and Logan, holding and sharing the intensity of this moment in a single gaze.
“Never going to happen.”
“Never letting you go princess.” I add my own vow to Logan’s truth.
One Month Later
“We’re really doing this?” I yawn, rub my eyes against the soft filter of sunlight peeking through the heavy blinds. Stretching my toes to a point under the light cotton cover, I exhale a still sleepy sigh and relax back into the cocoon of limbs and hot, heavy bodies in this massive bed, our massive bed. This is my morning ritual, and each day it feels a lot like a dream. I wake with Atticus and Logan wrapped around me, and if we’re lucky, like we are today, our babies are asleep in the nursery next door.
“Oh, baby, we are so doing this.” Logan rolls me over away from him so he can spoon and cup me from behind, his large hand on my breast and his hot b
reath tickling my neck. My cheeks ache with the deep smile, which seems to be permanently etched on my face.
“I can’t believe we’ve waited a whole month as it is.” Atticus shifts his weight so he is facing me nose-to-nose, and I think his smile must match my own for size. His crystal clear blue eyes reflect the morning sun and bore into me. I know what he’s looking for, and although I am in love with this idea, I can’t help this niggling feeling of what’s the point.
“But it’s not legal. I mean it’s not recognised anywhere outside of Tartarus Hall and maybe a few cults. It seems a little superfluous.”
“Mmm, I love your filthy mouth.” Logan nibbles at my earlobe, and I giggle.
“That wasn’t filthy,” I argue.
“Saying our wedding was ‘superfluous’ is more than filthy, it’s a crime.” Atticus grins at Logan over my shoulder and carries the situation, his tone brooking no further discussion.
“Tia we’ve gone over this. No, it’s not remotely recognised, and I do believe neither of us gives an actual fuck. This is our decision, and this is what we all want. This is happening…today.” His lips cover mine before I can retort. I wasn’t going to, I just needed to hear the certainty in both their voices one more time. His light kiss ends and he rolls onto his back with a self-satisfied, smug expression, his arms pulled up behind his head. I pitch up onto my elbow and then wriggle free so I am sitting cross-legged and staring at them both. A space down the middle of the bed I recently vacated separates to two most beautiful creatures I have ever laid eyes on. Opposite in almost every way, yet similar too, and uncommonly bonded over me.
Logan has darker skin and a light dusting of dark hair on his broad, defined muscular chest. His glossy chocolate-brown hair falls over one side of his face, and his dark scruff of beard perfectly enhances his strong jawline. Whereas Atticus is pale, has broad shoulders, a cut chest with smooth skin over ripples of undulating ab muscles. He keeps his icy blond hair short, with longer length at the front, which strategically flops into his piercing eyes. How we’ve avoided sex for a whole month is beyond all reasonable tests of endurance. What was I thinking, agreeing to abstain?
