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“Mr. James, your plane is landing now,” the flight attendant said as he pointed out the windshield. “Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”
“No thank you. Do you know if my manager took care of your fees?”
“Yes, sir. I’m paid.”
I nod and exit the car with my duffel slung over my shoulder. One of the benefits of going home is knowing my mom will do my laundry and likely restock all my clothing. Although, she’s probably not going to want to leave the twins with their babies.
But then again, if I remind her, herfirstson needs new boxers . . . who am I fooling. My mom isn’t going to leave and go shopping. She’ll have everything ordered, in three sizes, and send whatever doesn’t fit back.
As the plane taxis down the runway, I scroll through my phone. Mostly watching TikTok videos and having a minor panic attack when I realize Christmas is in a few days and I haven’t bought my family any gifts. I have no idea what to get any of them. What do you buy people who have everything? I type the words “Christmas gift” into the search bar of the app and look through videos of what people are buying, have bought, or bought last year. There is one thing that sparks a bit of interest for the women in my life. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to pull it off, but I’m going to try like hell.
The men in my life are another story.
What do you get two, aging rockers, who are hell bent on one upping each other in the grandparent department? As soonas I have the thought, I know exactly what I’m getting them and close the app to open my email to send a request to the merch company Sinful Distraction uses. Even though it’s short notice, I know they’ll come through for me.
As the plane touches down my phone rings. “Hey,” I say to Liam as I wait for the plane to pull to the hangar. “What’s up?” Even as I ask, I already know it’s about Elle.
“Your dad says we need to hurry. I’m outside.”
The door opens, I walk down the first two steps and then jump, running toward Liam’s car as soon as my feet touch the pavement.
“Buckle up,” he says as he tears out of the airport as fast as he can with his flashers on. “Things good?”
“Yeah. Tour’s going well.”
“Nah, with you,” he says as he maneuvers around cars.
His question gives me a pause. I smile and nod. “Yeah, I’m really good.” I am, because the past few weeks with Justine have been refreshing. No, I take that back. This tour has been amazing because of her. She didn’t allow me to wallow in self-pity but allowed me to grieve my long-term relationship in my own way.
Liam screeches to a stop at the entrance of the hospital. I don’t bother with my bag and barely thank him as I get out of the car. Someone tells me to stop running, which I ignore. For all they know I’m the expected father and I need to get to the maternity ward.
At the nurse’s station, I stop and try to catch my breath. “Where?—”
The nurse smiles and points, “508.”
My expression must question her.
“I know who you are and who your family is. Your sister is in 508.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know who she is, but she needs a raise.
I push the door open and find my family gathered around, my mom with her hand over her mouth. My chest heaves, working to fill my lungs with air. “Liam called and said . . .” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know what I was going to say next is wrong. Yes, he called, but he also picked me up and drove like a madman to get me here.
“I missed it?”
In my sister’s arms are two babies, both wearing blue hats. She had twins . . . she had two babies when I thought she was going to have one. Her one was supposed to be my best friend. The odd man out. Peyton’s babies would all have each other, and Elle’s one would have no one, except me because I understood what it was like to be on the outside, to watch Peyton and Elle live in their own world. Sure, we are close, but their bond is different. I was going to be that bond for Elle’s baby . . .
. . . and now I don’t have anyone.
“Actually, you’re right on time,” Elle says. “I’d like you to meet my youngest son, Sonny Quinn Miller.”
At the mention of his name, my head spins. I know I joked about Peyton naming her daughter Quinnella, but I would’ve been on my knees begging her not to do something like that. I never thought in a million years either of my sisters would give one of their kids my name. Even as a nickname.
“Wow, he has my name.” Tears cloud my vision, and my throat tightens with emotion.
“Of course he does, Quinny. Did you really think your sisters would have five kids in the matter of weeks and not give one of them your name?”
I look from Elle to my dad with tears tipping the rim of my eyes. “Thank you.”