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“He’s active tonight.”
“He’ll tire out soon.”
“You want me to stay up with you?”
“No, I want you to rest. When I get back in bed, be ready for me.”
Her breath hitches and her eyes light. “Okay, honey.”
Beckett kicks his feet, waving his arms with his gaze searching around the room.
“I know, buddy. She has that effect on me, too.”
His gummy grin turns into a baby murmur.
“Let me tell you what happened to your daddy one year ago today. MVP and Super Star of the winning team was nothing compared to seeing your mom for the first time at a bar named Tom’s…”
He drifts off somewhere in the middle of the story, but I don’t stop, feeling Willow’s presence still behind us.
“…and that is how you got your name. Beckett Thomas Simms.”
When I turn, she’s wiping her eyes, smiling. Without a word, she disappears to our room.
I stare down at my son.
Everyone says he looks like me, my spitting image, according to my mom.
Most of the time, I agree.
It’s times like now, watching him sleep, knowing he’s protected and loved—I see so much of Willow.
And like his mom…
He’s absolutely fucking perfection.