Page 64 of Blood

My oldest brother steps toward me. “Careful,” he warns, placing the baby into my arms.

As if I’d actually drop him. I fight an eye roll. I’ve been spending too much time with Shelby.

“We’d like you to meet Rupert Kaleb Cromwell.”

My eyes instantly fill at his words. The small child blurs as I blink.

“You didn’t have to,” I whisper, overwhelmed.

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” Daniel reminds me.

I look up at my brother. Even at my six foot one, he makes me feel small.

Slowly, I sink onto the footstool.

“What about Michael?” I ask, unable to look up at my family.

“Michael will be his godfather. Besides, he knows how I feel. Sometimes you need reminding,” Daniel explains.

“Dad?” I ask, inquiring about Christopher’s name.

“Rupert and Belle both carry the Cromwell name. We honor him that way. You deserve this, baby brother.” He grips my shoulder.

A tear splashes, landing on Rupert’s little cheek, and I quickly wipe it away.

“Hi, Rupert Kaleb.” Any other words I have get lodged in my throat.

I fucking love this family. I’m not ready to lose them.

Everyone crowds around, commenting on how they love the name. No one mentions my tears or how I won’t pass him off. They leave us be.

At least until the little man in my arms stretches, releasing a whimper that silences the entire room.

“Sorry, Kaleb.” Charlie stands. “That’s my cue. He’s due a feed.” Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, she takes little Rupert back. “Free cuddles anytime you want,” she offers, straightening.

“With the baby too, right?”

I don’t see it coming, but I sure as fuck feel it. My head snaps forward with the smack Daniel delivers to the back of my head.

“You deserved that.” Lara laughs.

“Mom, Daniel hit me.”

“I didn’t see anything.” Mom smiles, sipping her wine. “Stop teasing your brother.”

“I’ll be right back.” Charlie excuses herself. “I’m okay.” She smiles up at her husband when he moves to follow. “You stay with your brothers, play and eat.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam volunteers when Daniel hesitates.

“But I wanted a rematch,” I complain, gesturing to the Scrabble board.

“I don’t wanna play with you. You cheater.”

I clutch my chest. “Are you implying that I cheat?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it.”

And because I can’t help myself where she’s concerned, I call out, “You love playing with me.” As she follows Charlie upstairs.