Page 57 of Claimed By My Biker Daddies

Wren nods, cradles the bundle, and goes.

I get to the second baby and lift him to me.

This one protests like a small king wronged, and the sound is the best I have heard all day.

Under my coat he goes, cheeks to my shirt, my heat to his skull, and Hox is there with the other blanket, already humming off key.

“Truck,” I say. “Same orders. Feet, back, sing until he complains about your taste.”

The babies vanish into the cab, and then I lift her.

She is lighter than I want. I do not let her walk.

I do not let the weather see her face.

Arms under knees and back, blanket across her shoulders, and I carry her like my arms were built for this task.

Three long steps become seven.

The truck’s warmth bites at my nose.

We load her in, prop her between them, and I put a capped bottle in her hands.

“Small sips,” I tell her. “In stages. Breathe.”

Her eyes try to close.

She keeps them open because I am watching.

She looks left and right and finds the two small lumps swaddled and complaining and her shoulders shake once.

“Are they okay,” she whispers.

“They will be,” I say. That is a promise, not a hope, and I know the cost of making it.

I go back to the car.

The inside is a map of a life.

Diaper bag, formula tins, bottles, what looks to be a small bottle sterilizer, quilts sewn from old cloth that carry the kind of smell kitchens remember.

A paper sack of garlic knots, still warm.

A cake.

A canvas tote lined with a red towel and the weight of six loaves that smell like orange and rum and someone’s grandmother’s patience.

“Bread,” I say since I happen to be out of all other words, and Hox appears as if summoned by sacrament.

We lift the tote like it is a sleeping child and carry it to the truck.

Wren gets the diaper bag and we fetch everything else in turns.

I shut the car, kill the hazards, pocket the key because machines deserve closure the way people do.

Back in the cab the air is gold with heat and baby noises.

Wren rubs circles on one tiny spine and hums a nonsense melody until the breathing sets.