Page 31

Chapter

Thirty-One

André

André balanced Hope on one knee, making ridiculous horse sounds as she grabbed two chubby fists full of his hair.

“Easy, cowgirl,” he muttered, ducking his head just as she squealed with delight and drooled down his shirt collar. “Hope, please, I just did laundry.”

“She’s already calling your bluffs.” Polk sprawled across the floor with one of Hope’s stuffed foxes over his face. “You haven’t done your laundry in weeks. Otherwise you’d be wearing that old-ass T-shirt.”

“The dusty-blue one!” Country laughed from the couch.

André flipped him off and earned a delighted cackle from the baby.

“Language,” Jenna hissed from the kitchen without even turning around. Her hair was a frizzed halo around her face, her sleeves half-soaked from rinsing fruit, and the oven timer was beeping like a car alarm. “André, hand me that platter.”

“You own a platter?” he asked, hoisting Hope under his arms and standing with a groan. “What’s this, a royal banquet?”

Jenna whirled around with a spatula in one hand and a twitching eye. “I have to impress these people. Shut the hell up and put it on the counter.”

Country laughed. “I love it when you come over. Takes all the pressure off.”

André grinned and pulled the white ceramic plate down from the cupboard over the fridge. Grace stood stiffly beside the counter, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, staring down at her phone.

She looked good. Even tense and pale and biting at the inside of her cheek. Probably because of it. The idea that he could be the one to unravel her made his jeans tight. Every single time.

André swallowed. They made a plan. Together. For once, she hadn’t tried to do it all herself and brought him along for moral support. He wasn’t sure which part of that made his chest ache more. The fact that she’d trusted him, or the fact that it clearly scared the hell out of her.

He crossed the room, gently handed Hope to Polk, and then made his way over to Grace. “You okay?”

She looked up at him with eyes too bright, too sharp, and too damn wide. “Mm. Yep. Great.”

“Cool. Yeah. Seems like it.” Grace shot him a look. He didn’t budge. “Grace. You’re vibrating like a fridge light. I think the only reason you’re still upright is because you forgot how to sit down.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could throw something sharp back at him, the doorbell rang. All the air snapped out of the room.

Jenna went rigid by the oven. Country shot up from the couch. “Uh, I’ll get it.” He swung the door wide, and they all held their collective breath.

Brady stood on the porch in jeans, a worn fleece jacket, and scuffed boots. “Hey.”

Country put out a hand, and Brady shook it. “Gentry Maddox. Come on in.”

Brady stepped inside like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch the floor. His eyes swept the farmhouse slowly, taking in the mismatched picture frames on the wall, the baby swing by the fireplace, and finally, to where Hope sat in Polk’s lap, blinking up at him with those wild, curious eyes.

The guy stopped dead. Like the sight of her punched the air from his lungs. Brady stared at Hope, then cleared his throat and dropped to a crouch. Not close. Not reaching. Just lowering himself to her level, his hands dangling helplessly between his knees.

“Hi,” he said softly. “I’m . . . my name’s Brady.”

Hope blinked. Then gave a delighted squeal and reached toward the crinkle of his jacket. Brady’s face cracked like a dam.

Polk shifted slowly and handed her over. To his credit, Brady didn’t bolt. Didn’t burst into tears. Just picked her up like he’d done it a thousand times and had only forgotten the rhythm. His hands were solid. Gentle. Hesitant at first—but then, she tucked her little fist into the collar of his coat, and the tension sighed out of him.

“She looks like me,” he whispered. Something ruptured in André’s chest. Brady looked up, eyes glassy. “I didn’t know.”

Jenna stepped forward, her voice steady but soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He glanced at her, nodded once, then dropped his head to look at Hope. They stood through a long silence, then jumped at a knock on the door.

Jenna frowned and strode forward, flinging it open.

André’s eyes widened. Elodie stood there, hair half-pulled back, her expression calm, but he knew her well enough to see her feet kicking under the surface. Beside her, that had to be Amey. She was small, pale, with quiet eyes ringed with sleeplessness.

Grace’s whole body snapped tight beside him. She stepped forward instinctively.

“Elodie,” she said tightly. “What is this?”

Jenna turned back and smiled. “It’s alright. I let Elodie know we’d be here.”

Elodie and Amey walked in. “Sorry we didn’t confirm. It was a last-minute decision.”

André cut a glance at his sister, surprised and a little proud. What therapist came with her client to see her baby daddy for the first time in years?

Amey paused when she saw Hope in Brady’s arms. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

Brady stood, Hope still tucked against his chest, and turned to face Amey. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Amey swayed like the words knocked her off balance. “You said you didn’t want kids.”

“I said not now, ” he choked out. “You didn’t even give me the chance.”

Amey blinked, tears finally spilling. “I didn’t know how.”

André wanted to disappear. Wanted to throw Grace over his shoulder and get the hell out of there.

Amey looked at Jenna, eyes wet. “I’m sorry. I lied about the ten days—” Her eyes widened when she saw Grace standing behind her.

Grace put up a hand. “This is off the record. You’re okay.”

Amey nodded, her lip trembling.

Grace picked up the pen and legal pad sitting on the counter beside her. André moved a bit closer. He didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything—just crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

She flicked her gaze up for only a second, but it was enough.

He gave her a nod. I’ve got you.

Her shoulders lowered by a fraction, and then she turned her attention back to the room. “This conversation is informal. Nothing you say here will be used in court. We’re not here to strategize or talk legalities. We’re here to talk about Hope.”

Brady’s jaw flexed as he looked down at the baby against his chest. “That’s all I want.”

“Same.” Jenna dropped onto the couch. Country sat beside her and motioned for everyone else to find a seat.

Amey and Elodie sat on the loveseat, and Polk gave Brady the rocking chair. Amey swallowed hard, her knuckles white around the tissue in her hand.

“I’m twenty-two,” Amey started. “I don’t even know who I am. I barely have a place to live. My parents stopped talking to me after I chose adoption. Then when I found out Brady had come home and he didn’t know—everything you said, it scared me. I thought if I fought for her, I could fix it. If there was a problem in the case, I wouldn’t have to pay for my own lawyer—” Her voice broke, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Brady cleared his throat. “You could’ve told me that.”

“You could’ve not yelled at me over the phone.”

They stared at each other, past and pain written into the lines of their faces.

André nodded to Polk, who was still leaning against the back wall. Polk gave him a knowing look and moved to Brady’s side, clasping a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Here’s the thing. You two made a beautiful little girl, and we all love her, which means we love you. So. You have people now. You might not have chosen this family, but you’ve got it.”

Amey blinked like a bird that hit the window.

Brady looked stunned. He looked back at Hope in his arms. “I’ve been thinking a lot. Since I found out about her. I don’t have my shit together, you know? But the idea of not being in her life—” His voice cracked.

Jenna stepped forward. “That’s not even a question. You want to be in her life, you’re in it.”

Grace scribbled notes on her pad. “An open adoption isn’t a legal requirement. It's a mutual agreement between the adoptive parents and the birth parents—one that’s built on trust, not enforceable by the courts. But it can be formalized through something called an openness agreement.”

She looked to Amey. “That means you can choose to be part of Hope’s life—letters, photos, visits—whatever’s agreed upon. But it has to be what’s best for her, not what’s easiest or most comfortable for us.”

Brady shifted Hope in his arms as her eyelids began to droop.

Grace continued. “These agreements can be flexible. They evolve as the child gets older. Maybe it starts with a few updates a year. Maybe someday, it’s birthdays and school concerts. But the foundation is respect. For the adoptive parents and for each other.”

She turned to Amey, gently. “You’d still have a place. Not as a co-parent, but as someone who loves her. Someone who matters. If that’s something you want.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and André prayed for some sign of resolution. They all knew this plan wasn’t foolproof. It wasn’t result oriented. Looping Brady in was the right thing to do, but it also could mean Hope leaving Country and Jenna forever.

Country cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a thing about Hope or the adoption since they’d arrived earlier. But now, with everyone looking at him—Hope curled in her father’s arms—he spoke up.

“I spent a good chunk of my life not fighting for what mattered most. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was afraid of hurting more than I already did.” Jenna blinked up at him, eyes wide. “But that’s not how life works. It’s not how family works.”

He let the words hang for a beat, then looked at Amey and Brady directly. “You two made a decision that brought a little girl into this world. A real one. With cheeks like marshmallows and eyes that have sucked up my entire world. And maybe you weren’t ready then. Maybe you aren’t ready now. But me and Jenna? We are.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t back down. “And I’ll tell you this: I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to love her. It wasn’t a choice. It happened somewhere between the midnight feedings and the first laugh and the moment she reached for me with her whole heart like I was the only thing keeping her world from spinning apart.”

A tear slid down Jenna’s cheek. Amey pressed her tissue to her nose.

Country continued, “I’ll fight for that little girl ‘til my last breath. Whether she calls me Dad or not. Whether she lives under my roof or I only get to see her on birthdays and back porches. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got. Because that’s what she deserves. Not fear. Not fighting. Just love.” He let out a shaky breath. “I should’ve learned that a long time ago. But I know it now. And I’m not letting go.”

The room was silent. Jenna reached over and took Country’s hand, and Grace gripped her legal pad like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

After a few moments, Country sniffed and stepped back like he hadn’t just dropped an emotional bomb worse than Gretsky at his 1988 press conference. “We made dinner. So unless anyone wants to cry into cold lasagna, I suggest we eat.”

Jenna huffed a breath that was halfway between a sob and a laugh, wiping her eyes as she stood. “It’s not lasagna. It’s chicken parm, and I made a salad . Don’t forget the damn salad.”

The spell broke, just like that.

People stood, plates were passed, and the scent of garlic and cheese melted over crispy breading filled the warm kitchen. Jenna helped Brady lay Hope in her swing, and they all sat around the table together.

Elodie took a sip of wine and cut a narrow glance at André. “You always make such a mess when you eat pasta.”

André raised a brow. “At least I eat it. Still pretending you’re gluten-free?”

Elodie rolled her eyes. Polk pointed between the two of them. “You’re related, eh?”

“She’s adopted,” André deadpanned, earning a sharp kick under the table.

Elodie gaped at him. “Seriously?”

“What, too soon?” André grinned, and Country threw a roll at his head.

Grace sat half-smiling beside André. For a second he wondered if she was pissed by his joke, but she didn’t seem tense—just tired. Deep-in-her-bones tired. He wanted to touch her, slide his knee against hers, remind her they’d made it through the hard part.

Something held him back. The room buzzed with warmth and clatter. Even Amey cracked a smile when Jenna handed her a mountain of garlic bread. Polk made an obscene joke about meatballs that got a gasp from Elodie and a groan from everyone else. He looked a little too pleased with himself.

It was a good night. Against all odds, it was a damn good night. Yet something tugged at him, a thread attached to his centre. He glanced around the table—Jenna curled into Country’s side, Brady still staring at Hope in her swing with eyes full of shattered awe, Elodie making fun of Polk’s farmer tan.

André had spent years avoiding the heavy stuff. Making the joke. Walking it off. Keeping his gloves up until no one could get close enough to land a real hit.

But Country’s words ran through his head like ticker tape. He hadn’t said he’d fight until he got what he wanted. It hadn’t been about him at all.

He just said he’d fight. That’s it. Because Hope was worth it. And André, shoveling food he could barely taste, started to wonder if he’d ever fought for anything like that in his entire life.

No deals. No conditions. No crowd. Just dropping the gloves and going all in.

Grace caught his eye just then, and André stood so fast his chair screeched across the tile, rattling against the wainscot behind him. The scrape of it silenced the table. Even Polk paused mid-forkful.

The air in his chest felt thick, hot—like trying to breathe in a steam room. Everything was suddenly too warm, the smell of garlic and red wine too rich on his tongue. His pulse hammered in his throat as the edge of the table dug into his hip.

André’s voice came out rough. “Can you come out to the porch?”

Grace blinked up at him from her seat across the table, her brow pulling slightly. “Now?”

He nodded once and set his napkin beside his plate. “Now.”