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NOAH

BIG STING ENERGY

THEO SCHRODER

I can’t believe we lost our Founding Father to fatherhood

JULIAN LISCERO

Who are you talking about??

DESMOND BALL

Definitely not me

ELIJAH ANDERSON

Really Theo? In the group chat?

JULIAN LISCERO

oh my god, the honey bee has pollinated the sunflower??

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

ELIJAH ANDERSON

Relax. My sunflower has not been pollinated (yet) gimme a few years damn

THEO SCHRODER

The sooner we talk about it the sooner he doesn’t have to deal with it alone

JULIAN LISCERO

WHO IS ‘HE’

DESMOND BALL

I’m trying to do my morning savasana and you guys are stressing me the fuck out

JULIAN LISCERO

Yeah, you interrupted my morning wank

wtf is going on

ME

Thanks, Theo

Guess the news is out.

You guys won’t be the only ones calling me Daddy

DESMOND BALL

WTF CALL ME IMMEDIATELY

JULIAN LISCERO

Who’s the baby mama??

THEO SCHROEDER

Charlie OBVIOUSLY

JULIAN LISCERO

if you were gonna give up your no pussy rule you could've at least wrapped your dick bro

THEO SCHROEDER

Guess you switched bros and beers for babies and bottles now

ME

This is all really helpful. Thank you.

THEO SCHROEDER

We’re messing with you. You know we’re here for you.

DESMOND BALL

Anything you need.

JULIAN LISCERO

What they said (unless it’s diapers. I don’t do those.)

ELIJAH ANDERSON

Nah man. ANYTHING you need. Or Charlie. Call us.

ME

Thanks guys. Headed to training but we’ll catch up later

Today’s practice was brutal.

Fortunately, it had nothing to do with my skills, but two of my linemen were dragging and I got blitzed five times.

Wincing, I readjust my grip on the steering wheel, and my eyes snag on a road sign up ahead. The same road sign I pass every day to and from work, yet lately I’ve been pretending it doesn’t exist.

Hibiscus Pines.

3 Miles.

Blowing out a breath, I ignore the reminder of my proximity to Mom’s neighborhood. It’s been a week since I found out about the baby, and I’ve avoided her calls since. How can I pretend everything is normal when my entire life changed with two words?

Mom reads me too well.

She’d know something is up.

There’s no way I can hide the absolute inner panic I feel. I already have to do that around Charlotte so she doesn’t get spooked and bolt under some ridiculous act of self-sacrifice, thinking it’s what’s best for me.

Turn arrows appear in the empty lane to my right, and my skin crawls with awareness.

“Screw it.” I swerve and take the exit.

Ten minutes later I pull in the driveway, my veins buzzing, and park beside Mom’s car. Tony must be working since his truck isn’t here. That’s fine. She’ll tell him later.

Hopping out of the truck, I force myself toward the house before I lose my nerve.

As I walk by the garage door, my eyes snag on the dented bottom corner, the damage courtesy of my father throwing me against it after I broke the side mirror of his car with a football when I was twelve.

My fingers go to my scalp by reflex, tracing the eight stitches hidden by hair. Even if they aren’t visible, I still know they’re there.

At the front door, I let myself in because though I’ve been gone for years, this is still home. Scars and all.

“Hello?” Mom calls from the kitchen, her face lighting up when I turn the corner. “Oh, sole mio !” She rushes over, throwing her arms around me, placing a kiss on each cheek, then pulls back, brow furrowed. “ Perché non mi hai richiamata? ” She takes my face in her hands, moving it in all directions. “ Sei malato? ”? 1

I chuckle nervously, swatting her away. “ No, non sono malato. ”? 2

“ Allora perché non mi hai richiamata? Mi richiami sempre. Ero preoccupata. ”? 3

“ Mamma, sto bene. ”? 4

“You’re lying,” she says, swapping to English and squinting at me. “Come.” She walks towards the kitchen island and grabs the floral Lego set I bought her for Mother’s Day on the way.

“You haven’t built it yet?” I ask.

“I was waiting so we could do it together,” she says with a soft smile, and guilt racks me that I didn’t make time for it sooner.

We sit side by side, and she rips the little plastic bags, dumping small pieces on the counter. After a few minutes, all the parts are organized by color and shape.

“So,” she says. “Want to tell me why my son is ignoring my calls and looks like he hasn’t slept in a month?”

I bite my lip, placing two green Lego pieces of the stem together. “I don’t really know where to start.”

The front door opens and Tony walks in, briefcase in hand.

“Hey!” he says, a big smile on his face when he sees me.

“Hi,” I reply.

“Are you okay?” he asks, setting his briefcase on the counter. “You look sick.”

“See?” Mom says, waving a hand at me.

I blow out a breath. “Want to join us?” I ask Tony.

Mom’s going to end up telling him anyways, and I can honestly use all the moral support I can get right now.

We spend a few minutes in silence, clicking pieces together. The floral arrangement is almost done. I suppose it’s a lot quicker when you build as a team.

“Charlotte’s pregnant,” I blurt, unable to keep it in any longer.

“ Oh, sole mio ,” Mom says, her pieces clinking against the counter, and she turns to face me, her eyes welling with moisture. She pulls me into her arms, squeezing me tight. The dam breaks, and my own tears flow. All the anxiety, confusion, and frustration pours out of me. Here I don’t have to be strong. I can just… feel. My chest heaves, and she rubs small circles on my back. A few minutes pass, and I compose myself, pulling away. “Is she keeping it?” I nod. “And how are you feeling?”

My eyes meet hers. “Scared.”

“Of?”

I lean back against the seat between them, releasing a sigh. “How can I balance it all?”

“What do you mean?” Mom asks, and I look to her.

“You know how I am during season. I’m obsessive. And I can’t risk this job. I’ve worked my whole life for it.” My stomach sinks. “God, I sound like a self-centered asshole.” Pushing the chair back with a screech, I stand and pace the room. “Charlotte’s growing our child, and I’m sitting here worried about football.”

“You’ve worked hard for your career,” Mom says. “It’s okay to think about it.”

“But shouldn’t I be focusing on Charlotte?” I say, exasperated. “Be worried about her and her well-being over a stupid football game?”

“The football is your job,” she reminds me. “It will bring in the money to pay…” With a soft voice she adds, “ Per il tuo bambino .”? 5

“And it’s okay to still think about yourself,” Tony says. “To be worried about what it all means.”

“But I can’t.” I drag my hands through my hair, taking quick breaths. “I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know how this will play out.” My head spins. “What if she needs me and I’m gone at an away game or something? What if—” I gasp for air. “I don’t—maybe she?—”

“Noah Gabriel ,” Mom commands, her hand on my back. I’ve stopped in the middle of the room, gripping my knees. “Inspira… due… tre… espira… due… tre…” ? 6

We continue for a few minutes until my breathing has returned to normal. She takes my face in her hands. “ é normale avere paura ,” she says, eyes holding mine.

It’s okay to be afraid.

I blink at her, face damp with tears. “I can’t control this.”

Her eyes are soft. “I know.”

“What if I’m like him ?”

She wipes a tear off my cheek. “You will never, ever be like your father.”

“But what?—”

“He’s a terrible man,” she interrupts. “Full of darkness and hate. But you, sole mio? ” She places a hand on my cheek. “My sun . You are light. To everyone around you. You are light.”

“ Grazie, mamma ,”? 7 I whisper and clear my throat.

“Now can I be excited?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face as a tear drips down her cheek. “ Diventerò nonna !”? 8

I push down the anxiety. “You’re excited?”

“Of course?” she says, brows pulled together.

My eyes bounce between her and Tony, whose expression is unreadable. “You don’t think I’m an idiot? That I ruined my life?”

She takes my hands in hers and squeezes. “Do you think you’re ruining your life?” I shake my head. “And you want this baby, no?”

“Of course,” I say without hesitation.

“Then do you expect us to do anything besides support you completely?” Mom asks, placing a hand on my face.

I shift on my heels. “No.”

“Good,” she says, tapping my cheek and pulling away. “How is Ms. Charlotte doing?”

“She’s okay,” I say, thinking of her current manic obsession of reading every parenting book ever written. “I’m hoping she’ll feel more relaxed after the first appointment.”

“Well, we’re here for you,” Mom says, rubbing my back. “Both of you.”

“ Grazie, mamma .”

“ Ma figurati, sole mio. ”? 9

* * *

Unlocking the front door, I’m greeted by the overwhelming scent of citrus and sounds of banging and clanking. As I close it behind me, a smile spreads across my face.

“Hey, soffione, ” I say, walking toward the kitchen to the sight of Charlotte over the stove. Bare feet, hair clipped back with a bow, and cute little sundress on. A plate of homemade cannoli resides on the kitchen island, and my mouth waters. A soft feeling warms my chest. I could get used to this. “Elijah and Sophia on the way yet?”

She looks up, smiling wide as she stirs something in a pot. “They’ll be here in twenty.”

Charlotte suggested we invite them over for dinner, and I wasn’t going to say no to the moral support. At first I was pissed Theo bombed the news in the group chat, but I’m honestly glad everything’s out in the open.

She looks at me, lips puckered, and I hurry to her, planting a firm kiss. I could definitely get used to this. “Smells incredible in here,” I say, turning back to the stove, noting a cream sauce in a large pan. A massive bag of lemons sits beside her, yellow wedges scattered on a cutting board.

“Thanks.” She beams, grabbing a tiny spoon. “I hope you’ll like it.”

She dips it in the sauce and blows on it before presenting it to me. Grinning, I open my mouth and lick the spoon clean. My taste buds dance with enjoyment, and I groan in approval. “Delicious.”

“Thank you.” She sets down the spoon and turns on another burner with a pot of water atop it. “And I have a surprise for you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She walks to the drying rack, dishes clinking as she retrieves something, and she turns to me, hiding it behind her back. “I still feel so awful about destroying your favorite cup,” she says, and my heart twists.

“It was a nice memory. But it was just a cup.”

“A very cute cup,” she pouts, and I fight the urge to tug her to my chest as she continues her surprise. She brings her arms around, handing me a blue mug inscribed with #1 Dad.

My eyes well with tears. Fuck.

Bringing a hand to my face, I rub my fingers against my eyes.

“You don’t like it?” she asks hesitantly.

Removing my hand, I look down at her, setting the cup on the counter. Finally, I give into the urge and tug her to me. I blink a few times to clear the moisture and take a deep breath. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“It’s not hand-painted lemons,” she says, nuzzling her head to me. “But I thought you’d like this one.”

Pulling away, I take her face in my hands and tilt her gaze to mine. “I love it.”

Charlotte kisses me softly and steps away, returning to the stove. She removes spaghetti from a package, and I lean against the counter, admiring her in our kitchen. Collecting the noodles together, she— Italia, perdonala.

Italy, forgive her.

The air is frozen in my lungs at the sight of the broken pasta in her hands.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, my jaw hanging open as she places the evidence in the water.

“You did not break spaghetti.” I balk.

“It’s too big for the pot,” she says, brows furrowed.

I grab a tea towel, twisting it, and gently flick it towards her. “Out of the kitchen.”

“What are you doing?” She giggles, backing away.

“ Soffione ,” I say, with a teasing grin. “You cannot break pasta in an Italian household. Or any household. It is against the law!”

“Uh-oh,” she says, moonwalking backwards away from me. “Am I going to have to relocate my Justin Bieber piggy bank again?”

I chase after, scooping her in my arms, and she hugs my neck. Squeezing tightly, I press a kiss into her hair. “Or you could pay in other ways.”

She giggles, nudging me off, and sways back to the stove. “The sauce is going to burn.”

We haven’t been physical since the twins’ party, and I don’t want to pressure her. But it definitely sucks when all I want is to hold her in my arms and she pushes me away.

“I’m serious, Charlotte,” I tease. “That was your first and only warning.”

“Oops.” She pouts. “Wouldn’t want you to have a reason to whip me with the tea towel again.”

Why are women so confusing?

“So how was your day?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Good, yours?” she says, picking up some plain salt and aiming for the boiling pasta. I cringe, quickly plucking it out of her hand, and give her the sea salt. She narrows her eyes, turning to crank it over the pot.

“Actually, I stopped by my mom’s,” I say, and her gaze snaps to mine. “Told her about the baby.”

“Was she furious?”

“No.” I shake my head, grin breaking free as tension leaves my body. “She was excited. Supportive.”

“Really?” Her brows pull together.

“Yep.”

“That’s great,” she says softly.

“Have you thought about telling yours?” I ask as she sets down the salt, picking up a spoon to stir the sauce.

“I’m waiting till I’m further along, just in case.”

“In case what?”

She tilts her head. “Well, there’s no reason to get them up in a tizzy if there’s no heartbeat.”

My own heart stops. That possibility didn’t even cross my mind.

“When will we know?” I ask, panic rushing through me.

“I was able to make an appointment for the last week of July. They said it’s best if I’m eight weeks or later, so we have to wait.”

“Let me know when so I can make sure I’m there.”

“Really?” Her dark brows draw together. “You don’t have to come.”

“You think I’m letting you go alone?” I ask. Not a chance.

She shrugs. “I don’t want you getting in trouble for missing practice. I can ask one of the girls.”

The thought of her needing to rely on rides from friends throughout the duration of her pregnancy puts a pit in my stomach. What if she needs something and I’m not around?

I place my hand on her lower back. “Like I said before, we’re doing this together, okay? It’s our baby, and I want to be there with you.”

She blushes. “Okay.”

The motion sensor for the front door cam chimes, and a few seconds later, it swings open, Elijah and Sophia letting themselves inside. I sincerely love having a place that feels like home to everyone. My eyes wander back to Charlotte. I hope it feels that way for her too.

“Hey, Mom and Dad,” Sophia says, pulling my attention to her, a photo frame settled in her arms.

“Thanks for inviting us to dinner,” Elijah says, trailing behind. “Sorry Theo spilled the beans,” Elijah says to me. “He overheard me and Soph talking.”

“It’s okay,” I say and mean it.

“We’re here for y’all,” Elijah says, looking between us. “Seriously.”

“We also brought a little congratulatory gift,” Sophia adds, setting the frame on the counter and spinning it to face us. A hand-sketched drawing of two koalas holding a baby koala is perfectly centered in the frame. Charlotte’s face brightens, and she hugs Sophia tight. “It’s beautiful, Soph.”

“Thank you,” I say, a grateful smile on my face. “It’ll look perfect in Gabriella’s room.”

“Gabriella?” Sophia repeats. “You already picked a name?”

“No,” Charlotte says, staring me down. “We most certainly did not.”

“Okay, but you have to admit it’s a cute name,” I say to Charlotte, tugging her to me.

“Fine.” Charlotte playfully rolls her eyes. “I suppose it wouldn’t be terrible to have her named after her father. Noah Gabriel.” She stands on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, and everything just feels right.

“Smells good in here,” Elijah says, glancing around the kitchen.

“Thanks.” Charlotte grins proudly as a timer goes off. She heads to the oven, pulls out a tray, and turns around with a pan of—shit. It’s salmon. The vilest fish to exist. Eating it should be a crime.

The mother of your child worked hard on this meal. Don’t be a dick.

She sets it on a potholder on the counter, and I put my hand on her back. “Looks great, baby.”

“What are you eating?” Elijah asks me, and I shoot him a glare. He’s well-aware of my hatred for the fish. The guys were banned from cooking it in the Baller Pad.

“The salmon, obviously,” Charlotte says, eyes bouncing between us. “It was on his meal plan.”

I glance to the fridge where it’s pinned with a magnet. Guess I should’ve blacked out the ones I didn’t like. “Yeah, I’m loo?—”

“Noah hates salmon,” Elijah cuts me off.

“Anderson,” I snap in full captain tone, and his eyes widen.

Charlotte’s confused gaze connects with mine. “You do?” My mouth opens and closes. Say something, Caruso. Anything.

“Oh my god, you hate it!” She throws her head back, groaning. “Noah, I’m the mother of your child, for god’s sake! I should know if you hate something as basic as salmon.”

“Really, it’s fine,” I say.

Elijah’s eyes connect with mine in a silent apology, and I flick him off.

“What else don’t you like?” Charlotte folds her arms across her chest.

“Just salmon.”

“Noah Gabriel,” she says my name like a curse. Why am I so turned on right now?

“He hates Chef Boyardee,” Elijah says, smirking like a smug bastard. Asshole.

Charlotte’s mouth falls open. “You let me buy ten cans for when my siblings visit.”

“You were so excited they had the kind Denny likes,” I say with a sheepish smile. Although I was planning to make it for the kids from scratch.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I’m trying not to have my feelings hurt that your boyfriend knows you better than I do.” She scowls at Elijah, who laughs and helps himself to water from the fridge.

I throw my arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

1 ? IT: Perché non mi hai richiamata? Sei malato? - EN: Why didn’t you call me back? Are you sick?

2 ? IT: No, non sono malato. - EN: No, I’m not sick.

3 ? IT: Allora perché non mi hai richiamata? Mi richiami sempre. Ero preoccupata. - EN: Then why didn’t you call me back? You always call me back. I was worried.

4 ? IT: Mamma, sto bene . - EN: Mamma, I’m fine.

5 ? IT: Per il tuo bambino . - EN: For your baby.

6 ? IT: Inspira… due… tre… espira… due… tre… - EN: Inhale…two…three…exhale…two…three…

7 ? IT: Grazie, mamma. - EN: Thank you, Mamma.

8 ? IT: Diventerò nonna ! - EN: I’m going to be a grandma!

9 ? IT: Ma figurati, sole mio. - EN: You’re welcome, my sun.