Page 3

TWO

GAGE

I can’t sleep.

The bedroom is too quiet. The sound of the clock ticking in the living room is too loud.

It echoes in the back of my mind, reminding me that the longer I wait, the more I’m sinking deeper into this unknown.

She should have fucking told me she got pregnant.

I would have been angry, but at least I could have made a plan.

But she didn’t. And now, here I am, staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to Zoe’s soft cries echoing from the other room.

Fuck.

I drag myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes. The light from the hallway floods the room like a slap to my face. Everything is too bright. Everything is too real. I’m a father now. Not just a Marine. Not just the guy who takes orders and gets shit done. I have a daughter.

A daughter.

I feel a wave of guilt wash over me, but I shove it down. There’s no room for guilt right now. There’s no room for self-pity. I have to figure this out. I have to. No one’s going to do it for me.

I step into the hallway, walking toward the nursery right next to my room. The soft hum of a baby monitor fills the air, and I can hear her. Sweet little Zoe Jane. Still crying. Her tiny voice, so fragile and full of need, pulls at something inside me I can’t quite identify.

That’s gotta be the primal instinct kicking in, right? That biological need to care for your young.

I reach the door and push it open slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

There she is—wrapped in a pale pink blanket in the crib I put together.

Her face scrunched up in discomfort. Her little hands flail in the air like she’s trying to grab onto something that’ll make the pain stop.

I feel a pang in my chest, like someone’s twisted a K-BAR just under my ribs.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m a Marine, not a damn babysitter. I’ve fought in wars, led teams through firefights, and done things I’d rather forget. But holding a crying baby? Hell, this is new territory for me.

I step closer to the crib, my feet padding softly across the floor.

I reach for her, hesitating for a split second before I lift her into my arms. She’s so small.

So fragile. It’s like holding a piece of glass.

I sit down in the glider, trying to remember everything I’ve seen the guys do when they’ve had kids, but it’s all a blur.

What the fuck do I do? I don’t know how to make her stop crying.

I try humming. I try rocking back and forth, slow and steady, but she’s not having it. She wails louder, her little fists pounding against my bare chest. It makes me want to tear my hair out. I’ve faced worse than this. I’ve held my ground in situations where everything was on the line, but this?

This makes me feel like I’m failing already.

“Shh,” I mutter, rocking her a little faster. “Come on, Zoe. It’s okay. I got you.”

But I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. And I’m terrified she knows it.

At the age of thirty, my only interactions with children have been forced, perfunctory high fives with the kids of the guys in my unit during those dreadful family days. It always felt strained and uncomfortable.

Her cries start to slow, but they don’t stop.

I feel like a damn failure. I lean back in the chair, rubbing her back in a slow, rhythmic motion.

Slowly, her body starts to relax, her cries tapering off into soft hiccups.

I glance down at her, her little face still scrunched up, eyes closed, lips trembling.

I keep rocking, keep whispering, and keep trying, but the truth sinks in. I’m not ready for this. Not in any way that matters. I don’t know how to do this. And it’s not just Zoe I’m worried about. It’s me. What the hell kind of father am I going to be? I’m barely hanging on.

Despite holding her close, the vast emptiness of the house presses in on me—a cold, hollow feeling that no amount of warmth could overcome.

The pressure of what’s ahead weighs on me, and I know I can’t do it.

The Corps isn’t going to bail me out of this one.

I need answers . I need advice from someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.

I grab my phone from the side table and dial the one person I know will understand.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I need to talk to someone.

“Hey, Gage,” comes the familiar voice of Staff Sergeant Victor Morales, my best friend. “Everything good?”

“Not really,” I mutter, cradling Zoe against my chest. The thought of admitting I don’t know what I’m doing makes my stomach turn. But that’s where I am. “Do you have a minute?”

“For sure. What’s going on?”

I try to steady my breathing, rubbing my thumb over Zoe’s tiny hand. “I... kinda have a kid now, a newborn. She’s been crying all night. I don’t know what the hell to do with her.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Wait. You? A kid?”

A bitter chuckle escapes me. “Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? Long story short, before deployment, I met up with Kiera, you know, that chick I would hook up with occasionally. Nothing was ever serious. The condom must have broken, and now I’m.

.. well, I’m a dad. She just dropped her off in the little car seat thing and dipped.

But I’ve never done this before, Vic. I don’t know how to take care of her.

How the hell do you keep a baby calm? Why is she crying all the damn time? ”

“Okay, not to sound like a dick, but... are you sure she’s yours?” Victor pauses, probably hoping I don’t rip into him for making the assumption.

“Legal had me get a paternity test done. So, yeah, she's mine.” I sigh. She’s mine. “So about the whole crying all the time thing.”

I hear a small chuckle from his side of the line, followed by a sigh.

“Man, you’re talking to the right guy. You want advice on tactics; I’m your dude.

I’ve got three kids, man. You just gotta stick with it.

It’s not always going to make sense. But you gotta keep calm.

Babies feed off of your energy, you know? ”

“Yeah, I get that part, but it’s hard as hell when she’s wailing and I don’t know if it’s hunger or discomfort or—shit, I don’t know. I don’t even know how to change a diaper properly.”

Victor laughs again, and I don’t even feel embarrassed.

It’s not like I’m trying to put on a tough guy act.

I’m just a guy who’s in way over his head.

“Okay, first off, don’t freak out. Trust me, they sense that shit.

They sniff it out like fucking bloodhounds, dude.

You gotta stay calm. As for diapers, yeah, you’ll screw it up a couple of times.

You might even get shit on. But the key is just being gentle and quick.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.

You’re a Marine, Gage. You know how to lead, but now you’re leading a different kind of mission. ”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to take it all in.

It’s not exactly the wisdom I expected, but it makes sense.

“So, how do you keep it together, man? I’ve got the Corps breathing down my neck, and now I’m responsible for this.

.. tiny human. I’m not exactly good at this kind of thing.

What if I mess it up? What if she hates me? ”

“Gage, she’s not gonna hate you. Well, not yet.

Babies don’t work that way. You gotta think of it like being in the field—always adaptable, always on your toes.

You’re gonna mess up, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get it right at some point.

You’ve got discipline; you’ve got patience. Just stay consistent.”

A wave of unexpected emotion washed over me as the words hit, their weight heavier than I anticipated.

I’m used to the burden of command, the pressure of making life-altering decisions for my men, and the feel of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

But this? This is different. “Thanks, man. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.

But I’ve got to be. I can’t walk away from her. ”

“You won’t, Gage. You’ll find your rhythm. Trust me, you’ll figure it out. And if you need help with anything—diapers, bottles, whatever—you know I’m here, brother.”

I chuckle weakly, holding Zoe closer. “I might take you up on that. One day at a time, right?”

“Exactly. One day at a time. You got this, Gage.”

I hang up, feeling a little lighter. Victor’s advice is simple, but it’s solid. Calm down. Adapt. Stay consistent. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s more than I had before. And for now, that’s enough.

I look down at Zoe, her tiny face serene and peaceful, her breath a soft whisper against my chest, her skin warm and smooth beneath my touch. I’m utterly clueless, yet the sound of her steady breathing is a small comfort in this chaos.

I’m okay.

And that’s all that matters.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I rise and walk to the changing table, its worn surface familiar under my hand.

Zoe stirs, a slight tremor running through her body, but sleep claims her again.

I set her down gently on the table, trying to keep things as quiet as possible. No need to wake her unless I have to.

I reach for the diaper, my hands fumbling with the tabs.

I’ve got this. I’ve seen it done a thousand times, right? How hard can it be?

I peel off the old diaper, holding my breath. I’ve watched the damn YouTube videos. I’m ready for this.

But then, of course, Zoe decides it’s the perfect time for a little surprise.

As I’m midway through getting the new diaper under her, she lets loose—a steady stream of pee right across my hands.

I freeze.

I can’t even react at first. It’s warm, it’s wet, and it’s everywhere. I feel it pooling on the changing pad and in my hands. My brain stutters for a second before it hits me.

I look down at Zoe, who’s still lying there, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’s just created.

I let out a slow exhale, looking down at the mess she’s now laying in.