Page 49 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Knox
Seven Months Later…
The Marrow is quiet in the way it only ever gets after the dinner rush has died and the last pan’s been scrubbed.
Steam still curls in lazy spirals from the dish pit. The scent of garlic and caramelized onions clings to everything—skin, hair, memory. It’s the kind of night that settles into your bones. Exhausting. Satisfying.
Home.
Josie’s perched on a milk crate near the walk-in, ankles crossed, her hair a mess, and her cheeks flushed from standing too long.
She’s wearing my old maroon hoodie, stretched out around the swell of her belly.
It’s ridiculous how much I love seeing her like this, glowing, laughing softly at something Gracie said on her way out, her palm unconsciously rubbing circles over where our children are currently practicing jiu jitsu.
I lean against the counter and watch.
Damn, she’s beautiful. And mine.
She looks up like she can feel me staring. Smiles. “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmur, stepping toward her, tugging the hood over her head just to see her eyes crinkle. “Just thinking about how smart I was to fall for the girl who set my kitchen on fire.”
She laughs. “I never did that!”
“Hmm, not how I remember it.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile softens. And I know that look. The one she gets when she’s feeling all gooey inside but trying to act unimpressed.
I bend down and kiss her slow, lazy, content. A kiss that says we survived the storms and now we’re here, in the after. A kiss that tastes like lavender lemonade and the rest of my life.
I pull back just enough to whisper, “I’m glad I decided to stay here. Silver Peak’s a dream I didn’t know I had,” I say. “And you, this, our kids? That’s the dream come true.”
She opens her mouth to say something, probably something sappy I’ll tease her about later.
And then she freezes.
“Uh… Knox?”
The way she says my name? My heart drops into my shoes.
“What? What’s wrong?”
She slowly looks down.
I follow her gaze.
A trickle is spreading beneath her.
For a second, my brain tries to rationalize it. Maybe she spilled her water bottle. Maybe the ice melted. Maybe…
Her wide eyes flick to mine.
“My water broke,” she says, too calmly. “I think my water just broke.”
Silence.
“Shit.” I shoot upright, spinning in a full circle for absolutely no reason. “Okay. Okay, it’s happening. It’s go time. We have a plan. Where’s the plan? Did we make a plan?”
She laughs and winces at the same time. “We made five plans. None of them involved you spinning in circles like a malfunctioning Roomba.”
“Right. Right. Okay.” I fumble for my phone, only to realize I left it charging in the office. “I’ll get the bag. The bag’s packed. The car’s gassed. I just need to... do all the things.”
“Knox.”
I stop mid-flail.
She reaches for my hand. “You’re doing great.”
I stare at her, nine months and change pregnant, soaked, probably contracting, smiling like she trusts me with the world.
I exhale, chest tight with love and panic and awe.
“I’ve caught touchdowns in front of seventy thousand people,” I whisper. “But nothing’s ever made me this nervous.”
She squeezes my hand. “You’re about to catch something way more important.”
I blink.
Then blink again.
“Oh no, don’t say ‘catch.’ I’m not ready to catch anything!”
She cackles.
I scoop her into my arms anyway, because I might be panicking, but I’m still me. And carrying her out of the restaurant bridal-style feels like the only move that makes sense right now.
As I push through the back doors and shout for someone to grab my phone, I hear her laughing into my shoulder.
“Knox Knightly,” she says breathlessly, “you are so dramatic.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, kissing her forehead as I jerk open the car door. “But I show up when it counts.”
And tonight?
Tonight I’m showing up for the biggest moment of our lives.
Ready or not.
The delivery room is chaos.
Not the kind I’m used to, no roaring crowds, no kitchen fires or midnight plumbing disasters at The Marrow, but the kind that crackles with urgency and sweat and the kind of emotions you don’t even have names for.
It’s doctors and nurses, and bright lights. It’s Josie gripping my hand so tightly that I lose feeling in my fingers. It’s me trying to stay calm even as my heart hammers like I’m back on the line of scrimmage with three seconds left on the clock.
And then…
Crying.
One thin, furious wail, followed by another, louder and slightly off-key.
Twins.
Two.
Both.
I didn’t even know you could cry from relief and wonder and exhaustion all at once, but here I am, completely undone as I stare down at two tiny, wriggling miracles.
A boy and a girl.
Perfect. Screaming. Real.
Josie is pale and beautiful and glowing in a way only she could pull off while sweaty and exhausted and swearing under her breath. She looks at me with glassy eyes and a trembling smile.
“We did it,” she whispers hoarsely, both babies wailing on her chest as the nurses work to clean them off.
“We did it,” I echo, kissing her temple and brushing a curl from her damp forehead. “You were amazing.”
She closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and then looks down to where the nurses are swaddling the babies. “Can I hold them?”
“Hell yes, you can hold them.”
They hand them to me, two impossibly small bundles that somehow hold the whole universe inside.
The girl has dark hair and a frown like she’s already unimpressed with the world. The boy’s face is squished, and he keeps kicking like he’s still trying to run a touchdown in utero.
I stare at them both, stunned.
“We have to name them,” Josie murmurs.
I nod, completely blank for a second, because nothing feels big enough, worthy enough. But then Josie speaks again, quiet and sure.
“I want to name her Sage.”
“Sage,” I repeat. “Yeah. I like that.”
“And for him…”
She looks at me.
I swallow hard.
“There was this kid I used to play ball with,” I say. “Quiet. Scrappy. Good heart. Never stopped showing up, no matter how hard things got. His name was Beau.”
Josie smiles, soft and full of love. “Beau,” she echoes. “That’s perfect.”
So that’s how it happens.
Sage Dawson Knightly.
Beau Knox Knightly.
Our daughter and our son. A little bit of her, a little bit of me, and a whole future we never saw coming, but can’t wait to live.
I pull Josie close, careful of the babies now tucked against her chest.
“We’re parents,” I whisper.
Her laugh is watery, incredulous. “We’re so underqualified.”
“Absolutely.”
But I kiss her anyway. Because I’ve never been more sure of anything than this, this messy, beautiful, chaotic family we’ve built.
And the best part?
We’re only getting started.