Page 4 of Every Move You Make

Touching Dominico’s soft, plump arms and watching his tiny little mouth glisten—well, it starts to thaw my anxiety. There’s not a lot that soothes me, but my niece and nephew have quickly wormed their way into my heart.

But suddenly, he tenses and follows his twin sister’s enormous bowel movement. I can’t help it when the corner of my lip curls up. I turn my head to survey the room. “Judges?” Everyone who has available hands pretends to hold up a sign, and I look at my nephew again. “Tens across the board, amigo.”

“That’s my cue,” Ivy says, reaching out to take Dominico from me. She walks out of the room with our dad and the twins, but the hospital room is still too crowded for my liking.

“Can you all stop staring at me?”

“Are you okay?” Angie asks, her soft expression doing nothing to hide her concern. “That was a really big message the doctor gave you.”

“I’m fine,” I bristle.

“C’mon, Zay,” Rafael says. “Stop acting like potentially retiring from rugby is even remotely fine with you.” He gestures to Dane and Jonah. “We wouldn’t be if we were in your position, and we’re not the ones who used to play professionally,” he adds pointedly.

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not in my position.”

“We’re just trying to help—”

“Well, don’t.”

“Bro,” Dane cuts in.

“No,” Angie says. “Guys, it sounds like he needs some time to process this. Why don’t we step out for a while so he can think?”

“About time,” I mutter.

She sighs but gives me a sweet look. “You can push us away all you want, but no one in this family is gonna leave you.”

“I might,” Dane says.

Angie ignores our middle brother. “Okay, everyone out. Let’s go.”

Jonah stops before he leaves. “Hey, if the doctor comes back and I’m not here, can you give her my number?”

“Get out.”

He puts his hands up in surrender and smirks. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

Once the door finally closes, glorious silence falls upon the room. Except it’s not glorious. It’s maddening because now I have no distraction. No meddling but well-meaning sisters. No dumb brothers. No tiny cherub to squeeze. Just the smell of cheap hospital cafeteria coffee, orange slices, and latex gloves. Just me and the tornado of worry in my head.

A notification buzzes from my phone, and I grab it from the mattress next to me, grateful for any distraction.

Robyn Cassidy has posted a video.

My mind relaxes when I press play, and her radiant face comes into view. “This is your daily reminder that you can be both.” She takes a few steps back from her phone to show her bare, broad shoulders in a pale green dress that skims her strong, lean body. I know she works harder than anyone for it. “You can lean into your femininity and still do this.” The video cuts to a clip of her stiff-arming an opposing rugby player as she absolutely plows over them. When shejumps over their body, she runs full-force to the end zone, sliding in with three players hot on her heels, and scores. The video jumps back to her, dressed to the nines again. Lips painted a color I would love to taste. Eyelashes long and fanned. With her head held high, she shows off her square jawline. “Knock ‘em dead.”

When the video begins to replay, I make my way to the comment section. It wasjustposted, but there are almost two thousand likes and dozens of comments.

Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy?

Yes queen! Beast mode activated!

It’s truly a crime that she’s straight

Robyn Cassidy could punch me in the face and I’d say thank you.

Marry me

But then a comment pops up that has me boiling.

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