Page 5 of Puck Your Nanny

Calvin, my goalie, my packmate, and the resident baby expert, approaches. He's the one with the touch, thanks to his six younger siblings. Even with an Omega mother and a pack of Alpha fathers, Calvin often helped—changing diapers, making formula, soothing babies. He's a natural, which I envy.

He reaches out, slow and steady. "Mind if I try?"

Pride, Alpha stubbornness, makes me want to say no, to insist I've got it. But I'm losing it, and I know it. The word, "Please," is heavy as I pass William over.

Calvin settles the baby against his shoulder, one big hand supporting his head, the other rubbing his back in slow circles. He hums, low and deep, filling the room with something steadyand soothing. William's cries soften, losing their edge. He still whimpers, but he's relaxing.

Calvin pats his back, gentle, rhythmic. "Sometimes they just need a good burp."

William lets out a surprisingly loud burp and nestles into Calvin's shoulder, his fists unclenched.

I watch them, a mixture of relief and resentment churning inside me. Relief that William is finally quiet, but also a bitter resentment that I wasn't the one who could make him stop crying. I'm his brother, his guardian—I should be able to comfort him. Doubts creep in, whispering questions I don't have answers for.Can I really do this? Can I be the guardian, the father figure, that William needs? Can I give this kid what he deserves?

Calvin shifts William, maneuvering him so he's still supported with one arm while he reaches for the bottle. He takes it from my outstretched hand, offering it to William with a gentle nod, he latches on. The sight should bring further relief, but it only makes the knot in my stomach tighten.

I sink into the rocking chair, watching them both. Calvin looks so calm, so in control—everything I'm not. He glances at me. "So, the nanny interviews," he begins. "Nervous?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Nervous is putting it mildly. I have no idea what makes a good parent, let alone a good nanny. I just want to keep him alive and happy. So, you know, no one who's going to be cold and stern."

Calvin chuckles under his breath, adjusting his hold on William as he finishes the bottle. "You're doing better than you think, Nate. This is... a lot. For anyone." He gently pulls the bottle away, and William doesn't protest, his eyelids already drooping. "But yeah, I get it. It's a big decision. What kind of person are you looking for, besides, you know, 'not cold andstern'?" He pauses, then adds, a bit more seriously, "You did make it clear we only want a Beta, right?"

I rub my hand over my face. "Yeah, I made sure the agency understood. Betas only. Last thing we need is some Omega going into heat or an Alpha trying to... I don't even know." I shake my head, then try for a lighter tone. "Easy for you to say all that, Mr. Natural. You practically came out of the womb knowing how to change a diaper."

He shrugs. "Lots of practice. Six younger siblings will do that to you." He starts to pat William's back again.

I shift in the rocking chair, my gaze moving from Calvin and William to the window, my voice dropping. "Has Peter said anything about hiring a nanny?"

The mention of our other pack mate seems to deflate Calvin slightly. He avoids my eyes for a moment. "Not much. He's... not thrilled about the idea of a stranger living here." Calvin holds up a hand before I can interrupt. "He's not thrilled about a baby in the house either, to be honest. But," he sighs, meeting my gaze again, "he understands."

My jaw tightens. "This isn't about him; it's about William. It won't change us, who we are as a pack. We need help, Calvin.Ineed help. I can't do this alone, not with the season starting back up."

Calvin nods, his gaze focused on William, who's now sound asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling. "I know, I know. It's just... he's worried. About bringing someone new in, even temporarily." He glances toward the door, probably wondering if Peter's listening in.

I push myself up from the rocking chair. "We'll be fine. It won't change us at our core."

He doesn't look convinced, but he carefully moves toward the crib, lowering William gently onto the mattress. He stirs for a moment, then settles back into sleep. "He's out."

We both stand there for a moment, watching William sleep. A strange, unfamiliar feeling, a mix of protectiveness and awe, washes over me. This tiny, helpless being is my responsibility. And I'm terrified of failing him.

Calvin turns to look at me, his expression serious. "We will find someone good. We have to."

I take a deep breath, trying to center myself as I sit at the dining room table, a stack of résumés and application forms in front of me. Calvin offered to stay, but I needed to do this on my own. This is my responsibility. The first applicant is due any minute, and the knot in my stomach is back with a vengeance.

A sharp rap on the door makes me jump.Okay, here we go.I smooth down my shirt, probably already looks wrinkled from nervous fidgeting, and go to answer it.

A woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a Victorian-era portrait stands on the porch. She’s older, maybe late sixties, with gray hair pulled back into a severe bun so tight it looks painful. Her clothes are dark and stiff, and her expression is... well, let’s just say it doesn’t exactly scream warm and cuddly. She’s a Beta, that much is clear from the neutral scent wafting off her; no Alpha dominance, no Omega sweetness. Just bland.

"Mr. Blake?" Her voice is sharp, clipped.

"Yes, come in." I step aside, trying to offer a welcoming smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

She strides inside, her back ramrod straight, and surveys the living room with a critical eye. I follow her to the dining room, feeling like a schoolboy being inspected by the headmistress.

"Please, have a seat, Ms...." I gesture toward the chair opposite me, scrambling to find her application in the pile. "Ms. Henderson, right?"

"Indeed." She sits down, placing a large, worn leather handbag on the table between us. It looks like it could double as a weapon. "Agnes Henderson. I’ve been raising children for over forty years, Mr. Blake. Alphas, mostly. I have excellent references, all of whom will attest to my methods."

"Methods?" I echo, a slight tremor in my voice.

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