Page 67 of Breakaway Daddies

Rowan grips the railing tightly, knuckles white from the pressure. Thomas leans in so close his nose is almost touching the screen, and Bruno’s eyes widen in a rare display of unguarded awe, his usual brooding demeanor momentarily forgotten.

The doctor’s grin widens as the rhythmic thumping echoes through the room—whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, strong and steady like a drum.

“The baby looks perfect,” she announces, her fingers dancing across her tablet with practiced speed. “Good growth, steady vitals. But I’ll need you to stay a little longer until your CT scan results are clear, just to ensure that bump on your head didn’t cause more than a scare.”

I let out an exaggerated groan, draping an arm over my eyes in mock despair. “Fantastic. More waiting.”

The boys, however, remain oblivious to my plight, their attention riveted to the monitor as if it were the final moments of a championship game.

Rowan leans forward, pointing at the tiny flicker on the screen as if spotting a trophy catch. “Look at that! That’s a foot, right?”

Thomas elbows him, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “No way, that’s definitely a hand. See the shape there? Those are fingers!”

Bruno, standing with arms crossed but clearly engaged, smirks with a hint of playful superiority. “You’re both wrong. That’s the head. Obviously, she’s developing a brain in there, unlike the two of you.”

Their lighthearted bickering swirls around me, a comforting hum in the background. Despite the persistent ache in my head and the queasy flips in my stomach, watching the three of them act like this… It’s endearing in its own chaotic way.

A bit tiring, too.

I squint at them and let out a long sigh. “How did I end up with three hyperactive boyfriends?”

None of them bother to deny it. Rowan simply flashes a cheeky grin and plants a soft kiss on the back of my hand.

They keep going, their excitement palpable in the sterile air of the ER room. Of course they do.

“What about Josh?” Thomas suggests, bouncing on the edge of his seat like an overexcited Labrador puppy, eyes wide with anticipation. “It’s strong. Classic. Super Canadian.”

Rowan shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “It’s too safe,” he counters, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the armrest. “What about something cool, like Kai?”

Bruno crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “We’re not naming the kid after a surfer,” he retorts with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What about Janey, if it’s a girl? After my mom.”

“Your mom’s name was Janina,” Rowan replies flatly, raising an eyebrow.

“She liked Janey,” Bruno insists, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

I lie there, propped up on the hospital bed, letting their lively chatter wash over me. It feels like I’m an observer in a bizarre nature documentary on feral male bonding behavior.

They’re so enthusiastic, tossing out names like they’re crafting an entire future right here amidst the beeping monitors and antiseptic smell.

“I’m begging you,” I mutter, barely lifting my head from the pillow, “don’t name my kid something that sounds like it belongs on a 2007 reality show.”

Thomas leans over the bed, his chin resting on the soft hospital blanket. “Okay, wise one,” he teases, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You tell us. What name is worthy of the all-glorious Jinx spawn?”

Rowan perks up, leaning forward with an expectant look. “Yeah. Out of all of us, who do you like best?”

Bruno folds his arms tightly and narrows his eyes. “Be careful how you answer that,” he warns with a mock-serious tone.

I crack one eye open, glancing at them, each one waiting as if the next word out of my mouth might determine the fate of the world. With a tiny smirk playing on my lips, I say, “I already know the name.”

They all freeze, their collective breath held in suspense.

I let the silence linger just a moment longer, savoring their anticipation, before rolling onto my side and mumbling with a sly smile, “But I’m not telling you yet. You’ll have to wait.”

Rowan groans dramatically, slumping back in his chair. Thomas flops onto the floor in an exaggerated fake collapse, arms spread wide. Bruno just shakes his head in disbelief, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

They all bombard me at once, their voices a chaotic chorus tumbling over each other, eager to know what I want to name the baby.

I lean my head back against the stiff, crinkly hospital pillow and let my eyes flutter shut for a moment, seeking a brief escape from the clamor.

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