Page 75 of Omega's Fire

“Your Mom said she’s stuck in traffic,” I tell him as I settle into the uncomfortable chair beside his bed. Our daughter sleeps in the clear plastic bassinet, swaddled in hospital blankets, completely oblivious to how thoroughly she’s rearranged our universe. “She just kept saying ‘early but healthy, that’s what matters.’”

“What about your parents?” Leo asks quietly, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

I pause in my adjustment of the chair’s position. “I’m not close to them. They’ve never shown much interest in me. I’ve not spoken to either of them in years.”

Leo’s eyes soften slightly. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”

Our daughter chooses that moment to wake with a soft cry that has both of us immediately alert. Leo struggles to sit up, still recovering from birth, and I’m on my feet before he can fully right himself.

“Let me,” I murmur, lifting her carefully from the bassinet.She’s so small, so fragile, but she settles immediately against my chest, her cries subsiding to soft whimpers. “There we go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

“She’s hungry,” Leo observes, noting the way she’s rooting against my shirt.

“Should I bring her to you?” I ask, but he’s already shifting, making room on the narrow hospital bed.

“Both of you,” he says simply. “There’s room.”

I settle carefully beside him, our daughter cradled between us as Leo guides her to nurse. The intimacy of the moment—the three of us together, Leo feeding our child while I support them both—threatens to overwhelm me completely.

“I can’t believe she’s real,” Leo murmurs, stroking her dark hair as she feeds. “I still can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“She’s perfect,” I reply, because it’s the only truth that matters. “Absolutely perfect.”

We sit in comfortable silence, watching our daughter nurse with the focused intensity of a tiny person who knows exactly what she wants. Leo’s scent has changed since the birth. It’s somehow richer and warmer. It makes my alpha hindbrain purr with approval.

“Nash,” Leo says quietly, not looking away from our daughter. “Thank you. For today. For being exactly what I needed.”

The simple words hit harder than any declaration of love. “You don’t need to thank me for being here for my family.”

He does look at me then, something vulnerable in his expression. “Is that what we are? A family?”

The question hangs between us. Looking at Leo holding our daughter, feeling the weight of her warm body against my chest, breathing in the scent of my omega and our child, the answer is the simplest thing in the world.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “We’re a family.”

Leo’s smile is soft, tired, but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.”

Our daughter finishes nursing and Leo passes her to me for burping, the transfer so natural it feels like we’ve been doing this for years instead of hours. She settles against my shoulder with a contented sigh, and I find myself swaying slightly, some ancient parental instinct taking over.

“You’re good at this,” Leo observes, settling back against his pillows.

“Beginner’s luck,” I reply, but the praise warms something deep in my chest. “Though I should probably learn to change diapers quickly.”

Leo laughs, the sound tired but happy. “We’ll figure it out together.”

I catch Leo watching us from the bed. His expression is soft, unguarded in a way I haven’t seen before.

“What?” I ask quietly.

“Nothing,” he murmurs, but his eyes stay fixed on us. “Just... watching you with her. You’re going to be a good father, Nash.”

The words lodge somewhere behind my sternum, warm and precious. “So are you.”

“I hope so.” He shifts slightly, making room on the bed again. “Bring her here again? I want to hold you both.”

I settle beside him carefully, our daughter cradled between us, and Leo’s arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me closer. The position should be awkward on the narrow hospital bed, but instead it feels perfect. Complete.

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