Page 120 of The Final Faceoff
He shakes his head like that’s not the point. “I mean . . . she’s here with us now. Hopefully, she’ll want to stay forever.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling too hard. Should I tell him she’ll probably turn eighteen, leave for college, and become a fiercely independent woman who forgets to text us back?
Nah. He’s too happy to start facing reality.
Leif drags a hand down his face. “No, but seriously—they just let us take her. No final test, no extended warranty. Just, ‘Congrats, try not to fuck it up.’”
I snort. “I think they assume we’re responsible adults.”
Leif stares at me. “I literally forgot my car keys twice before we left the hospital.”
I grin. “And yet, they still trusted us.”
He exhales, then kneels next to Luna, unbuckling her with ridiculous gentleness. “Okay, baby girl,” he murmurs. “Let’s see how you like your new home.”
She doesn’t respond, but when he lifts her into his arms, she immediately nestles against him, making a tiny noise that is, without a doubt, the single greatest sound I have ever heard.
Leif sags onto the couch, cradling her, pressing a kiss to her soft little head, and I swear I almost break apart from how much I love them.
“I really think she likes me,” he whispers.
I laugh softly, crawling onto the couch next to him. “I’m pretty sure she loves you.”
Leif grins, adjusting her in his arms. She makes another little noise that absolutely wrecks him.
Yeah. This man is in trouble. He’s going to do everything she wants him to do. And I’m just going to sit back and fall even more in love as I watch it happen. I close my eyes. While he’s doting on our little girl, I plan to close my eyes for a bit—try to recover. That’s what the doctor said, right? While she sleeps, try to sleep, and I will.
* * *
I am wrecked. My body is begging for sleep. I can practically hear my muscles sobbing in relief. My brain is mush, my eyelids feel like sandpaper, and yet—guess who can’t stop staring at the baby monitor like an obsessed lunatic? Not me, Leif.
“Leif,” I groan, cracking one eye open. “Put the phone down.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts the screen toward me like it’s proof that we need to stay awake forever.
“She moved.”
I blink, trying to focus. “That’s what babies do.”
“Yeah, but . . . what if she stops breathing?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Leif.”
He turns back to the screen, brow furrowed.
“She’s just lying there,” he mutters, voice full of suspicion. “Menacingly.”
I snort. “Did you just call our newborn menacing?”
He narrows his eyes at the monitor. “I just think she’s planning something.”
I let out a long, slow sigh. “She’s sleeping. I doubt she’s plotting world domination. Now please go to sleep.”
He hesitates. “But?—”
“Now.”
He grumbles but finally tucks the phone under the pillow and rolls toward me.
