Page 378 of Wicked Brutal

Ally breaks. I lean over both of them and kiss the side of her head.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t need to know what happens next. Everybody I need is right fucking here.

The nursery looks like a baby store threw up in it. Boxes everywhere, a crib in six pieces against one wall, bags from every place Cassandra dragged Ally into this week, a stack of tiny clothes Cat brought over because she “couldn’t fucking help herself,” two paint samples taped by the window — and nothing where it’s eventually supposed to go.

We’re lying in the middle of it, on the floor, because Ally got tired sorting a box of blankets, stretched out on the carpet, and announced she was taking a break. That was twenty minutes ago. Her head is on my arm, one leg tangled between mine, and I’m tracing slow lines along her back under her shirt. The house is quiet. Walter and Cassandra took Tobias for ice cream, which turned into a walk around the block with some other parents and kids. He announced before leaving that he needed two scoops because he “did a lot of French today.” Cassandra told him language acquisition doesn’t increase ice cream requirements.

He disagreed. Strongly.

Ally laughs against my chest. “I’m still thinking about him.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. He was so cute today.”

“He made like twenty dollars.”

“At least.” Her fingers play with the edge of my shirt. “He loved Bella.”

“Immediately.”

“Princess pretty.”

“I’m never letting Iz forget that.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Did you see his face when she said frog?”

Ally lifts onto her elbow, already laughing. “I thought he was going to stop breathing.”

“I think he did.” She drops her forehead to my chest, laughing harder. “And then he asked her to say it again.”

“For verification,” I say. “Very academic.”

She smacks my chest, and I catch her hand before she can pull it back and kiss her palm. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t take it away, so I thread our fingers together instead.

For a while we just lie there, her smile softening into something quieter. “I liked today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes move around the room. She does this now — stops, thinks, takes her time finding what she actually wants to say instead of reaching for whatever answer she thinks someone wants from her. I love watching it.

“It felt full. Not crowded. Like there was always somebody talking, or laughing, or arguing.” Her mouth twitches. “Mostly arguing.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Danny and Becca were fighting and kissing. Cat was stealing Kaiden’s food. Penny wanted to bury Xander under the guest house. Iz and Bella were trying to emotionally disembowel each other.” She laughs softly. “And Toby just ran through all of it.”

That gets me, because I know exactly what she means.

“He didn’t think about it,” she says. “He just knew everybody. Except Bella. And he fixed that in thirty seconds.” Then she goes quiet again, and when she speaks it’s softer. “He knew where to go. With everyone. He knew Becca would hug him. He knew Cat would say yes to something ridiculous. He knew Penny would want him. He knew X would run with him. He knew Iz would play with him.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “And then he knew you’d catch him.”

Fuck. I look at the ceiling.

“Ryan.”