Page 1

Chapter 1

Olivia

There are five adults in this hospital room, and somehow I am the one holding the baby.

This feels like an oversight.

Charlotte Taylor Bennett was born right here in Dallas, Texas weighing six pounds, fourteen ounces at precisely four thirty-one a.m. I know this because Gray has repeated it to every person who has entered this space, including the doctor who delivered her and presumably recorded the number herself.

Charlie, as everyone has already decided to call her, is eleven hours old.

Her eyes are closed. Her mouth is moving in small, unexplained motions. One hand is tucked beneath her chin, and the other is resting against my chest, and I have never been more aware of my own breathing.

“Support her neck,” Gray says, glaring at me.

“I am supporting her neck.” His attention drops to my left hand, so I adjust it half an inch. “Better?”

He considers this. “A little.”

Across the room, Ivy laughs from the hospital bed. She looks tired, yet happier than I have ever seen her.

“Gray, she’s fine.” She motions for him to come closer.

“I know she’s fine.” He sits at the edge of the hospital bed, eyes still laser-focused on me.

“You’ve corrected Liv four times.” Ivy laughs.

“Five,” Harper says from beside me and I jump at the volume of her voice, nearly forgetting she was here.

“Shh.” I glance at her. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just stating facts.” She shrugs.

Micah is standing near the window with both hands in his pockets. He has not offered advice once, which makes him my favorite person here.

The three of us woke to the “it’s time” text from Gray. Harper and Micah were already on their way to Dallas from Ashen Mills before I even got out of bed.

Gray is back on his feet, inching closer to me. He is trying not to hover, and is failing.

His hair is a mess, his black T-shirt is wrinkled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He also looks ready to fight the entire hospital if one person speaks to his daughter too loudly.

But apparently Harper doesn’t count.

I understand the instinct, but I do not understand why he thinks I am the threat.

Charlie moves, her arms stretching above her head, and every adult in the room goes silent.

Her face pinches. Her tiny nose wrinkles. She makes one sharp sound that is not quite a cry but appears to be an official warning.

I look at Ivy.

Ivy looks at me.

“What does that mean?”

“She might be hungry.” Ivy shrugs. “Or tired.”

“Those feel like opposite problems.”