Dad clears his throat. “Apologies, son. You were saying?”
“The answer is no. Amelia isn’t trying to trap me. Branson is definitely mine.”
“Branson?”
Fuck. I do not want to have this conversation right now.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m not getting into right now.” Or ever, I think. “She didn’t know about the family name. She’d already named him. After her father.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Then it’s Mom to the rescue. “I think that’s sweet, Knox.”
“Yeah. Me too,” I respond, realizing as I say it that I actually mean it. Plus, if I have my way, and I seldom don’t get it, we’ll have more children in the future and one of them can be my namesake. The Wellington namesake.
That’s when it hits me. What the hell last name did Amelia give Branson?
My chest constricts, panic bubbling up at the thought that he may not be a Wellington. I can’t get off the phone quick enough. I have to get Sunny out of here. Amelia and I need to have this conversation. It hadn’t crossed my mind before, but now that it has, I need answers.
Because he may not have my first name, but my kid better have my goddamn last name.
“Listen, I’ve got to run. I need to make sure Amelia’s comfortable and that the baby doesn’t need anything.”
There comes Mom’s wistful sigh again. “Knox?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Before you go, I just wanted to say…I don’t know this woman, but I can hear the change in your voice. The pride. The love. We’re incredibly happy for you. We can’t wait to meet her and our grandson.”
“Thanks, Mom. As soon as she’s up for visitors, I’ll let you know.”
“And, Knox,” my dad says. “Don’t worry about work. Take a few weeks off to figure out your future. We’ll be waiting for you when you decide what’s the next step for you.”
I close my eyes, struggling to imagine a future where I don’t go back to Wellington. Where I don’t spend my life by my father’s side, continuing to build the franchise. Where I don’t have my own son who’s raised learning the ropes in hopes of one day taking over.
But I also can’t imagine a future without Amelia.
“Appreciate it, Dad. Amelia and I have a lot to discuss. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Love you, son.”
“Yeah, love you, Knox.”
“Thanks, guys. Love you too.”
Just as I’m about to hang up, I hear my brother’s distant voice.
“Hey, Jaclyn said Knox is on the phone. Did he get Amelia back?”
Mom’s coy voice comes over the line. “That and then some.”
Click.
The line goes dead.
After placing the phone back on the receiver, I brace my hands against the kitchen counter. I really should pick my battles, but when it comes to my son, my firstborn, this is one I have to take on. One I have to win. I also know I can’t push Amelia too fast too soon.
What do I want more? Amelia or my son having my last name?
Fuck, I want both. And one comes with the other, unless I push her away.
I have to approach with caution and not end up with a bottle indent on my forehead.
Just as I turn to walk down the hall to Amelia’s—our—bedroom, Sunny saunters into the kitchen. She leans back against the wall, folding her arms across her chest, eyeing me. I can’t read her expression. Not that I care. I’m getting impatient with all this time away from Amelia. Knowing I need Sunny as an ally, though, keeps me glued to my spot against the kitchen counter. I take a long drag of my beer then set the empty bottle on the counter.
“You make a cute kid,” she offers, the mask still in place. Which, with Sunny, is odd, as I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without a smile.
“Thanks. He’s all his mom.”
One corner of her mouth twitches up. “Nah, the lucky boy already has your dimples. The rest, though? Yeah, probably Meems.”
“Speaking of, I should go back there.”
“She just fed Branson. He’s sleeping in his bassinet right now. Amelia’s eyes were drooping, so I decided to get back to Mickey’s. Joe’s gonna be slammed with the Saturday night crowd. He’ll have my ass if I don’t show up before long.”
I nod, grateful to finally be able to be alone with Amelia in someplace other than the hospital. “I’ll walk you out.”
She just smiles without protest. We walk down the hall in silence. I’m anxious for her to get out of the house so I can make my dash to Amelia’s room.
As soon as we reach the door, Sunny places her hand on the knob, turning back towards me. “You’re going to stay this time.”
It’s not a question. If I didn’t already like Sunny Mayfield, I sure as hell would now.
“No way in hell I’m ever leavin’ her, Sunny.”
“That’s what I thought.” She chews on her bottom lip before she continues. “She’s had a lot of loss, Knox. It nearly killed her when she lost her parents. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get the same Amelia back again. You were the one who brought her back to us. To herself. And then it just about ruined her when you left. But it was that baby who kept her going. Because he became a part of you she’d never have to lose.”
“Sunny—”
She holds her hand up. “I know you would’ve been here if you could. That’s not what I’m trying to say. What I mean is: Be patient with her. Give her time. I know you love Amelia.”
The shock must be evident on my face, because she chuckles as she leans in forward.
“Knox, the only who people who couldn’t see it last summer were the two stubborn fools living under this roof. Like I said, she needs time. To know—to trust—that you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not. Not ever.”
“I know that. You know that. And, in time, so will Amelia.” Her piece spoken, she rises onto the tips of her toes, giving me a swift kiss on the cheek. “You got this, Knox. Wear our girl down.”
With a wink, Sunny slips out of the house before I can respond. Not that I have much to say. She’s right. As much as I want to march into Amelia’s room, declare I’m here to stay and she’s mine no matter what, she’d just dig in her heels to try to push me away. So we’ll do things her way.
After I find out my son’s last name.
Determination mounting, I march towards Amelia’s room, and then I stop in the doorway to take in the sight. My gaze first falls on my son, whose eyes are closed, his little chest rising and falling with each breath he takes in his sleep.
“He just went down,” Amelia murmurs.
It strikes me how beautiful she is, lying in bed with her hair swept back, a low-cut nightgown stretched across her skin for easy access to feed our son. My cock stiffens at the sight of her swollen breasts. This may be harder than I initially thought.
“Eyes up here, mister,” she whispers, her tone light with teasing.
So I’m a perv. I’ve been called worse.
I shrug. “You know I’m a breast man. And while I’ve always loved yours, this is something entirely different.”