Page 95 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
“How’s dad life treating you so far?” Weston asks.
Boyd snorts. “It’s too early to say, but I can already tell I won’t need to use any special methods to fall asleep when I have the chance.”
I stand there for a second watching the six men greet each other. They came from different teams and different histories, but the same hardwired instinct lives in all of them—the need to protect, to watch over, to stand between danger and the people they love.
The men in my life called on Sentinel when the threats escalated, and somewhere along the way, professional trust became real friendship.
Kira’s in the great room, curled into one corner of the couch under a blanket, and my breath catches when I see the tiny bundle in her arms.
I go straight to her and lean down carefully so I can hug her without jostling the baby. “You did it.”
“I did.” Kira looks tired, but radiant. “I still can’t believe she’s real.” She shifts the blanket just enough for me to see the baby’s face, and the world seems to go still.
She’s so impossibly small, pink-cheeked and sleeping hard, with one fist tucked close under her chin. Pale brown eyelashes lie against her skin, and there’s a softness to her that makes something in me ache.
Maybe it’s because of everything we’ve been through, but the idea of something so tiny and perfect entering the world feels like proof that life keeps making room for joy.
“She’s beautiful.”
Kira’s eyes turn bright. “I know. I can’t stop staring at her.”
“I don’t think anyone here can.”
That gets a quiet rumble of agreement from several places around the room.
T.J. edges closer. “Can I meet her?”
Kira smiles at him. “She’s sleeping right now, but this is Felicity.”
He studies her for a moment, then holds up his stuffed fox. “I brought this for her, if she wants it later.”
“That is so incredibly sweet of you,” Kira says, beaming at him. “Thank you.”
Atlas takes it from him like it’s something ceremonial and sets it next to the nearby cradle. “First official toy delivery.”
Silas, who’s leaning against the mantel, says, “Good choice. Capable, watchful, surviveson intelligence.”
T.J. gives him a delighted grin, and even Buck’s mouth twitches.
I settle into the armchair nearest the couch while the others spread around the room. Buck gets pulled into a cradle inspection by Boyd. Calder and Atlas disappear briefly into the kitchen, where I can hear the low cadence of their discussion. Weston ends up near the window with Silas, where Weston manages to coax actual conversation out of the often-silent man. Every once in a while, Silas’s mouth twitches, and Weston looks quietly pleased with himself.
There’s a peacefulness to it all that I don’t think I could have fully appreciated six months ago.
Men who are usually more at home dealing with logistics, threat assessments, and emergencies are now standing around a sleeping infant, teasing one another about diaper duty and burp-cloth strategy.
Buck asks Boyd if he’s built Felicity her own log cabin yet.
“Give me time,” Boyd says without missing a beat.
Atlas returns from the kitchen carrying tea for Kira and pauses automatically when Felicity makes a sound in her sleep. His attention locks on her with the precision of a man who’s used to responding to danger, only now his focus is fully fixed on this tiny new human.
It nearly undoes me, but not because it’s surprising. Men like this are always going to love with their whole heart once they have something small and precious enough to hold, but there’s still something incredibly moving about seeing power repurposed into tenderness.
Kira catches my attention and smiles like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
We stay about an hour, maybe a little longer, careful not to overdo it. We each get an opportunity to hold the baby, and Weston, in particular, looks like a natural.
“Careful, Monroe,” Silas says. “That’s how they get you.”
