Page 79 of Priest

“Rule three,” I say. “If something involves me, I hear about it from you. Not later. Not after damage control. Not after you decide it’s better I don’t know.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Agreed.”

That one matters. I can tell by the way his shoulders settle, like he already knows how hard it’s going to be.

I pause before the next one, hand resting unconsciously on my stomach. The baby shifts again, a small, insistent reminder that there’s more at stake now than pride or fear.

“There’s one about the baby,” I say carefully.

He straightens immediately but doesn’t interrupt.

“You don’t get to use the baby as a bargaining chip,” I continue. “Being excited doesn’t give you leverage. Being the father doesn’t erase what happened.”

“I’m not trying to bargain,” he says, voice low but firm. “I just…”

He stops himself, takes a breath, and the restraint matters more than I want it to.

“I missed almost all of it,” he says. “I don’t want to miss the rest.”

I study him. The honesty there. The ache he’s not dressing up as entitlement.

“I want to be there,” he continues. “Appointments. Setting things up. The delivery. Not to rush you. Not to corner you. Just to show up.”

The room goes quiet.

He’s right, and we both know it. Keeping a father out of his child’s life would be wrong, even if keeping my heart guarded still feels necessary.

“Okay,” I say finally. “You can be involved.”

Relief flickers across his face, quick and bright.

“But,” I add immediately, “you don’t use that as currency. Ever.”

“Never,” he says without hesitation.

I nod once. “Good.”

“And rule five,” I finish. “You don’t perform change. You don’t make gestures for an audience. If you’re doing the work, I’ll see it.”

His mouth quirks. “Quiet consistency. Got it.”

The tension eases just a fraction, enough for him to risk a question.

“Can I… see the room?” he asks. “The nursery.”

I huff softly, already getting up to walk down the hall. “Okay.”

The room is exactly what it’s been for weeks. Blank walls. Boxes stacked against one side. Unassembled furniture leaning awkwardly. Paint cans lined up like a to-do list I haven’t had time to start.

He takes it in slowly. Then looks at my stomach. Then back at me.

I sigh. “I work long hours. Lila and Evan were going to come help on one of our days off.”

He nods, thoughtful. Then he says carefully, “Not a grand gesture. I swear. But let me help. Me and a couple of the brothers.”

I turn on him. “No Sadie.”

He doesn’t even blink. “That won’t be a problem.”