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Millie
I look at the alarm clock. It’s three in the morning.
The baby is crying in his little bassinet, so I sit up, bleary-eyed, and force my feet to the cold wooden floor of our new home.
As I force myself off the mattress, Axel says, “I can give him a bottle if you need the sleep,” his voice muffled by his pillow.
“I’m fine,” I say. “My boobs hurt. Need a letdown.”
“Kay,” he says sleepily. “Get me if you need a break.”
I shuffle over to the bassinet and pull our week-old baby out. “Oh, you’ve peed right through your diaper, dude,” I whisper. “I’d be crying, too.”
We walk over to the changing table, and I change him, swaddle him, and then head to the nice glider chair my parents bought me when we moved in.
I pull out my aching, heavy breast and he latches on.
Many women complain about not getting a lot of sleep with an infant in the house, but I don’t mind it. I mean, yes, I like sleeping, but I also like these quiet hours alone with my son.
My son, who still doesn’t have a name.
This has been the single thing that Axel and I have argued over during these months we’ve been together. We sold the house really quickly and found our new one within a week. We agreed right away that this three-bedroom home was the right one for the start of our family. It felt like home right when we walked in, and Axel agreed.
But try naming a human and Axel gets quite stubborn.
So we left the hospital with a birth certificate that literally says “Baby Boy King.” Which kind of has a ring to it, if we want our kid to grow up to be a boxer or MMA fighter.
Once I get the little guy nursed and back to sleep, I just stand, watching him sleep in the soft moonlight that shines through our bedroom window. He’s so beautiful, with light brown skin, wide, big eyes, and a head of thick, black, curly hair. I can’t believe he’s mine.
I feel Axel’s big presence behind me, so I lean back against him.
“All tuckered out?” he whispers.
“Yep,” I say. “Big pee, big meal. He’ll be down for a couple of hours.”
“Tuckered,” Axel repeats. “Tucker. What about Tucker?”
I tilt my head. “Tucker,” I say. “I like it.”
“You do?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I really do.”
“Well, then, I think our son has a name,” he says.
I turn to my fiancé and he wraps me up in his big arms as I bury my face in the front of his T-shirt.
“Can his middle name be Edmund?” he asks.
I laugh against his chest. “Fine. Whatever. But I get to name the next one.”
THE END
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Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed the Rippers MC trilogy, go check out some of my other bad boy romance novels.