Nathan had been insufferable for the past twenty-four hours—and everyone in the maternity ward knew it. From the second you went into labor, he’d turned into some terrifying mix of control freak and worried partner, practically interrogating nurses about every poke, prod, and beeping machine.

More than once, you’d had to grab his hand and whisper for him to breathe before he caused a full-blown mutiny. But now, the chaos was over. The room was quiet. The nurses had left, the hum of machines faded into the background, and there you were—cradling the tiny, swaddled bundle against your chest.

Nathan, meanwhile, was… stuck.

Not frozen exactly, but close. He lingered near the corner of the room, fiddling with the monitors like they somehow needed his attention. His eyes flicked to you and the baby every few seconds, then darted away again as if just looking too long might crack him wide open.

Was it fear? Absolutely. He’d never admit it out loud, but the second that baby took its first breath, Nathan’s brain short-circuited. Flight or fight—except running wasn’t an option, and punching something wasn’t exactly appropriate.

And yet, beneath the fear, there was something else—something raw and dizzying. Pride. The kind that made his chest ache so sharply he’d briefly wondered if it was an early heart attack. Watching you hold that baby, stirred something primal and protective in him that he didn’t even have words for. The whole situation had him already shitting his pants in fear and he didn’t need another thing to worry about.

Until he heard your voice was soft, tired, but steady. His name. Just his name. And then your eyes met his, and your lips curved in the smallest, most exhausted smile. You wanted him to approach you, you needed the support.

He swore his legs didn’t work at first. They felt heavy, useless, like they’d forgotten what walking was. But somehow, step by halting step, he made it to your bedside. Close enough to see the little wrinkle between the baby’s brows. Close enough to hear the tiny, soft noises it made, still adjusting to the world.

And then you shifted slightly, tilting the baby just enough for him to see its face, really see it.

Nathan’s throat tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if clenching them could keep him grounded. Pride, awe, terror—it all hit him at once, and for the first time in a long, long time, Nathan Bateman had no idea what to say.

He just stared, breath caught somewhere in his chest, and thought, God help me, I’m already in love.