Chapter 62

Chapter 62
Cheyenne

Three nights later, I announce the baby to the family with a bowl of mashed potatoes in my hand and my pulse trying to crawl up into my face.
In hindsight, maybe there were classier ways to do it.
I could’ve brought cupcakes with pink icing and blue sprinkles, or made Sawyer wear a big brother shirt, or handed out sonogram copies in little envelopes like one of those women online who somehow manages to curl her hair, grow a person, and keep white furniture clean. That’s not me.
By the time Sunday dinner rolls around, I’m just trying not to puke in Collin and Ashlynn’s hydrangeas on the walk in from the driveway.
Dallas parks, kills the engine, and looks over at me with that quiet little smile that’s been living on his face since I told him. Not constant. Not goofy.
Just there under everything, like happiness found a room in him and decided to stay.
“You good, Baby.”
“No,” I say honestly. “But in a normal way.”
He laughs and reaches across the console to squeeze my thigh. “That’s my girl.”
Sawyer’s in the backseat kicking the hell out of his car seat and chanting “Papa house” like he’s the one hosting. Dallas gets him out while I grab the diaper bag and the casserole dish I promised to bring, because apparently pregnancy doesn’t exempt a woman from side dish duty.
The second we walk through the front door, noise hits us full in the face.
Lily’s toddling around in one shoe and a dress that Brooklyn probably did not put her in this morning. Nora’s sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace reading a picture book to Lydia, Miles, and Ollie like they can appreciate plot. Maddox and Maddie are on the rug with trucks and blocks, half playing and half fighting the way siblings do when they’ve spent their whole lives up each other’s noses. One of Raleigh and Lincoln’s newborns is asleep against Lincoln’s chest. The other one is in Raleigh’s arms wearing a little yellow sleeper and making the exact same pissed-off face his father makes when somebody misses a turn.
Ashlynn takes the casserole from me before I even get my shoes off. “You look pale.”
“Love that for me,” I mutter.
She gives me a sharp little side-eye that says she’s filing the comment away. Great.
Collin comes in from the den with Sawyer already reaching for him. “There’s my boy.”
Sawyer launches himself across the gap like gravity is optional.
Dallas shakes his head. “Traitor.”
“Smart kid,” Collin says, settling Sawyer on his hip.
I smile at that and glance toward the dining room where Boston’s leaning over one of the carrier seats, talking to Ollie like the baby owes him an answer while Miles kicks in the seat beside him and Lydia dozes against Aspen’s shoulder. Aspen’s at the table with a burp cloth over her shoulder and coffee in her hand that she’s definitely reheated at least twice. Brooklyn’s flipping through a wedding binder with one baby monitor beside it and one twin tucked into the crook of her arm because of course she is. Jackson’s pretending he isn’t watching the whole room at once, which would be more convincing if his eyes ever stopped moving.
This is what family dinner always is here. Loud, messy, overfull, and somehow still the safest place I know.
Which is exactly why I’m nervous. Because once this news lands, it belongs to more than the two of us.
Dallas catches my eye from across the room and lifts his chin just a little. You’ve got this.
I breathe through it and keep moving. Dinner goes the way it always goes. Too many voices. Too many serving spoons. Somebody reaches over somebody else. Lily throws a noodle. Nora informs us all that boys are grosser than girls, but Ollie might be an exception because he smells like milk, then changes her mind and says Miles smells like milk too. Maddox argues that trucks can absolutely be doctors if they want. Maddie says that’s dumb and then names her doll Melissa Pancake.
I laugh till I tear up and have to look down at my plate.
Halfway through dinner, Ashlynn notices I’m picking around the ham and not touching the coffee she poured me.
“Cheyenne.”
I look up. Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“You don’t want coffee.”
“Nope.”
“You don’t want ham?”
“Nope.”
Dallas coughs into his napkin like he’s trying not to laugh.
That gets everybody’s attention. Jackson looks from Dallas to me once, then sets his fork down. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m eating,” Dallas says.
“You’re smirking.”
Boston leans back in his chair. “He is.”
Brooklyn freezes with a bite halfway to her mouth. “Hold on.”
Aspen’s whole face changes first, probably because she’s the one in the family most used to clocking small shifts and hidden things. “Cheyenne.”
Raleigh looks at me, then at my untouched coffee, then at Dallas’s hand where it’s resting over mine on the table.
“Oh my God,” she says.
Everything stops. Actually stops. Even the kids, which feels supernatural. I laugh because what else am I gonna do? “Well, this got dramatic fast.”
Ashlynn puts both hands flat on the table. “Cheyenne.”
I look at Dallas once more. He nods. So I smile, squeeze his hand back, and say the thing that changes the whole room.
“I’m pregnant.”
For one beat there’s no sound at all.
Then all hell breaks loose. Aspen starts crying before Boston even gets out of his chair. Raleigh gasps so hard one of the newborns startles. Brooklyn smacks Jackson’s arm because apparently his face forgot how to work. Lincoln says, “No shit,” loud enough that Collin snaps his fingers at him and tells him to watch his mouth in front of the kids, which would carry more authority if Sawyer weren’t currently trying to feed mashed potatoes to the table centerpiece.
Dallas stands, pulls me up with him, and I barely get my balance before everybody’s around us.
Aspen hugs me first because she’s closest and because she’s Aspen. She smells like spit-up, lotion, and coffee, which feels exactly right. “I knew something was up,” she says into my shoulder.
“Apparently everybody did but me,” Boston mutters.
“That’s because you’re medically brilliant and domestically slow,” Aspen tells him without missing a beat.
Raleigh squeezes in next and hugs me carefully because she’s still tender herself and because she knows what it means to carry joy with fear braided through it. “I’m so happy for you.”
Brooklyn follows with the baby still on her shoulder and her eyes suspiciously bright. “You kept that quiet like a criminal.”
“I was protecting my peace.”
“Fair.”
Lincoln hugs Dallas hard enough to jostle both of us. Boston comes next and does the same thing because apparently the brothers process emotion by pretending they’re not emotional while nearly cracking each other’s ribs.
Jackson’s the last one to step in close. He looks at me first, then at Dallas, and there’s something rough and honest in his face I’ve learned to trust.
“Happy for you,” he says.
Then he clamps a hand on Dallas’s shoulder. “Really damn happy for you.”
Dallas nods once, jaw tight, and I know what that means. This matters to him in a way that runs deeper than another baby. This is a child that starts in love, in safety, in a house where nobody has to earn tenderness at the cost of themselves.
Sawyer doesn’t understand any of that, but he does understand everybody standing up and making noise, so naturally he starts shouting too. “Me. Me. Me.”
Collin lifts him higher. “That’s right, buddy. You’re in this too.”
“Big brudder,” Nora announces, though no one asked her.
“Brother,” Aspen corrects absently.
“Big brudder,” Nora repeats with authority.
Maddie claps. Maddox asks if the new baby gets trucks. Lily shouts “Baby” at the top of her lungs like she personally made this happen.
For ten minutes, it’s chaos in the best way.
Questions about how far along I am. When I found out. Whether I’ve seen a doctor yet. Whether I’m resting enough, which is hilarious. Dallas answers some. I answer some. A few get lost under the noise.
Then eventually the room settles just enough for us to sit again.
I barely make it through two more bites before Dallas’s phone buzzes. He glances down.
The smile disappears off his face so fast my whole body notices.
“What?” I ask quietly.
He turns the screen toward me.

Unknown number. Congratulations on the new grandbaby. Maybe this one will finally let me be part of the family I made.

My stomach drops so hard I feel it in my knees.
Jackson sees my face before I say a word. “What happened?”
Dallas hands him the phone. The whole end of the table goes still again, but this time there’s no joy in it.
Jackson reads the message once. Then again, slower. A pulse starts beating in his jaw. “How the hell does she know?”
“Because she stalks like it’s a part-time job,” Brooklyn says flatly.
Boston’s already pulling his phone out. Lincoln’s eyes have gone cold. Aspen swears under her breath. Ashlynn goes white, then furious. Collin doesn’t say anything at first, which somehow feels worse than if he had shouted.
I sit there with one hand low on my stomach and Dallas’s palm closing hard over my thigh under the table.
The baby wasn’t even public for a full minute. Not one minute.
And she still found a way to push her fingers at the edges of it.
Jackson starts moving immediately. “Nobody posts a damn thing. Nobody answers. I want screenshots, timestamps, and I want whatever number she used checked against the last three contacts and the daycare incident log.”
“I saved it already,” Brooklyn says.
“Of course you did.”
Dallas takes his phone back and blocks the number with one sharp tap.
Then he looks at me. Not angry at me. Not even really angry in the room.
Just focused all the way down. “She doesn’t get this one either,” he says.
Something in me steadies at that. I nod. “No. She doesn’t.”
Aspen reaches across the table and takes my hand. Raleigh takes the other. Brooklyn’s foot nudges mine under the chairs. The men are already talking logistics, hard lines, numbers, reports, but around all that I feel the women closing in too, not crowding, just bracing. The room shifts.
Not away from joy. Around it. Protecting it. And sitting there at a family table with kids yelling, dishes stacked, one newborn crying from across the room, and my husband beside me like a wall nobody gets through, I understand something clean.
This baby belongs inside the noise. Inside the mess.
Inside the fierce, overprotective, loud-mouthed love of this family.
Heather can circle the outside till she's dead, but she still won’t get in.