Page 200 of Mason

Not perfect. Not clean.

But real.

Ours.

And it’s more than enough.

It’s late.

I should be asleep.

Shelby definitely is—curled up in bed, one leg thrown over all the blankets like she owns gravity. I kissed her temple and watched her breathing even out before slipping down the hall, past the nightlight shaped like a sleepy bear.

And now I’m here.

In the nursery.

She’s not crying. Not exactly. Just fussing. That low, restless whimper she makes when she’s dreaming something she doesn’t like. She kicks once under the blanket, and I swear it startles the pink bunny right off the edge of the crib.

I lean down and scoop her up.

“Hey now,” I murmur, voice gravel and velvet, “you’re okay, baby girl.”

She blinks up at me, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her forehead in messy curls. Still half-asleep. Still clutching that ridiculous stuffed crow Shelby insists isnotcreepy.

“You were dreaming,” I say, settling into the old rocking chair. “I get it. Sometimes dreams don’t make sense. Like taxes. Or your mother’s taste in reality TV.”

She yawns, melts against my chest, one tiny fist curled around the fabric of my shirt.

I rock her, slow and steady. Back and forth. The way I used to calm myself down before a hit.

I should be saying something wise. Something parental. But all that comes out is...

“You know you’re stuck with me now, right? You, me, your mama, and whatever chaos comes next.”

She makes a soft noise—almost a giggle.

“Exactly,” I murmur. “A menace, just like your mother.”

I glance down at her tiny face, already slipping back into sleep, and feel something shift in my chest.

“You know what, kid?” I whisper. “I think I’m gonna call you Trouble.”

She stirs, just a little, like she heard me in a dream and is already offended.

“Trouble Monroe Ironside,” I say, nodding to myself. “Fits. Especially with those lungs. And that attitude.”

She snorts.

I grin.

“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “It’s just for now. You’ll outgrow it.”

Pause.

“Probably.”

She snuggles deeper into my chest like she knows I’m lying.

I press a kiss to the crown of her head, rocking her in time with the rhythm of the night. Just the two of us and the quiet,and the lingering scent of Shelby’s lavender lotion clinging to the walls.

“Get some rest, Trouble,” I whisper. “We’ve got a whole messy, beautiful life to raise you into.”

And for once in my life—I’m not scared of what comes next.