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“No Father.” Her dictate is determined but her touch is gentle—as she reaches up and pushes my hand away from Reece’s picture. “Father.”

And then raises her little hand back up.

And points at the photo of Tyce.

“What is it?” Reece demands, charging into the office as if my text declared the penthouse had caught fire. In all fairness, he can’t be blamed. Though I was finally able to process the breadth of Ira’s assertion, all the while getting the kids set up with their desired breakfasts as well as some necessary fruit and milk, the end result was a rushed text that I barely remember. Unchecked shock will do that to a girl.

“What’s going on? Velvet?” he presses, prompting me to look up from the surface of the desk—where I’ve put the framed Richards brothers photo set that sparked Ira’s stunner of a morning news flash.

“Hey,” I finally stammer, taking in his disheveled hair, polished silver gaze, and heightened color. It almost looks like he got here using a two-and-a-half-block pulse, winding up with a look that tempts me to jump him. To be honest, maybe that’ll help. Some natural serotonin and endorphins might be the perfect ticket at this surreal moment.

“Hey?”

He spits it back as if I’ve really told him to close the door and then get naked. Yeah, even with Sawyer and three more guys spilling into the room behind him. I immediately recognize one of the huge hunks. Ethan Archer is still the epitome of dark vampire handsome, despite being outfitted in black and green battle attire instead of a velvet cape and fluffy shirt. The other two, clearly the brothers Reece told me about last night, are a little bigger than Archer and cute in a scruffy soldier way. They’re dressed nearly identically, clearly ready for action—and even seem a little miffed when all they find in here is dazed little me.

“Hey?” Reece repeats, incredulous. “After a text saying”—he snaps out his phone and frantically swipes open the screen—“‘we need to talk, how fast can you get here?’” He stabs the phone back into his pocket. “And now just…‘hey’?”

I hold up both hands. “Okay, baby. Just breathe.”

“And now ‘just breathe’?”

I scoot around the desk and sprawl a hand to the middle of his chest. “You heard me, ox. Just do it.”

I mean every syllable. The man is still in the mode of expecting a thousand boogey men to spring out of the woodwork any second and truly hasn’t taken a breath during the last minute because of it. I don’t see what’s so amusing about that, but Sawyer and the other guys don’t make even minor attempts to hold in their mild chuckles.

“Oh, I like her already,” drawls one of the brothers, who flashes a sly grin along with his café au lait gaze. “You two need to come for a visit out on Maui,” he tells Reece. “Lani will fall in love with her in two seconds.”

His brother chuffs. “Ditto for Zoe—not to mention my kid, who’d think your two girls are the coolest thing since Pinkie Pie learned a cloning spell.”

“Dude.” Brother One grimaces. “Did you just name a character from Equestria by first and last name?”

“Did you just admit you know what the fuck Equestria is?”

Sawyer wheels on them. “Are you two turning Bolt Man’s code red into a debate about cartoon horses?”

“Ponies.” Ethan chimes in on the rebuttal, and I spit out a laugh despite my fight for dignity. Or formality. Or whatever I’m calling my composure after a full plate of my husband’s rugged hotness chased by a four-part chug of military-grade testosterone. Oh, yes, Sawyer’s mojo is definitely a part of that equation right now—finished by a debate about the pony who made “nervouscited” a functioning word.

And, handily enough, a perfect description for my mindset as Reece resets his stance. All right, it’s not like I’m about to tell him I’m pregnant again—but strange inner instincts are still enforcing the importance of sharing this, right now and in person. There’s part of me that just hopes he shrugs and wonders why I invoked the dreaded “we need to talk,” before he invites all the guys out into the kitchen for some sugar-drenched breakfast.

“Oh, cool!” The new slice on the air comes from my still-pajama’ed sister, standing in the open doorway. Before I have the chance to hate her for being the only person on the planet who can look that cute in a raccoon kigurumi splotched with Pop Tart filling, she gives me a reason to be even more frustrated with her. “Looks like you already told him. So what about that, Bolt Jolt? Tyce Richards for the baby daddy win!”

I’m not sure what reaction to expect from Reece. His face is already fixed at high intensity. Though he finally obliged and took a few breaths for me, his stature looks ready for any crisis, from breaking up a fight between the kids to confronting a nuclear bomb. I’m banking more toward that side of the scale as he rolls his gape from her to me and finally blurts, “The…baby daddy? Tyce?”

I wobble through a nod while pointing to the photo collection on the desk. “Ira pointed him out in the lineup.”

A tense pause.

“Tyce,” he finally repeats.

“Tyce,” I confirm.

“Ohhhh crap,” Lydia mumbles.

“Well, damn,” Sawyer adds.

As another silence stretches, longer than the first, I run a fidgety finger along the photograph frame. “I’m sorry for the kneejerk text. In the grand scheme of things, I know that it doesn’t change anything or even bring Tyce back for you…”

I’m saved from having to form a lame conclusion for that when Reece vaults over the desk with one determined pulse. In the same fluid motion, he hauls me tight to his chest. His arms discernibly tremble as he holds me even closer. “You’re wrong.” His husk is warm and tender in my hair. “It brings him back in all the best ways, Bunny. And I’m so damn glad you didn’t wait to tell me.”