Page 59 of That Defining Moment

Diwa chose the chair by the side of the bed, giving Colin the space he’d demanded, even as he stayed close enough to swoop in the second Colin needed him.

For a minute, it was perfect. Tala drank steadily, her throat working in small, rhythmic swallows, her fist pressed against the bottle’s side. Colin’s mouth moved in a running commentary.

“Your alpha daddy’s an absolute soft touch, and you’ll figure that out right quick,” Colin said, his mouth close to Tala’s temple. “So I’m going to have to be the bad cop. That’s all right. I’ve had practice. I’ll be the one who makes you eat your vegetables and do your homework. You’ll stomp off to your room, slam the door and tell me I’m ruining your life, like your big brother Lysander used to.” His voice had dropped to barely a whisper, each word said into her hair like a shared secret. “But until then, and even when you’re older and at your stroppiest with me, you are my absolute darling, Tala. My little star.”

Then the bottle tipped. Colin’s wrist dropped, and the teat slipped sideways out of Tala’s mouth. She lost the latch and made a sound of outrage, her fists flying up, her face crumpling into red, compressed fury.

His hand was shaking. The tremor ran to his fingertips, keeping him from holding the bottle still. Colin gripped harder, his knuckles whitening around the plastic, and for a moment he held the angle. Then his forearm gave way and the teat slid free again, trailing a thin line of milk across Tala’s chin.

She wailed. The sound split the quiet of the bedroom, thin and reedy, her legs kicking against the blanket while her mouth gaped open and searched for the teat.

Diwa leaned forward from his chair, slid his hand under Colin’s trembling grip, and bore the bottle’s weight without moving Colin’s fingers from it. His other hand lifted Tala, tilting her head until she latched on.

“Fuck,” Colin said, and his voice cracked. His face contorted as his tears came, his jaw clenching so hard that the tendons stood out in his neck. “I can’t even hold a bottle properly for my own baby, Diwa.”

Lysander sat against the headboard and watched Diwa’s thumb move across his father’s hand. The alpha held the bottle steady as Tala drank, and when Colin’s crying eased into hiccups he passed him a tissue from the bedside box without breaking the feed’s angle.

“She’s not even stopping,” Colin said, his voice raw.

“She’s hungry,” Diwa said. “She doesn’t care about your shitty feeding technique.”

Colin let out a watery laugh. “Charming.”

“She cares that you’re here,” Diwa murmured, pressing a kiss against Colin’s temple. “The rest doesn’t matter. Look at her, she knows her omega daddy would do absolutely anything for her. I know I shouldn’t kick a sick man while he’s down, but I’ve got to call you out, love. You’re not going to be any less of a soft touch than I am. That overflowing closet in the nursery, that’s all you.”

Colin’s face crumpled. “But little girl clothes are so cute. The socks, Diwa.”

“I know.” Diwa’s voice dropped low. “I know. You show me every single thing you buy. But go wild, Colin. Get anything you want for our Tala.” He pulled the blanket more securely around Colin’s legs. “Do you want me to go get your tablet? I can log you into Bonpoint.”

Colin’s gaze slid sideways to the duvet. “Yes, please,” he said.

Lysander watched the two of them from his end of the bed and knew then that no matter what, his father and Tala would be all right with Diwa. Colin had an alpha who looked at him the same way whether he was sharp-tongued and witty, and immaculately put together, or greasy-haired and crying into his alpha’s shoulder.

Dane used to buy Lysander grand gifts for his birthday, and fly him all round Europe for indulgent long weekends so that Lysander had mistaken the scale of his generosity for substance. But whenever things got difficult, if he’d had an argument with Stephen, or a particularly gruelling shoot left Lysander feeling hollow and unable to roll out of bed, Dane had made himself scarce and left him to sort himself out on his own.

Diwa reminded him of Hamish in the same small, unasked-for acts: how Hamish pressed mugs of tea into his hands before he’d thought to want one, or told him some rambling story about Cassian squaring up to a neighbour’s pet parrot when he sensed Lysander was having a hard time.

Diwa returned with the iPad a few minutes later, Bonpoint already loaded. He settled it on the duvet between them, one hand braced beneath it at the angle Colin liked, and lifted Tala out of the crook of Colin’s arm so his father’s hands were free.

Colin scrolled. His thumb moved down the page in slow, considered drags, pausing every few seconds to tilt the screen and add something to the basket: Liberty-print bloomers, a smock dress with a scalloped collar, a set of bibs printed with tiny fruits.

“That’s cute,” Diwa murmured over his shoulder. “Good choice.” He tilted the screen towards Colin. “Are you sure you don’t want the green as well as the pink?”

Colin considered the two dresses side by side, and added the green to his basket as well.

“What about hats?” Diwa asked.

Colin’s head came up, his eyes going wide. “Diwa. She doesn’t have any hats. You’ve been taking her out on walks with no hats on!”

“Then we’d better get her some,” Diwa replied, entirely seriously.

Colin bent over the screen and set about working through what appeared to be Bonpoint’s complete inventory of infant headwear, and over the top of his bowed head, Diwa caught Lysander’s eye. One eyebrow went up — a clear, silent nudge towards the subject of Hamish and Cassian, delivered while Colin was calm and pliant and buried in bonnets and brightly patterned bucket hats.

Lysander shook his head.

Not now. His father was thin enough that his wrists looked breakable, crying over a bottle he couldn’t hold steady just twenty minutes ago. Lysander wasn’t about to bring in houseguests to worry about on top of all that. He’d book an Airbnb round the corner, somewhere within walking distance, and spare his father the negotiation entirely.

Diwa, evidently, had other thoughts.