Page 155 of Unmanageable

Dean stares at Scottie like he is currently recalibrating the very laws of physics and human biology in his mind. He walks over with his usual measured gait, places a steady hand on her shoulder, and looks her dead in the eye.

“I will personally destroy anyone—be they Board members, GMs, or aggressive toddlers—who causes you an ounce of stress during this pregnancy,” Dean says solemnly, then smiles. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Scottie.”

It is, without a doubt, the most romantic and emotional thing I have ever heard Dean say.

Scottie actually chokes back another sob and hugs him.

Nico, predictably, loses what’s left of his mind.

He insists on being the godfather, the legal guardian, and the primary athletic trainer. He starts a rhythmic chant that involves banging a wooden spoon against a cast-iron pot. He is already looking into toddler-sized goalie pads and custom, safety-rated infant helmets for when the kid is inevitably on the ice at six months old.

Leo spends ten minutes trying to feel a kick through Scottie’s hoodie before she has to gently remind him that the baby is currently the size of a lemon and does not yet possess the leg strength of a professional athlete.

Noah, meanwhile, has been standing slightly outside the chaos for the last twenty minutes, which is very Noah. He doesn’t enter emotional situations so much as observe them from a safe distance like he’s collecting field data on a particularly unpredictable species.

He has a notebook.

Of course he has a notebook.

I catch him writing something down while Brick is arguing about goalie genetics and Nico is trying to convince everyone that a newborn needs a personalized training regimen.

“Noah,” I say, walking over. “Are you taking notes on my child?”

He looks up, caught, and adjusts his glasses even though they don’t actually need adjusting.

“Not on your child,” he says quickly. “On the group response to the announcement.”

I stare at him.

He clears his throat. “Okay, technically, yes. The child is involved in the announcement, but I’m documenting the behavioral patterns of the people surrounding the child. For future reference.”

“Future reference?”

“Yeah.” He glances down at the page. “I’ve already identified three primary risk factors.”

I blink. “Risk factors?”

He nods seriously. “Nico’s complete inability to recognize reasonable boundaries. Brick’s belief that all problems can be solved through volume. Jenna’s shopping impulse. She ordered something called a ‘designer tactical diaper bag’ while Scottie was still crying.”

“Honestly, that one feels accurate.”

“I know.” Noah looks relieved that I’m taking the data seriously. “I’m also concerned about Dean.”

“Dean?”

“He said he would personally destroy anyone who stresses Scottie out.”

“That sounds like Dean.”

“Yes, but the wording was intense.” Noah looks back at his notes. “I have him categorized as a protective variable with a potentially concerning escalation pattern.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You made a threat assessment for my friends?”

“No,” he says, straight-faced. “I made a threat assessment for your baby’s support network.”

A beat passes.

Then his expression softens.