Page 156 of Unmanageable

“Which is actually a really good network,” he adds quietly.

That catches me off guard.

Noah looks around the room—the screaming, laughing, arguing disaster of people who somehow became family.

“I know we joke about everyone here being a mess,” he says. “Statistically speaking, we are a mess. A very obvious mess. The data supports that conclusion.”

“Glad we have science on our side.”

“But,” he continues, ignoring me, “the data also supports that the kid is going to be loved. Extremely loved. Possibly excessively loved. There may actually be a concern about over correction.”

I smile. “You’re saying my kid is going to be spoiled?”

“I’m saying the probability is approximately one hundred percent.”

I laugh, and Noah gives me the smallest smile. Then, because he’s Noah, he immediately ruins the emotional moment.

“Also, I have a spreadsheet.”

“Of course you do.”

“It’s color coded.”

“Of course it is.”

“It tracks potential babysitting availability.”

I stare at him. “You made a babysitting spreadsheet?”

He shrugs, uncomfortable with the attention. “Someone has to make sure coverage is optimized.”

And that’s Noah.

He will never be the guy who screams loudest or throws himself into the center of the room. He’ll never be Nico with the wooden spoon or Jenna with the shopping carts or Brick with the ridiculous speeches.

He’ll just quietly show up with a spreadsheet, a backup plan, and probably an emergency supply kit nobody asked for but everyone will eventually need.

And somehow, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Later that night, the cabin is vibrating with noise.

I find Scottie out on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching the beautiful, loud madness happening inside the living room through the glass. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her, my hands resting flat over the place where our future is currently growing.

“You okay, Mama Shark?”

She leans back into me, a tired, beautiful, genuine smile on her face that reaches all the way to her soul.

“I’m terrified, Finn. I have no idea how to change a diaper without making it look like a crime scene, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to try to negotiate the baby’s nap times with a formal contract.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I say, kissing her temple. “Team sport, remember? We’ve got the best defensive line in the city in there. The kid is going to be the most protected human in the world.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, turning in my arms to face me. “Team sport.”

For a second, all I can do is stand there and soak in the ridiculous, impossible, hard-won joy of this moment.

I didn’t just survive the Shark; I fell in love with her. I let her into the crease, and she made the biggest save of my life. Now, somehow, against every professional odd, we are building a family out of the wreckage of our pasts and the noise of our presents.