Page 88 of The Decoy

“Guys, we’re so happy you came to meet the baby, but they both need some rest. It’s been an eventful day, and my wife and son need some sleep.”

Everyone says their goodbyes, promising to come see us when we get home.

Brody has pulled a large reclining chair right up to the side of my bed. He’s sitting with his long legs stretched out, holding Luke against his bare chest. The view is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed.

I lay on my side, as much as I can, watching them both, my hand resting on Brody’s forearm.

“You should get some sleep, Ellis,” Brody whispers, his hand lightly stroking Luke’s back. “I’ve got him. Remember they told you to sleep when he does.”

“I don’t want to sleep though,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips. “I just want to look at my boys.”

Brody’s eyes meet mine. The fierce love shining in his face takes my breath away.

“Did your PR draft a statement?” he asks quietly.

I pick up my phone from the nightstand, scrolling through the polished draft our senior publicist sent. The media had been speculating for weeks, waiting for any news regarding the birth, especially after the announcement of our marriage.

“They did,” I say, reading the text on the screen. “It’s perfect.”

I click approve and send it back.

Within ten minutes, my phone starts buzzing as the official statement hits every major news outlet, sports network, and social media feed across the country.

Ellis Renwick-Vaughn and New York Titans Tight End Brody Vaughn are thrilled to announce the arrival of their son, Luke Renwick Vaughn, born on May twenty-sixth. Mother and baby are healthy and doing exceptionally well. The family extends their deepest gratitude for the overwhelming love and privacy during this joyous time.

I turn the phone for Brody to see, and he nods when he’s finished. I set the phone back on the table, turning back to my family.

“Can you scoot over a little?”

I nod, shifting my weight gingerly.

Brody carefully stands and places our sleeping baby into my arms before climbing into the hospital bed beside me. It’s a tight fit, but Brody lies on his side and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling us both tight against his chest, tucking his chin over the top of my head.

Our son sleeps peacefully between us, his tiny chest rising and falling, in sync with mine.

For a long time, I believed that taking care of myself, focusing on my career, and having fun with my friends was all that I needed. Safeguarding my heart was something I felt like I could control.

It’s funny how perspective changes when you have a baby.

Safety is the steady pulse of the man holding me. Safety is the breath of the baby boy in my arms. Safety is knowing that no matter what life throws at me, I’ve already won.

I pull the blanket higher over us, snuggling deeper into Brody’s side and closing my eyes, knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

EPILOGUE

Brody

Two years ago, I thought running in for a touchdown in front of eighty thousand screaming fans was the most intense experience a man could endure.

Then my son learned how to run. He nearly skipped walking and took off as soon as his little legs figured it out.

“Luke! Leave the kicking tees alone, buddy!” I yell across the field at our practice facility, hands on my hips, helmet dangling from my right fingers.

It’s our last official practice day before the season begins. The team has incorporated our families attending as sort of a kickoff to the season, but also for media clips. So the field is currently a chaotic zone of players, spouses, and tiny humans running around wildly.

At two years old, Luke is a walking, running demolition derby. He is tall for his age, has his mother’s dark hair and hazel eyes, and has zero concept of personal space.

Now he and Liam’s son, Max, are aggressively chasing their daughter, Sera, who is giggling hysterically while clutching a football that looks too big for her arms. Beside them, Saint’s kids attempt end-zone dances, which gets my son joining in, promptly falling, then laughing hysterically.