Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 38

Axel’s POV

I've been avoiding this conversation for five days.

Not because I don't care. Because I care too much, and caring too much makes me clumsy with words. Makes me say the wrong thing or nothing at all. Makes me retreat into silence while the people I love struggle.

Mateo struggled. I watched it happen and did nothing useful.

That ends tonight.

Selene orchestrates it, because of course she does. After dinner, after the babies are down, she herds us into the living room with the subtle insistence of someone who's done this professionally.

"We need to talk about last week," she says, settling onto the couch. "All three of us. No deflecting."

Mateo's already tensing. I see it in his shoulders, the way his smile goes slightly too bright. "We talked. In the nursery. I'm fine now—"

"This isn't just about you." Selene's voice is gentle but firm. "It's about all of us. How we handle these moments going forward."

I force myself to speak before I can overthink it. "I haven't known what to say."

They both look at me. Waiting.

"When Elio said—when he looked at me and said 'Da-da,' I didn't know how to feel." The words come out stiff. Rehearsed. Because I rehearsed them, alone in the shower, trying to find the right combination. "Part of me was... I don't know. Overwhelmed. Happy. But then I saw your face, and I knew something was wrong, and I didn't know how to fix it without making it worse."

Mateo's bright smile falters. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't do anything right either. I let you disappear into the garage for three days instead of—" I stop, frustrated with my own inadequacy. "I should have pushed harder. Made you talk to me."

"That's not how it works," Selene says. "You can't force someone to open up."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Watch him drown and respect his space?"

The question hangs there. Raw. More honest than I intended.

Mateo's looking at me differently now. Like he's seeing something he missed. "You were scared."

"Of course I was scared." The admission costs something. "You're—you matter to me. Both of you. And I couldn't reach you, and that's—" I break off, jaw tight. "I'm not good at this. The emotional part. I know how to protect people physically. I don't know how to protect them from their own thoughts."

Silence. The kind that makes my skin itch.

Then Mateo moves, crossing the space between us, dropping onto the couch beside me. His hand finds mine, gripping tight.

"I'm sorry," he says. "For shutting you out. Both of you. I thought I could handle it alone, and instead I just made everyone worry."

"You did make everyone worry," Selene confirms. "But we're not here to assign blame. We're here to figure out how to do this better."

She pulls her legs up, tucking them beneath her. Therapist mode, but softer. Personal.

"Here's what I think happened. Elio said his first word, and it triggered something for all of us. Mateo felt excluded. Axel felt guilty. And I—" She pauses, something flickering across her face. Something she doesn't usually show. "I felt like the referee. The one who has to manage everyone's feelings while pretending I don't have any of my own."

"You have feelings about this?" I ask, surprised. She always seems so steady. So certain.

"I'm their mother. They don't call me 'Da-da' or 'Teo' or anything yet. They call the ceiling fan 'Mama.'" A wry smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm trying not to take it personally."

Mateo almost laughs. Almost. "The ceiling fan thing is genuinely concerning. Should we be worried?"

"She's very attached to it. Honestly, I think it's the spinning motion."

The tension in the room eases slightly. Not gone, but breathable.

"So what do we do?" I ask. "Make rules? Create a system?"

"God, no," Mateo groans. "No more systems. We have enough systems."

Selene shakes her head. "Not rules. A pact."

"What's the difference?"

"Rules are rigid. Pacts are... promises. Between people." She looks between us. "Here's what I'm proposing. No scorekeeping on firsts. No hierarchy of moments. When one of them says a word, learns a skill, reaches a milestone—we celebrate together. All three of us. Regardless of who it's aimed at."

"And when we feel jealous anyway?" Mateo asks quietly. "Because I probably will. Not trying to be negative, just... realistic."

"Then you say it. Out loud. To us." Selene reaches across to take his other hand. "We don't let each other spiral alone. That's the pact. We feel our messy feelings together instead of hiding in the garage."

"I'm never going to live down the garage thing, am I?"

"Not anytime soon."

I think about what she's asking. To feel things openly. To admit weakness. To trust that they won't think less of me when I don't have answers.

Everything I was raised not to do. Everything my father punished with silence and disapproval.

"I can try," I say finally. "It won't come naturally. I'm not—I don't have practice being vulnerable. But I can try."

"That's all any of us can do." Selene squeezes my hand, her thumb tracing across my knuckles. "Try. Fail. Try again. That's what family is."

Mateo leans against my shoulder, the tension finally draining from him. "For the record, I also felt jealous when Aria grabbed your finger last week. And when Sören laughed at your faces more than mine. I've been jealous of approximately forty things that I was pretending not to notice."

"Forty?" Selene raises an eyebrow.

"I counted. It was a dark few days."

I find myself almost smiling. "Sören laughed at my faces because I was doing your faces. Badly."

"You were stealing my material?"

"Borrowing. For scientific purposes."

Mateo's laugh is real this time. Full and warm and exactly the sound I've been missing for days.

"Okay," he says. "Pact. No scorekeeping. No hiding. Feel the messy feelings together." He holds out his other hand toward Selene. "All in?"

She takes it without hesitation. Looks at me with that expression she gets—the one that says she sees exactly who I am and isn't running.

I completed the circle. Three hands joined, ridiculous and earnest, like something from a children's movie about teamwork. My father would have found this absurd. Sentimental. Weak.

My father was wrong about a lot of things.

"All in," I agree.

We sit like that for a moment. Holding onto each other. Holding onto the promise we just made. The house is quiet around us, the ordinary sounds of evening—refrigerator humming, pipes settling, the soft whisper of wind against windows.

Then, from the baby monitor, a small voice. Clear and unmistakable.

"Mama."

We freeze.

"Was that—" Mateo starts.

"Shh." Selene's eyes are wide, fixed on the monitor. "Listen."

"Mama. Ma-ma-ma."

It's Sören. Not looking at the ceiling fan. Looking directly at the camera, like he knows we're watching.

Selene's hand flies to her mouth. Mateo lets out a whoop that's definitely going to wake the other two. I pull Selene close, feeling her shake with silent laughter or tears or both.

"Finally," she whispers. "Finally not the ceiling fan."

"See?" Mateo grins. "The pact works. No scorekeeping. Just celebrating."

We celebrate. Together. Crowded around the baby monitor like it's showing the winning lottery numbers, watching Sören continue his sleepy "mama" chant.

The way we promised we would.