Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 49

Axel’s POV

My father leaves Sunday morning with final words that will echo for weeks.

"I hope you know what you're sacrificing for this... arrangement."

He says it in the driveway, just loud enough for Selene and Mateo to hear through the open window. Then he gets in his rental car and drives away, leaving destruction in his wake like it's a gift.

I spend the next forty-eight hours in Antarctica.

That's what Mateo calls it when I go silent—glacier mode, frozen, unreachable. I know I'm doing it. I know it's not fair to them. But I can't seem to stop, can't find the words to explain what my father's visit did to me, can't access the part of myself that knows how to feel without breaking.

They give me space at first. Selene with her careful observations, Mateo with his attempts at humor that I can't respond to. They orbit me like I'm a wounded animal, keeping their distance while making sure I know they're there.

By the next day, I hadn't touched either of them. Haven't initiated conversation. Haven't been present even when I'm in the room.

They corner me after the babies are asleep.

Not with words. That's not how they do it. They find me in the living room staring at nothing, and they simply sit. Selene on one side, Mateo on the other. Close enough to touch but not touching. Waiting.

The silence stretches. I expect them to push, to demand explanations, to force the conversation I've been avoiding.

They don't.

They just sit with me in the dark, breathing, existing. Patient in a way my father has never been.

Something cracks.

"He was right." The words come out rough, unused. "Everything he said. I'm sacrificing things for this. My endorsements. My reputation. The life I was supposed to have."

"Do you regret it?" Selene asks quietly.

"No." The answer is immediate. Absolute. "That's what he doesn't understand. I would sacrifice twice as much. Three times. Everything. Because this—" I gesture at the room, at them, at the life we've built. "This is the only thing that's ever felt like mine."

"Then why are you punishing yourself for choosing it?"

I don't have an answer. Or I do, but it's tangled in years of conditioning, in the voice that says I'm never good enough, in the ghost of a father who couldn't love me without conditions.

"My brother was the heir," I say, words I've never spoken aloud. "First son. The one who stayed in Iceland, joined the family business, did everything right. I was the spare. The backup plan. And when I chose basketball, when I left—"

My throat closes. Mateo's hand finds mine in the dark. Holds tight.

"He stopped pretending he was proud of me," I finish. "Started counting my failures instead. Every tabloid story, every scandal, every choice that didn't fit his vision. He keeps a list, I think. Ammunition for moments like this."

"That's not love," Selene says. "That's control."

"I know." And I do. I've always known. But knowing doesn't stop the wound from bleeding. "I keep waiting for him to see me. Really see me. And he never does. He sees the Nielsen name. He sees what I should be. He doesn't see what I am."

"We see you." Mateo's voice is fierce. "Every day. Every version of you—the stoic one, the frustrated one, the one who cries at dog videos but pretends he doesn't. We see all of it."

"We choose all of it," Selene adds. "Not because you're perfect. Because you're ours."

The crack splits wider. I feel something give way in my chest, something I've been holding in place since I was twelve years old and learned that showing emotion meant losing approval.

"I don't know how to stop hearing his voice," I admit. "He's been in my head for so long. Telling me I'm not enough. That this won't last. That I'm disappointing everyone who matters."

"Then let us be louder." Selene moves closer, her hand on my jaw, turning my face toward hers. "Let us drown him out."

She kisses me. Soft at first, then deeper when I respond. Mateo's mouth finds my neck, warm against my pulse point, grounding me in my body instead of my spiraling thoughts.

"Let us show you," Mateo murmurs against my skin. "What you're worth."

They guide me to the bedroom. Not demanding—offering. Every touch a question: Is this okay? Do you want this? Can we take care of you?

I've always been the strong one. The protector. The one who holds instead of being held.

Tonight, I let them hold me.

Selene undresses me slowly, kissing each inch of skin she reveals. Mateo follows behind her, hands and mouth mapping my body like they're memorizing it. I stand between them, feeling exposed in ways that have nothing to do with clothes.

"Lie down," Selene says. "Let us do this. Just feel."

I obey. The mattress dips as they join me, one on each side, and then there are hands everywhere—gentle, reverent, taking their time. No urgency. No performance. Just presence.

Mateo kisses down my chest while Selene's mouth finds mine. His hand wraps around me, stroking slowly, and I groan into her kiss. She swallows the sound, her fingers threading through my hair.

"You're beautiful," she whispers. "You're so loved. Do you know that?"

"Show me." The words come out broken. Desperate. "Please."

They do.

Mateo takes me in his mouth, wet heat that makes my back arch off the bed. Selene watches, her hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat race. She whispers things I barely hear—praise, reassurance, love—while pleasure builds in waves.

"Not yet," she says when I'm close. "Stay with us."

They rearrange. Selene straddles me, sinking down slowly, the connection overwhelming in its intimacy. Mateo presses behind her, kissing her neck while his hands roam both our bodies. We move together, three people finding a rhythm that's less about sex and more about something deeper.

"I love you," I manage, the words torn out of somewhere I usually keep locked. "Both of you. I love you."

"We love you," Selene says, moving above me. "We love you, Axel."

"So much, cariño," Mateo adds. "More than you know."

When I come, it's with their names tangled together, their hands on my skin, their voices telling me I'm enough. I'm worth choosing. I'm theirs.

Afterward, something inside me fractures.

I haven’t broken in years—not when I left Iceland, not when an injury nearly ended my career, not when my father’s disapproval cut deepest. But now, caught between them in the aftermath, the pressure finally finds a crack.

They don't make me feel weak for it. Don't flinch or pull away or treat me like I'm broken. Selene strokes my hair. Mateo's arms tighten around us both. They let me fall apart in the safety of their presence.

"It's okay," Selene whispers. "Let it out. We've got you."

So I do. I let out years of silence, of swallowed feelings, of believing that strength meant invulnerability. I let it all go, and they hold me through every wave.

When the tears finally stop, I feel emptied. Lighter. Like something toxic has been purged.

"Thank you," I say, voice raw.

"Always." Mateo kisses my temple. "That's what family means."

Family. Not the one I was born into, with its conditions and silences and endless disappointments.

The one I chose. The one that chose me back.

My father's voice is quieter now.

Drowned out, just like they promised.