He and Frog had an understanding. They talked about deep shit when everyone else was asleep on the job.
As if on cue, the baby wriggled and grunted, the prelude to a full-on fuss. Minnow’s nipple popped out of his mouth and his little face screwed up in preparation for a howl of displeasure.
Severin plucked the baby out of bed and brought him to the impeccably decorated and seldom used nursery, ignoring the change table to use the changing pad on the floor. He couldn’t roll over yet, but he was strong and smart, and Severin was pretty sure he’d be rolling around in no time. He changed Frog’s dia
per and checked him over to make sure he didn’t look skinnier or anything then put him in the sling.
Octavian?
Ollivander?
Something with O... Ostrich?
No.
Onion.
Oscar.
That seemed closer to being right...
He looked down at Frog’s sleepy face, eyelids drooping, lips parted in a half smile, his tuft of downy black hair sticking straight up, as always.
Prospero.
That was it. He knew there was an ‘o’ or two in it.
A serious name for such a little frog. Made him sound like a superhero.
From a distance, there was the crunch of tires on gravel.
What now?
Although Rodrigo’s house was closer to the hospital, which suited Severin fine, it was also in town, which meant people dropping by at all hours wanting to gawk at their kid. Minnow thrived on the family contact, though. Church, Ilse, and the girls had stayed for almost a week, and Rodrigo’s mother and sister came by almost every day. She had people again, even if they weren’t her blood relations.
It was ten in the morning, but why did people think it was okay to drop by unannounced – as if the house wasn’t chaotic enough without surprise visitors?
He strolled down to the door, trying not to jostle his little gnome, while readying himself to intercept the intruders and keep them occupied for a while so Min could sleep. He also had to assess whether they were healthy enough to be breathing Frog’s air because he had no qualms about telling people to get the fuck out of the house if they so much as sniffled.
He opened the door to find his own blue eyes staring back at him.
Loïc, but the scruffy version.
“What are you doing here?” The aggression he would have expected upon finding Loïc standing on their doorstep was strangely absent. He’d wondered, unwilling to admit he’d been worried – unwilling to go looking for him after he’d tossed him out of his life. There’d been no sign of him for almost a year. Severin had assumed he was dead. The amount of relief he felt to see him alive surprised him.
“I...” He brandished a gift bag that looked suspiciously as if he’d put it together himself. “I found out about the baby and wanted to congratulate you.” His gaze drifted to the sling, and he smiled a strange smile, full of longing. He held out the gift. “I was going to leave it on the step rather than bother you. You probably hoped I’d never come back.”
Severin was struck by how young his brother seemed. Hardly more than a boy, really. A fucked-up kid who no one gave a shit about. The protective dad thing reared its stupid head. Loïc’s hair was slicked back and longish, his face sporting a few days of beard, his earlobes pierced with silver rings – a far cry from the very proper young man who’d arrived on his doorstep the first time. He actually looked more like Severin now, the poor bastard.
There was a long, awkward pause as he tried to think things through, but he was too tired and happy to see the harm in being kind.
“Are you sick?”
“What?”
“Sick. Like, do you have a cold? A cough?”
Loïc’s dark brows rose in confusion. “Um...no.”