Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

And what the ever-loving-fuck was with the six-foot-tall mural of Donald Duck on the wall? Shit was terrifying, and I was a grown man.

“Absolutely,” the nurse answered with a smile, entering numbers into the portable computer station. “She’s actually just a little under the fiftieth percentile mark, both in height and weight, so I’d say she’s doing just fine.”

Relief swept through me, taking some of the tension out of my shoulders. She wasn’t underweight. Wasn’t malnourished or neglected. Fine had never sounded so good.

“Let’s get a little family history, shall we?” the nurse asked, and I answered everything I could think of, which wasn’t much.

“You don’t know?” The nurse’s brow furrowed when she brought up cancer.

I shrugged. “Didn’t know my grandparents, and my parents died when I was in first grade. They didn’t exactly get a lot of time to develop any cancer. As far as I know, my aunt is healthy as a horse, but I haven’t spoken to her since my eighteenth birthday.”

Fiona’s lips parted and something flashed through her eyes—sadness? I looked away from those blue eyes quickly. Her gaze was palpable—something I felt as I turned toward the nurse. Maybe it was her degree in psychology, but man, those eyes of hers saw too much and asked questions I didn’t have answers for.

“That’s okay,” the nurse said with a look that had a little too much pity in it for my liking. “What about you, Mom?”

Wait. What?

Fiona and I looked at each other with an equal amount of confusion.

“Mom?” the nurse asked again, staring at Fiona.

“Oh, no, I’m not—”

“She’s not her mother.” We answered at the same time.

The nurse blinked once, twice, and then shook her head. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that their eyes look so much alike.”

Fiona’s cheeks pinkened slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m just the nanny.”

I glanced back and forth between Skye and Fiona. Huh. Their eyes were pretty similar, but Fiona’s had more of that light, aqua color, while Skye’s looked just like what she was named after. With their dark hair and eyes, they could pass for mother and daughter.

Did Tiffany have the same color eyes? Shit, why couldn’t I remember anything?

There were two brief knocks on the door, and the doctor walked in, immediately scanning the room and grinning at Fiona. “Hi there! I’ve been looking forward to this appointment all day.” She looked to be in her late twenties—about my age—which made sense since she was Fiona’s friend. Her hair was up in a no-nonsense blonde twist, but she had friendly energy about her.

“Hey, Madeline!” Fiona gave her friend a quick hug. “Thank you so much for working us in. Means the world to me.”

“Not a problem.” The doctor turned to me. “I’m guessing you must be Brogan Grant.”

“Are you old enough to be a pediatrician?” It just kind of came out.

She laughed and pointed to her name badge. “The hospital thinks so. This one,” she nodded toward Fiona, “is a doctor, too. She just refuses to practice.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “I just haven’t found anywhere I want to commit to,” she corrected her friend. “And that’s working out for me just fine right now, isn’t it, Skye?” Fiona grazed the back of her finger down Skye’s chubby cheek.

“Well, let’s get this little gal looked at,” Madeline reached for Skye and I hesitated for just a second, glancing down at the name badge to verify that—yep—she was a doctor.

Madeline—Dr. Ross—took Skye and put her on the exam table, and then started firing questions at me as she examined her.

“How is she sleeping?”

“Uh. She isn’t.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “She conks out for maybe a few hours at a time, but that’s it, and it definitely isn’t at night.” I’d only had her one night, but the girl seemed to hate anything to do with a normal schedule.

Madeline’s lips rose in a slight smile. “That’s normal. She’s probably hitting a growth spurt.”

“Can’t she grow during the day?” I was going to be a hot fucking mess if I didn’t get some sleep at some point. I’d been sluggish as hell on the ice this morning.

Madeline laughed. “She can, but she’s probably cluster feeding. How much is she eating?”

“A lot,” I answered.

“About five to six ounces at a sitting,” Fiona answered.

“Is that normal?” Fuck me, what if I was feeding her too little? Too much?

“Perfect,” Madeline answered, testing her mobility. “Wet diapers?”

“A lot. So many. Diapers fu—” I barely caught the swear word. Pretty sure there was a no-swearing-in-front-of-Donald-Duck policy in here. “Freaking everywhere.”

Madeline laughed. “Great. We worry when there aren’t.”

I shifted my weight as she continued the exam, anxiety rising in my throat at the thought of what the doctor would say.

“She’s fine,” Fiona whispered.

I grunted in response. There was no way to know what Skye’s first three months had been like, or Tiffany’s prenatal care for that matter. I knew virtually nothing about the squirming infant on the table except she liked her formula warm, preferred to be kept moving, and bellowed louder than I did.