Stealing My Rival's Wife And Her Twins

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fourteenth time just as the nurse l

heated hospital blanket over Noah's tiny, shivering shoulders while my da

hispered, my throat raw from eight hours of unmedi

ldn't sneeze without sports media documenting it. Five minutes ago, while the obstetrician was stitching me up, I had stupidly opened my social media feed. The top trending

is wife going into labor two weeks early wouldn't ruin his press

ur pain medication," the nurse said, squeezing my

r miniature fists punching the air after kicking her thin hospital swaddle loose. Noah was asleep against my collarbone, w

ing," I murmured, swinging my le

hrough my abdomen. Black spots swarmed my vision. My knees buckled, my han

hit the

hauling me upright against a wall of solid muscle. The clean scent o

umbled right above my ear. "Don'

on cleared, my breath caught. Looking down at me with sharp, storm-gray eyes was Ciaran Whitlock-the thirty-four-year-old c

ark hair, stood just inside my open doorway clutching a

rds banquets, where I usually stood five paces behind Landon in the shadows. Ciaran glanced around the empty, cramped room,

t waiting for permission, this six-foot-four bruiser who terrified forwards across the league walked over to

a devoted father. Lily's cries immediately softened into tiny hiccups. Looking

ush robe stepped into the doorway holding two extra fleece blan

dead, looking from her massive brother holding my baby to me sitting pale and shaking on the mattress.

round my shoulders and tucking the other over Noah while

ing hotter than my stitches. "You do

y against the pillows. When he laid my daughter in my arms, his gr

phone," Ciaran

mber," I admitted befo

s own phone, tapped a contact, and put it on speaker. He didn't have to ask fo

room, loud music and laughter bleeding through the background. "Whitlock