Different Roads

Chapter 4: The Baby Monitor

Kade looked ridiculous holding a baby monitor.

Not because he was bad with kids.

Actually, weirdly enough, he was really good with them.

It was just the visual contradiction of a six-foot-four guy built like a defensive linebacker standing guard over an infant like an emotionally invested babysitter that got me every time.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he warned the second he caught my expression.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Your face said enough.”

I smiled harder.

His cousin had been staying with his sister for a while with the new baby, and somehow that meant Kade had found himself surrounded by babies.

Because his sister had newborn twins too.

All three babies were basically the same age.

Three newborns.

One house.

And somehow Kade had volunteered to help babysit while his sister ran errands.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if that made him brave or completely insane.

Probably both.

For all his chaos, Kade had this soft spot for kids that he tried really hard to pretend didn’t exist.

Unfortunately for him, I noticed everything.

His sister had a strict rule about nobody being inside the house while the babies slept because apparently everyone in that family opened and slammed doors like contestants in a reality show.

So instead, Kade and I sat outside in his truck, parked near the house while the babies slept inside.

The baby monitor rested in his lap.

Every tiny sound made him immediately look down at it like a concerned suburban father of three.

“This is kinda cute,” I admitted.

He looked horrified.

“Do not tell people that.”

“You’re literally sitting here protecting three babies.”

“I’m babysitting.”

“You’re emotionally babysitting.”

“That’s not a thing.”

I grinned and stole one of his fries.

The truck windows were down while the ocean air rolled through Las Oleas, warm and salty from the shoreline nearby.

Music played quietly through the speakers while we talked about random nonsense the way we always did.

Kade told me a story about Kane accidentally lighting part of the grill on fire the summer before.

I laughed so hard soda nearly came out my nose.

“You gotta stop almost choking around me,” he said.

“You gotta stop being funny.”

The baby monitor crackled softly.

Instantly, Kade sat upright.

“What was that?”

I blinked.

“A baby noise.”

“No. That sounded different.”

Before I could even answer, he was already halfway out of the truck, heading toward the house like a first responder answering an emergency call.

I watched him disappear inside.

Thirty seconds later, the monitor went quiet again.

A minute after that, he came back out smiling softly.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He just needed picked up for a second.”

The way he said it melted me a little.

There was no big production.

No trying to impress anyone.

He had simply heard a baby make a noise and gone to check on him.

Kade climbed back into the truck and tossed his arm casually across the back of my seat, like he hadn’t just sprinted into a house over one tiny sound.

“You know,” I said carefully, “you’d actually be a really good dad someday.”

Kade stared out through the windshield for a moment.

Then he smiled slightly.

“My dad was always there,” he said quietly. “For me and Kane both.”

The softness entered his voice again.

The real one underneath all the jokes.

“I’d wanna be like that.”

Something in my chest physically hurt hearing him say it.

Because for the first time, I could suddenly picture it.

Kade holding babies.

Kade teaching kids baseball.

Kade building bikes on Christmas Eve.

Kade yelling embarrassing things from the sidelines at soccer games.

Kade staying.

I didn’t say any of it out loud.

I just watched him sitting there with the baby monitor still resting in his lap and wondered what our life might look like someday.

At the time, I didn’t know how powerful a simple little thought could become.

I didn’t know how easily a moment could turn into a memory.

I just knew that, sitting beside him, the future suddenly didn’t seem so far away.

The baby monitor crackled again.

Kade immediately grabbed it.

I laughed.

“Oh my God,” I said. “You really are emotionally babysitting.”

“Shut up.”

“You love those babies.”

“They’re alright, I guess.”

The monitor crackled a third time.

Kade was already opening the truck door before the sound had even fully finished.

I laughed so hard I had to cover my face with my hands.

He looked back at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m watching you sprint after babies with a monitor.”

“They need me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Emotionally babysitting.”

“Shut up, Lyra.”

He disappeared into the house again.

And I sat there alone in the truck, still smiling.

I watched the house.

I watched the baby monitor light flicker.

And for the first time, I let myself imagine something I’d never really allowed myself to think about before.

A future.

Not some perfect fairytale.

Just little things.

Kade holding our baby.

Kade making me laugh when I was exhausted.

Kade teaching our kids all the things he learned from his own dad.

Kade being there.

Staying.

I didn’t know then what the future would eventually take from us.

I didn’t know how much those ordinary moments would one day matter.

All I knew was that a six-foot-four i***t holding a baby monitor had somehow made me believe in forever.

And for that moment…

forever felt easy.