I caught the handle of the stroller as Josie tried to run with it, full speed, up the uneven gravel path to the field Dylan’s parents had directed us to.

“Easy!”

Her blonde head turned to grin at me, eyes alight with excitement. Some kids matured when they got baby siblings to take care of, feeling a new sense of responsibility. There was certainly some of that — but for Josie, Caleb was a second chance at being a big sister, and she was full of excitement at the thought of having a permanent playmate. She no longer tried to mother Dylan, concerned about his business and his health and his friendships. Now she could just be a child again, playing with baby Caleb like a young seven-year-old.

I liked it that way. Liked to see her full to the brim of happiness. She deserved that, after so many years of missing her brother and her father.

It felt like a gift that she thought of me as any kind of father at all. One day, when she was older, I’d make sure she knew what a privilege it was to be accepted by her that way. For now, I only held onto the stroller just a little to ensure that both she and Caleb were safe on the way to see the fireworks.

Only with one hand, though. The other was already taken.

Dylan squeezed my hand, beaming with the kind of pride only a father could feel, and with our blanket and little picnic basket slung over his shoulder.

“Think we’ve set off early enough to get a good spot?”

“Maybe,” I said, craning my neck to get a look at the field. It was already pretty crowded with his pack members, and the light was fading fast. “But we’d have to be pretty damn early to beat your mom to the very best spot. I guess can always force Oscar and Mark to move if need be. I’m still their alpha, after all.”

Dylan tutted at my joke, bumping into me with a gentle elbow. “You’re not that scary, you know.”

“Well, that’s what you think. Try telling it to the moms and dads at school who think tattoos are marks of the devil. Right, Jo-Jo?”

“Ben’s mommy says Papa should wear long sleeves to school.”

“Is that right?” said Dylan, laughing a little. “Wow.”

It took me a minute to join in. My cheeks were still aching from the breadth of my smile. It would take a long time for me to get used to being called ‘Papa’. In fact, I hoped I never would. “That’s right,” I answered, at last. “So, Daddy do you think Papa changed into before I picked her up that day?”

“Probably a napkin’s worth of fabric, if I know you.”

I gave him a wolfish grin, swinging his hand a little between us. “I don’t think she was impressed.”

“If Ben’s mommy is the one I’m thinking of, she very rarely is.”

“Is the fireworks all night?” asked Josie, still plodding along with the belief that she alone was pushing the stroller. Unnoticed, I continued to steer. “And is it loud?”

“It’s a little loud, honey,” said Dylan. “But we brought defenders if you don’t like it — and no, it isn’t all night. It’ll just be for a little while until Grandpa runs out, but we’ll have enough time to eat our sandwiches, and then you’ll get to play with all your cousins and say hi to Grandma, and to Oscar and Mark too. Does that sound good?”

“Is it colors?”

“Lots of colors,” I answered, taking over. “I’m hoping you’ll draw some fireworks for me later, actually. I need some more decoration for my spot in the tattoo shop - and I bet I know a couple of other guys who’d like some too.”

A couple of gurgles issued from baby Caleb. I reached out, already ready to take the basket and blanket that Dylan offered me, and he reached into the stroller to pick him up.

“He’s fine,” he said, narrating for both Josie’s and my sake. “Just wanted a little attention. Isn’t that right, tiny-paws?”

“Like papa, like son.”

Dylan beamed, knocking into me again — and then planting a gentle kiss on my stubble-rough cheek. “That sounds about right.”

We made our way off the gravel path and through a crowd of wolves, some already in fur, to reach the center of the field, We stopped a decent distance away from the action. I lifted a hand to wave at Dylan’s father, who waved back cheerily from a pile of fireworks so large that Josie’s guess of ‘all night’ might not be too far off the mark. With Josie so concerned about the noise, and with a baby in tow, we didn’t want to be too close — but here, we’d still get a good view, and of course the kids would weave in and out between blankets no matter where we sat. Once the beers started flowing, the adults probably wouldn’t be much calmer. I’d forgotten how raucous pack parties could be. As a brand-new adult, I’d never really been around the adult side of the chaos — but it thrilled me to see it now, and warmed my heart that Dylan’s pack had accepted mine so neatly into the fold.

A few years ago, we’d been so lonely. Now, Oscar and Mark had a whole pack of wolves to mock my veganism with. It was a price I was more than happy to pay.

Grinning over at Mark in a group of Dylan’s cousins, I began to lay the blankets. I let Dylan keep control of Caleb, Josie and the stroller.

Things were seamless like this all the time. No matter what task we approached, we dealt with it in a natural, even rhythm. Neither of us did most of the work. Nobody was left with the hard tasks while the other rested. I wasn’t sure whether our relationship worked because of this, or whether this was exactly what made it work. Either way, I had never been so deliriously happy. I liked to think Dylan felt the same way. At least, every time I caught him looking at me, he had a smile on his face that spoke volumes.

This was what we both deserved — a family like this. A balance of love and affection and effort that kept us both moving in a forward momentum, away from the heartaches and difficulties of the past. Though I still missed my family, and often ached to think that they’d never had the chance to meet Dylan, I knew that they would approve of him, just like Oscar and Mark. Knew that if they were looking down on me, they’d love him just as much as I did.

The pain seemed further in the distance every day, especially with little balls of fur and paws flying around us in the field. How could anyone stay sad around a pack like this?

As I took a seat on the blanket, smoothing it out and beginning to place the sandwiches down, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I slipped it out to read the screen, and saw a text from Dr. Helen among a bunch of other notifications I hadn’t cared to check.

Good progress, she said. Obviously everything stops for the 4^th, like everywhere else, but we have a strong first attempt. First trials within six months. If viable, approx. 3yrs to release.

I appreciated her frequent updates about the progress of the vaccine. As she’d said, it would be a long time before they could begin to save lives — but the end of that hideous disease was in sight at last. With the scar still healing on my skull, albeit camouflaged now behind my hair, I could still feel the effects of the risk I’d taken every day.

Sometimes I woke up in a cold sweat knowing that I’d risked this perfect life.

At least something good was coming of that risk.

I took Caleb into my arms as Dylan passed him over, briefly shifting to nuzzle into him like a true wolf pup. I was sure only a blink of an eye would pass before we were taking Caleb out to run with us for the first time, caught between excitement for that moment and the hope that he’d be our baby forever and ever. He was already growing so fast.

Was this what family was — feeling old, as your kids blossomed and developed and grew before your eyes?

If so, it was the best way to grow old I could think of. I wasn’t living my life with blinkers any more, ignoring the signs of my loneliness and my trauma. I faced every emotion head on, with Dylan by my side to help me weather through it.

He sat beside me now as I shifted back, leaning into my side as Josie and her cousins barked and bounced around the blanket, a gentle buzz of conversation in the background around us. In companionable silence, we waited for the fireworks to start, not needing to share any words to know that we were feeling the same gratitude and love.

I kissed the top of his head. Six months ago, I’d felt him squeeze my hand through birth. A year and a half ago, I’d set eyes on him for the first time. If only I’d known then whose hands I was tattooing — if only I’d known the things he would make me feel. The things he’d feel for me. Would I have behaved any differently? I would probably have been afraid of messing things up between us, more than anything.

Certainly, I wouldn’t understand how lucky I was. Even now, with my arm around him and the light evening breeze curling through our hair, I wasn’t sure I understood exactly how lucky I was. Lucky to have him, and lucky to have our family, and lucky to be alive.

It was more than any man deserved. Maybe someday, when that vaccine was out in the world and saving lives, I could at least begin to repay that debt.

Until then, I’d pour everything I had into being his.