My heart pumping wildly, I pushed through the double doors and into the sitting area where both my family and Casey’s were awaiting the news. Although everyone had been aware of the gender months before his birth, I still felt the need to announce it to our loved ones.

“It’s a boy! Casey and baby are doing great.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Linda said, blowing out a long, relieved breath. She and my mother exchanged a quick hug.

“How are you holding up?” my father asked, feigning concern.

“I was a little queasy, I’m not going to lie,” I answered, a smile spreading across my face. “But I stayed upright, so you lose.”

“Yes!” Kyle jumped from his chair. “Pay up, old man.”

“Nope,” my father shook his head, unwilling to accept defeat. “First I want confirmation from Casey.”

“The lack of blood speaks for itself,” Kyle protested. “You’re just stalling.”

Yep, they’d bet on whether I’d pass out in the operating room, and my own father had been hoping for a full-on smelling salts revival.

“Scott, you need help,” my mother said, waving him off before asking about the baby. I went on to share his impressive measurements, his fiery disposition, and just his overall perfection.

Sydney flung her arms around my waist. “When can I see the baby?”

“As soon as they move Casey into her room and she’s feeling up to visitors, I’ll come get you.”

* * *

Holding the baby in my arms, I rocked him back and forth, singing softly in his ear. Casey was on her way over from recovery and the first thing I wanted her to see when she came through the door was me being the father she always knew I could be. From the very start of our relationship, Casey’s faith in me had been absolute and unwavering, and that, in turn, had given me the strength to face my demons and free the guilt that had slowly been chipping away at my battered soul. Casey had given me the one thing money could never buy: hope.

Now I could see the path ahead, and it was a beautiful one, filled with love and laughter and babies. There was a time where I wouldn’t have dared dream of such a life. I couldn’t imagine there would ever be a white picket fence or a beautiful wife or a team of kids running around. Not for me. But I’d been wrong. Through all the trials I’d faced in life, through all the spilled blood, and through all the hopeless tears, all it had taken to save me was the love of a patient woman.

The baby jerked in my arms as the peaceful little face I’d been gazing upon shifted without warning. Suddenly, my son was seized by a nightmare of his own making. I watched in fascination as his lips pouted and his forehead wrinkled in consternation. What perils could he possibly have faced in his very short existence? I could see maybe if he’d had a rough passage through the birth canal, or had a cord wrapped around his neck; but as it was, he’d had a fairly cushy entrance into the world.

“What do you have to be scared of, little guy?”

Running my fingers along his newborn skin and speaking in soft, soothing tones, I tried to lessen the frightening effects for him. No one asked for nightmares to invade their slumber, and it seemed especially unfair for one so young to suffer.

“You’re safe. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

I wiggled my finger into his palm, and the baby gripped it tightly, as if he’d heard my solemn promise and was asking to shake on it. I wavered a moment, wondering how I could guarantee him safe passage in a world filled with dangers, both big and small. And did I really want to keep him safe from all harm? How would he grow into a strong, confident man if he never experienced real life? As tempting as it was to package him up in bubble wrap and send him on his way, I couldn’t do that to my child. Just because my life had been filled with fright didn’t mean he had to live his in fear. My son deserved the chance to make his own mistakes and earn his own scrapes and bruises. I wanted him to be a child free from worry, and for that to happen, I had to let him live.

“Within reason,” I conceded.

My son opened his eyes at the sound of my voice, and for one magical moment, we connected. I was his dad, and if I played my cards right, he’d love me for the rest of my life. My fear of fatherhood had been misguided from the start. Kids didn’t care what challenges you’d faced or what poor decisions you’d made. They were clean slates, open books ready and willing to be written in. All they needed was love and guidance, with a splash of fun, in order to grow into the people they would one day be; and those were things that without reservation I knew I could provide.

And, yes, one day we’d have that tough discussion and I would tell him my story because, just like with Sydney, if I didn’t, someone else would. But I wasn’t worried. This boy came from the sturdiest of stock. He was a Caldwell and a McKallister. It didn’t get more resilient than that. Besides, I no longer felt the need to hide from my past. Every step I’d taken in my life had led me here – to this chair, cradling my newborn son in my arms.

Casey was rolled into the room a few minutes later, sitting up and looking strong and healthy, wearing a smile on her face that stretched from ear to ear.

“Gimme. Gimme. Gimme,” she said, reaching for her baby.

“One more minute, mama,” a nurse said, as she and another transferred Casey from the rolling bed into the plush bedding of her very own five-star baby birthing suite.

Once Casey was situated, I stood carefully and brought him to her side.

“He’s so beautiful, Casey,” I said, kissing his head, which was spattered with an impressive showing of dusty blond hair. “Can you believe he’s ours?”

Gently I lay him in her arms. The moment they touched, I could feel their connection, and I watched in awe as the baby responded to her. He knew her, and my god, I think he already loved her. It was a powerful bond: mother and son. My own had given me life – more than once – but never had I been so grateful for her until just this moment when I witnessed my own son receiving the same gift I’d been given – that of a loving, protective mother.

“You don’t know it yet,” I said to my boy, still running my fingers over his wispy locks, “but you just won the mom lottery.”

“And you don’t know it yet,” Casey cooed, “but your daddy’s a famous rock star, and you’re going to have the coolest damn life.”

My voice was still in baby-talk mode when I added, “But only if you’re not named Bart… which is what your mommy wants to name you. Doesn’t that suck?”

“Jake, you know how I feel about the name,” she said sounding entirely serious; but there was no hiding that smile of hers. “Besides, I already signed the birth certificate.”

My eyes bugged out of their sockets before I came to my senses. I had yet to see this birth certificate she spoke of, so I was fairly certain she was just punking me.

Casey’s nose crinkled up as she laughed at my reaction. “I’m kidding. How about this? I have a compromise for you. If I let you pick the boy names, can I name any future girls?”

I considered her treaty before responding. “Only if the names don’t suck.”

“Sucky names are in the eye of the beholder, Jake. Deal or no deal?”

I realized that I was most likely throwing my future daughters under the bus, but what could I do? I had to save my son. So – sorry Enid. I tried.

“Deal!”

Casey smiled and gazed upon our tiny son. “Well, then, hello Slater Scott McKallister. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

* * *

I contacted the visiting committee, inviting them to our birthing suite to meet baby Slater. There were rules on the number of people allowed to visit, but clearly they’d made an exception for us if only to get out of the path of the stampede that was now filing through our door.

As they filled every corner of the room, each wore the same dreamy, happy smile, and all were offering up a handshake, kiss, or hug. The cooing was nearly unbearable as everyone got his or her first look at our son. Casey took it all in stride, proudly offering our perfect specimen of a child up as proof of what superior genetic intermingling could create.

My father was the last one in, and he had to duck under the doorframe to keep from clipping the top of the head of the little blond passenger riding on his shoulders.

“Oh,” he gasped, upon catching sight of his newest grandchild. “Look at that little beauty. Let the spoiling begin.”

Those weren’t just words, either. My father was a master spoiler and the worst possible example for growing minds. He did anything for a laugh, and that included gurgling water at the dinner table, spitting out food, and accidentally slipping out words that were decidedly not G-rated. So hysterically inappropriate was he that we’d been forced to assign a title to his behavior… Grampie Manners. His grandchildren knew they could only emulate his actions around him. Any outside Grampie Manners were strictly forbidden.

Touching Casey’s arm gently, my mother asked, “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I don’t feel anything yet, but I’m figuring it’ll be smarting real soon.”

“Oh, please,” Kyle scoffed. “I get so tired of women complaining about how childbirth is the most painful thing ever. Obviously they’ve never stepped on a Lego.”

“Whoa, buddy,” Kenzie said, laughing as she grabbed his hand and steered him away. “Sorry, Casey. I try but sometimes it’s just a losing battle.”

“Mommy,” called the toddler currently residing on my father’s shoulders, holding his arms out and wiggling to get down.

“Hold on, I’m getting you,” my dad said, making an effort to remove the boy.

“I got him.” Reaching up, I plucked the tow-headed tot off his perch. Arms immediately wrapped around my neck as he nestled against me.

“Were you a good boy while we were gone?” I asked, giving the fifteen-month-old child a kiss on his silky smooth cheek.

He nodded, his hair bobbing up and down, but he was no longer interested in me. His wide, curious eyes were trained on his mother and the newborn baby in her arms.

“Look what I have,” Casey said, smiling up at him.

Setting the squirmy toddler on the bed beside her, I asked our firstborn, “What do you say, Miles? Are you ready to meet your little brother?”

* * *