Dane
Oliver Paul Riggs was born at 1:24 AM. 8 lbs. 10 oz, 21 inches. Piper made it through like a warrior goddess and is doing great. Meanwhile, I think I’ve cried more than Oliver in the past twenty minutes. Merry Christmas!
OliverPaul, after the patriarch of the family, Paul “Wolverine” Riggs. A man who’d raised his four sons to be as tough as they were loyal, who’d taught them that family came first, always. Even when that family expanded to include an entire motorcycle club. The man who’d pulled Teddy off Dane in the funeral home parking lot at Levi’s visitation, fighting to keep everybody together despite his own grief.
Sky let out a soft “aww” while Addie typed rapidly on her phone, probably already composing the perfect congratulatory message. “Poppy’s going to cry. You know he will.”
“Hundred percent,” Sky agreed. “Remember when Levi was born, and he held him for the first time?”
I smiled at the memory of the gruff biker insisting on counting my son’s toes to ensure he had all ten before discreetly wiping his eyes on the swaddling blanket.
Teddy zoomed in on the photo, studying his nephew with an expression that made my throat tighten. He’d worn the same look when each of our children was born—wonder and terror mixed with a love so fierce it could level mountains.
“He’s perfect,” I whispered, leaning into his warmth.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his thumb tracing over the screen. “He is.”
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, excitement dampening into something more complicated. His eyes seemed to stare straight through the screen into another delivery room, another Decemberbaby. He drummed his fingers restlessly against the table—index to pinky, repeatedly, a nervous tic I knew all too well.
Before I could probe further, he was already standing, his chair scraping against the floor.
“Gonna add another log to the fire,” he announced, even though it was burning fine.
The girls felt the shift as much as I did, and Addie shot me a questioning look, eyebrows raised.What’s wrong with him?she mouthed.
I shook my head slightly, watching Teddy’s broad shoulders as he prodded at the embers, the flames casting flickering shadows across his furrowed brows. In another life, I would have stormed across the room, demanding he talk to me. I would have convinced myself I could fix the distant look in his eyes and instead made his withdrawal about me.
But if I’d learned anything over the past few days, it was that sometimes people needed space to feel whatever they were feeling. That love didn’t mean trying to fix everything and everyone.
I rose from the table and padded over to where he crouched. My hand found the space between his shoulder blades, palm flat against the warm cotton of his shirt. I felt the tension coiled there, the tightness in muscles that should have been relaxed.
New life on Christmas morning. After everything we’d lost, everything we’d survived, it was proof that the world kept turning. That life continued. That families could heal.
But grief and joy were sometimes impossible to separate, each often making the other more intense. So while welcoming our new nephew to the world was a blessing, it was also a reminder of all the milestones we’d never get to experience, like watching our son graduate or become a meteorologist. We’d never get to see him get married or start a family. We’d never get to know how he would have turned out, what kind of man he would have become.
“Hey,” I said softly, scrunching my nose to hold back the tears that wanted to fall.
Teddy glanced up at me, and for just a second, I saw something vulnerable flash across his face before he masked it. “Hey, yourself.”
I carefully knelt beside him in front of the hearth, my knees crackling almost as loudly as the logs in the fireplace. My hand moved over his, lacing our fingers together before raising it to my mouth. I pressed a kiss to each scarred knuckle before loosening my grip in case he wanted to pull away.
He held on. Tight enough that my rings dug into my fingers, but I didn’t complain.
“First time I held Levi,” Teddy said suddenly, “he grabbed my finger. Just wrapped his whole fist around it and wouldn’t let go. The nurse said it was just reflexes, but I thought…” He trailed off, staring into the fire in silence for several seconds. “Thought it meant something. Like he was telling me that he trusted me to keep him safe.”
“And you did,” I said simply. “Every day you could.”
He jerked his chin in an abrupt nod before pressing his lips to my temple. “Thank you.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing him in with a contented sigh. “I love you.”
“Love you too, baby.”
We stayed like that for a moment longer before Teddy cleared his throat and stood, pulling me up with him. When we turned back to the table, both girls were pretending to be engrossed in their phones, though Sky’s eyes were suspiciously shiny.
“All right,” he announced, his voice still rough but steadier. “It’s after one. Y’all should get some sleep.”
“But what about presents?” Sky protested, gesturing to the pile of wrapped packages under the tree. “We always open them first thing Christmas morning.”
