The thought of leaving Wren's side makes my stomach clench. "I should stay?—"
"Go," Wren urges. "Stay with him. I'm fine. Just... don't let him out of your sight."
I nod, pressing one more kiss to her lips. "I'll guard him with my life."
"I know you will." Her smile is tired but real. "That's one of many reasons why I love you."
Following the nurse feels like an out-of-body experience. Summit has been transferred to a small bassinet, and I hover as they weigh him, measure him, and wrap him in a fresh blanket. I can't stop staring at his face—the tiny nose, the bow-shaped mouth that's all Wren's, the shock of dark hair peeking out from under his hat.
"Would you like to hold him?" the nurse asks. "While we finish up with your wife?"
Wife. The word still gives me a kick every time I hear it.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "Yes."
She shows me how to support his head, how to cradle him against my chest. I’ve done all this with Noble, but in this moment, I forget everything I’ve ever learned and I’m grateful for the reminder.
And then suddenly I'm holding my son, this tiny human who didn't exist an hour ago and now is the center of my universe.
"Hi, Summit," I whisper, afraid to speak too loudly. "I'm your dad."
He blinks up at me, his eyes unfocused and dark but seeming to search my face. His hand escapes the blanket, tiny fingers flexing, and I offer him my finger. He grips it with surprising strength.
Like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this new world.
Something fractures and rebuilds inside my chest, like a dam breaking and then reforming stronger than before. I would die for this kid. Kill for him. Anything to keep him safe.
Is this how my dad felt, holding me for the first time? If so, how the hell did he ever walk away?
"Kase?" Reed's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Wren's all stitched up. We're taking her to recovery. You and Summit can come with me to meet her there."
I follow him down the hallway, holding Summit against my body. I’m careful, but I know I won’t drop him.
“This whole dad thing looks good on you,” Reed says.
“You sound surprised.”
He shrugs. “Not surprised. But better you than me.”
Wren's already in the recovery room when we get there, looking exhausted but alert. Her face lights up when she sees us.
"There’re my boys," she says, making grabby hands toward Summit. She hasn’t really gotten to hold him yet.
I pass him over, then perch on the edge of the bed. She looks down at our son with a mix of wonder and fierce protectiveness that mirrors everything churning inside me.
"So," she says without looking up. "That didn't exactly follow the birth plan, huh?"
"When has anything with us gone according to plan?"
She laughs softly. "Good point." She traces a finger down Summit's cheek. "But I think we do our best work off-script anyway."
I lean down, pressing my lips to her temple. "Damn right we do."
"If one more person tries to touch him without washing their hands first, I'm going to lose my shit," I mutter, hovering near the door like some kind of deranged bouncer as our living room fills with people.
Three days after Summit's birth, and we're finally home. Wren's still moving carefully, her incision healing but painful as hell. She keeps saying she's fine, but I catch every wince when she bends or laughs. Not that it slows her down.
"You do realize no one's getting within ten feet of him with you playing guard dog," she says, settling onto the couch with Summit against her chest. "You nearly broke Kieran's wrist when he tried to adjust the blanket."
