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“You’re fine. He’s been a father for three hours and has already become unbearable.”

Jack makes a small sound before Lachlin can answer, and every one of us looks down at him.

His face scrunches as one tiny fist works its way free from the blanket. When his fingers open, I offer him one of mine without really thinking about it.

His hand closes around my finger, and I can’t look away.

His fingers barely reach around mine, but he hangs on with surprising determination. For once, there isn’t a joke waiting in the back of my throat. I just sit there looking at this tiny person who didn’t exist outside of Briar yesterday and is somehow my family now.

Jack shifts again and makes another soft sound. Before I think about what I’m doing, I start humming under my breath, just a few notes from the song I was working on last night.

He settles almost immediately.

I keep going, repeating the melody quietly while his hand stays curled around my finger. After a minute, I realize the rest of the room has gone suspiciously silent and look up.

Briar is watching me with a small smile. Lachlin is too.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Briar says.

Lachlin glances at Jack. “Keep going.”

“I’m humming.”

“You were singing.”

“Barely.”

Conlin folds his arms. “Important distinction.”

I ignore him and look back down at Jack, who still has a grip on my finger. I keep humming, and thankfully nobody says anything else about it.

Eventually Briar reaches for him, and I hand Jack back more reluctantly than I expected. I cover that by making a crack about Lachlin never sleeping again, which earns exactly the response I want.

The feeling follows me out of the room while Mom starts planning what food she can bring over, and Dad announces he’s already bought Jack a fishing rod even though the kid can’t hold up his own head. It’s still there hours later when Conlin and I finally head for the parking lot.

I sit behind the wheel for a minute before starting the truck.

Jack was born while I was home. Six months ago, I could’ve been across an ocean, meeting my nephew through pictures and video calls instead of being here for all of it.

I would’ve missed the waiting room, Mom crying, and Jack’s hand wrapped around my finger while I hummed him to sleep.

I start the truck and head home, suddenly aware that next time, I might not be here for something this big.

It’s late by the time I get back to the house.

Ruby’s side of the duplex is lit, but I leave the guitar where it is and make dinner without turning on anything louder than the stove vent. After the hospital, the place feels strangely quiet.

I’m halfway through cleaning up when I hear her front door open.

A minute later, I step outside to take the trash to the bin and find Ruby on her porch in leggings, an oversized black sweater, and socks shoved into boots like she only planned to be out there for thirty seconds.

She looks towards me. “You feeling okay?”

I stop beside the railing. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been home almost an hour, and I haven’t heard a single chord.”