Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
I place my hand on his back, trembling.
And just like that, everything changes.
My entire life means so much more. I won’t miss a single moment of life with them.
Hours later, it’s quiet.
Dia’s sleeping in the hospital bed, pale but glowing. Strong. God, she’s strong.
The baby’s tucked against her side, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, skin perky pink, dark hair matted down against his tiny head.
I sit in the chair beside them, my hand still in hers.
A nurse comes in and says gently, “Have you two settled on a name? We have to get the birth certificate set up.”
Dia stirs.
Then she looks up at me, eyes glassy with love and exhaustion.
“You say it,” she whispers.
“Did you decide for sure?” I know she’s talked about a few things and I didn’t want to push her. Out of respect for Clutch, I didn’t want Dia to feel obligated to give their baby by blood my name because I have the lifetime of experience with him.
“Benjamin Ward Miller.” She says it and immediately I know where it comes from. A piece of Clutch, a piece of Tripp as it’s his middle name and BW’s, and a piece of me. All the men who matter to Dia.
Our son has my last name and it’s an honor I can’t get over.
The nurse smiles. “That’s beautiful.”
Dia squeezes my fingers.
I brush the baby’s cheek.
“Benjamin for his dad,” she says softly, more to herself than the nurse. “Ward for the only man who’s ever stood beside me in every kind of storm, my own dad, and Miller because he deserves all of us.”
I don’t cry.
However, I shatter.
But in the best way.
Two Days Later - Home
BW meets us on the front porch, a balloon tied to the railing, a stuffed biker bear tucked in one arm.
“Let me see the kid,” he says, already reaching.
“Wash your hands,” Dia says without looking up from the carrier. “Or I kick you in the balls.”
“God, you’re a mom already.”
“Justin’s teaching me how to threaten people properly.”
I smirk. “Darlin’ I have an appreciation for your love of hitting a man where it hurts. But as a man, the mention of kicking anyone in the balls automatically draws them up. So while sassy you is sexy, could we leave a man’s junk out of the mix.”
“I’ll think about it,” she retorts.
We all laugh.
Once inside, the house feels different.
Like a new soul moved in.
Benjamin’s first wail echoes through the hall and it sounds like home.
Sass and Tank show up an hour later. Tripp and Doll leave a gift on the doorstep—a tiny black leather vest with the Hellions patch stitched on the back because we were sleeping.
BW and Karsci basically move into our spare room. They are determined to help take off some of the work load and allow both Dia and I to get some sleep.
That night, Dia rocks the baby while I clean bottles and try not to burn the rice.
She hums a lullaby I don’t recognize. Benjamin makes a little sound in response.
When she tucks him into the bassinet, she turns to me.
“You ready for this?” she asks.
I walk to her. Wrap my arms around her.
“We’ve already started.”
She leans into me.
And for once, there’s no storm.
Just peace.
Just family.
Just us.
Two days later, we are rested and feeling more human. After a solid feeding, we head out.
Early evening. The sun starting to drop low. Benjamin’s strapped in the carrier against my chest, small and warm and completely unaware that today is something sacred.
Dia’s quiet beside me still in the truck, one hand on the door handle, the other resting on our baby. She hasn’t said much since I suggested it this morning—Let’s take him to see his dad. Her silence isn’t refusal. It’s something deeper.
Grief, maybe.
Fear.
Closure, if that’s even really possible.
We walk out into the cemetery as the sky turns a soft gold. The place is empty. Still. Peaceful in that way cemeteries always are when the living don’t bring too much noise with them.
Benjamin Ward Miller is one week old and already feels like my whole heart beating outside my body.
Dia brushes her fingers gently over his hair. “Let’s go see your namesake, baby boy. Let’s go see your dad.”
Clutch’s grave is like the man simple stone, grass neatly trimmed, a motorcycle charm someone left tied to a wooden stake in the ground. The name still hits like a brick.
I shift little Benjamin slightly and crouch down.
Dia kneels beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch.
“We brought him,” I say, as if Clutch can hear me. “The little boy with your name, your blood. The one you never got to meet. Thank you for this gift, brother.”
Dia reaches over and lifts the edge of the blanket from Benjamin’s face. He shifts a little but doesn’t wake.
“He’s so perfect,” she whispers. “And so loved.”
The breeze picks up. A slow hush through the trees. It almost feels like something listening.