He nods obediently, but he still has that smug grin on his face, and I know it means he’s doing what I ask, but inside he’s laughing at me. He thinks I’m being too protective, but I just gave an eighteen year old a custom-built motorcycle.

“He can’t ride in that,” Murph says as he tosses me the jacket I had Shelby sew the Wicked Beach patch on. I watch Mateo’s eyes light up as I open it up for him. Logan, Murph, and I are wearing matching ones.

“The cool breeze on the beach can be brutal. You’ll need this.”

As Mateo slides it on his arms, I feel a strange tugging in my chest. A year ago, I would have slammed my fist straight into something to make it go away, but now I wear this new feeling with pride. Like a new patch on my sleeve.

I’m going to miss this kid when he’s gone. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t give him this bike as a way to ensure he had to come back and see me.

Dr. Hightower says that Mateo is my retribution. My concern and care for him is me “reappropriating my grief for Theo,” and I hated that idea at first, but the more I let it sink in, the more sense it makes.

The four of us ride together back to the boardwalk where the girls are waiting for us on the pier. As we park the bikes, I look up to see Shelby sitting next to Savannah and holding Charlie in her arms. There’s a bright smile on her face as she kisses the baby’s bare belly making her break out in giggles.

It’s doing things to me.

It’s only been a month since we got back together, and we’re taking things slow, but who wouldn’t be daydreaming about a future with this woman.

But kids?

I shipped that idea off a long time ago. What if my trauma somehow gets passed down to my kids? What if my shitty lack of parental guidance makes me a terrible father?

I’m getting way the fuck ahead of myself right now. Shelby is still comfortably on the pill, and will be for a while. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that she’s mine forever. This is it for me, but how long until she starts thinking the same things I am.

The way she’s glowing with that baby in her arms, she’s already thinking them.

“Uh-oh,” Logan laughs as he glares at my thousand-yard stare. “I know that look.”

I shake my head at him as I climb off the bike and join the girls. Shelby smiles at me with Charlie in her arms. “Want to hold her?”

The words hell and no are on my tongue, but that was the old Rafe—the one made of stone and regrets, but as Charlie drools on Shelby’s fingers, I let myself nod instead.

“Of course I do.”

It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve held her. It is, however, the first time I’ve held her in front of Shelby. If I didn’t want her to get ideas in her head, I would have said no. But maybe I want ideas in her head. Maybe I want her to imagine this is our baby, with her curls and my brown eyes, looking up at each of us like we hang the moon every night.