With ease, Joe caught him and settled him against his chest.

I watched.

Our little guy had this thing. It was weird and it was wonderful.

Any time he hit his dad’s chest, he just calmed. Even when he’d been teething. Even when he’d fall and scrape something. Like all he needed was evidence of his father’s solidness, his strength, and he could just let go.

I knew how that felt.

This was what he did then, curling in, cheek to his dad’s chest as Joe tucked him close, Ben resting his hand light against his father’s lapel, his eyes shifting sideways so he could keep them on one of his big sisters, all of whom adored him, all of whom my baby boy adored right back.

Joe’s eyes were on Kate.

I returned mine to my daughter.

I knew what the forehead touch was. I didn’t need to ask. Joe didn’t need to explain.

It was his way of saying I’d unbalanced our scale…again. The scale of our life, where he gave and I gave, and it was supposed to go back and forth, staying balanced.

He thought I unbalanced it all the time with the way I gave.

He was wrong.

I didn’t even have to look at him with our son on his chest. I didn’t have to think back fifteen minutes ago to how I felt watching him walk my girl down the aisle with that look on his face. That look that said he didn’t want to be anywhere but there at the same time he wanted to pick her up and carry her the other way, taking her to a place where they never grew up and you never had to let them go.

No, I didn’t need any of that or any of the million other things Joe had done since that evening he shoveled the snow from our driveway.

I lived with the knowledge Joe had forever unbalanced our scales because I was sitting at my daughter’s wedding due to the fact that Joe had killed a man so I could.

He’d saved my life.

He’d given me his love.

He’d given my daughters his love.

He’d given my girls and me more babies, a big family.

There was no way I unbalanced our scale.

Which I supposed meant our scale actually stayed balanced, him thinking I sent it crashing, me knowing he did.

I snuggled closer in his arm.

He tightened it around me.

Balance.

I felt my lips tip up.

And I watched my beautiful girl get married to the man she loved, a man who reminded me a lot of her father.

And a lot of Joe.

A man Joe totally hated.

Because he took his girl away.

* * * * *

Layne

June, Four Years Later

“You did good all this time, managing not to knock Keirry up,” Tripp said to his brother.

Jasper looked to Tripp, grinning, but doing it also muttering, “Shut it, Tripp-o-matic.”

“I’ll second that, seein’ as that means you nor me got dead ’cause Joe Callahan lost his mind you put your hands on his girl,” Tanner Layne added.