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Wynonna keeps her promise, allowing us to share the news during the second trimester.
When we learn this baby is a boy, Irina embraces Hobo’s idea about naming our son “Rhett Junior” and calling him “RJ.”
Except no one ever calls him by his initials. In fact, Irina gets to calling him Rhett even before he’s born.
I figured I’d hate hearing that name all the time. My sisters often mocked it. Kids at school kept asking me where Scarlett was, something they had probably heard from their parents. My name always seemed like a big joke.
Yet, when Irina says “Rhett,” the name holds magic. I hear my mom talking to me. Jillian said the name suited a gentleman. I don’t think I ever lived up to that, but my good-hearted son definitely does.
Rhett’s shy yet affable. He gets along with everyone. When the older kids bug him, he always disarms them with a smile and calming words. He rarely loses his temper, even as a toddler. When he misbehaves, he looks more disappointed at his punishments than angered by them.
Despite his gentle nature, I sense Rhett will ride with the club one day. He’s fascinated by my motorcycle. While the other kids play at parties, Rhett will study Goose and my club brothers as if memorizing information for later.
My calm, creative kids lucked out with their mom. Irina wraps them in her love in the same way she did Owen, Fiona, and me. Also, like she immersed herself in Fiona’s interests, my nurturing wife jumps headfirst into any hobby the kids want to try.
However, my favorite times are just hanging out at home. Every few weeks, we’ll grill hot dogs on the back porch. Clementine loves lots of junk on hers, while Rhett keeps shit simple like his mom.
Eventually, a Labrador puppy joins the mix after Gretchen needs me to find a home for another “spare.” The kids can’t settle on a name until he steals Rhett’s hot dog during that first weekend at our house.
“Hot Dog is a silly puppy,” Clementine declares. “He deserves a silly name.”
During those evenings out back, Irina is a vision. I can’t take my eyes off her as she alternates between holding the kids and chasing the puppy.
Despite not looking or sounding like my mom, Irina always reminds me of Jillian. I finally realize they share a soft heart and a secret wild streak.
Irina loves to ride bitch on my hog. Not long after Clementine is born, we make a habit of dropping off the kids at the Pigsty for a few hours while Irina and I go riding.
Years later, only taking a break during her pregnancy with Rhett, we still love to race around McMurdo Valley. Irina’s never scared on the bike. She’s got a natural taste for speed.
Her teenage attempt to go wild led to a loveless marriage. Trauma shoved her deeper into a meek place.
I awoke that wild part of her. I’ll never stop getting a kick out of how she stalked me. I even tell the kids how their mom instantly knew I belonged to her.
“She’s really smart,” I explain to the kids, who always nod.
Back when I was a child, Jillian often promised I would be the happiest person in our family one day. Her prediction came true long before I met Irina. Riding with the Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club offered me a purpose, family, and plenty of cash. I ran happy circles around my sisters for decades.
Yet, I never felt comfortable in my own skin until Irina loved me. Sexy and sweet like no other woman I’d met, she was a prize. Once I knew I could keep her, a burden was lifted off my shoulders. I appreciated my life more. Friendships grew stronger. I no longer doubted what I meant to people.
The first night I met Irina, I’d been sure I was being punked. No way would such a classy, gorgeous woman want me above all others.
Never in my life have I been as happy to be wrong.
