Page 18 of Always My Fate

***

The doctor’s words had barely settled before everything accelerated. Tests turned into displays, and the clinic turned into direct admission to the hospital. Blackie stayed glued to Peaches’ side through every step—wheelchair, elevator, sterile room on the maternity floor—his hand never leaving hers. Now she lay in the hospital bed, IV piercing a vein in her arm, fetal monitor strapped across her belly, and finally, blessedly, they had the steady whoosh-whoosh of little Daniel’s heartbeat filling the room like a fragile lifeline.

Blackie stood by the window, arms crossed tight over his chest, staring out at the parking lot without really seeing it. His heart hammered like he’d just come out of a gunfight. Fear—real, gut-twisting fear—had him by the throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word cracking. He turned back to her, taking in the pale tint to her skin, the tangle of her dark curls spread across the pillow, and those green eyes trying so damn hard to not show fear. For him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, Peaches. You were meant to be home, safe in our bed, with me bringin’ you whatever the fuck you wanted. Not hooked up to machines while I stand here as useless as tits on a bull calf.”

Peaches reached for him, and he moved instantly, sinking into the chair beside her bed and taking her hand in both of his.

“Blackie, breathe. Daniel’s heart rate is steady. They’re being careful.”

“Yeah, well, careful ain’t enough for me right now.” His voice dropped to a raw growl, thick with emotion. “I’m scared shitless, Peaches. Preeclampsia? Early delivery? What if somethin’ goes wrong when I’m not here? You’re my fuckin’ life, baby. You and these kids. All of ’em. Randi, Tater, Possum, Punkin, Lil Bit... and Daniel. I ain’t ready to face a world without you in it.”

Tears burned in his eyes again. He didn’t wipe them away. Instead, he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to the back of her hand, shoulders shaking once with the force of it.

After a long minute, he straightened, jaw set. Fear still clawed at him, but resolve pushed through. He pulled out his phone.

“Rook,” he said the second the line picked up. “Hospital. Peaches’ has been admitted. Preeclampsia. She’s on strict bed rest, and they’re monitorin’ the baby close. I need you to step up.”

He gave Rook quick, clear orders—extra eyes on the house, round up help from the ole ladies, ride herd on the kids, tightening things at the clubhouse—then ended the call. But the weight in his chest didn’t ease. He scrolled again and hit Slate’s number.

The Rebel Wayfarers brother picked up on the second ring. “Blackie. Everything good, brother?”

“Not even close,” Blackie rasped, pacing the small space beside the bed. “Charlotte’s in the hospital. Preeclampsia. They got her hooked up, monitorin’ Daniel real close. I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind here, Slate. Five kids already and another boy on the way...what if...? You know how it is, man. Brother, you got a house full with those two sets of twins and the infants—how the hell do you do it without constantly worryin’ you’re gonna fuck it all up?”

Slate’s voice came through steady, that familiar calm edged with understanding. “First off, breathe, man. I’ve been exactly where you are—more than once. The fear don’t ever go away completely when you got little ones depending on you. But you show up, like you always have. Forever. That boy Daniel’s got a fighter for a dad. You lean on your club, focus on your woman, and you take the situation one hour at a time. My crew is full-on chaos most days, but we make it work. You will too.”

Blackie swallowed hard, the words helping more than he’d admit. “Appreciate it. Means a lot comin’ from you.”

“Anytime. I’ll check in tomorrow. You need anything, extra hands, or someone to yell at, you give me a shout. We got you.”

Blackie ended the call and let out a shaky breath, then climbed carefully onto the bed beside Peaches, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and resting the other hand on her belly. Daniel kicked hard right under his palm, like the boy was already making his presence known.

“There he is,” Blackie murmured, voice hoarse. “Fightin’ already. Just like his momma.”

Peaches rested her head on his shoulder. For the first time since the doctor’s office, some of the raw panic eased—barely enough for him to breathe.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” she whispered.

“Damn right you’re not,” he growled softly, pressing a kiss to her curls. “We’re bringin’ our boy home. And I’ll burn down the whole goddamn world if that’s what it takes to keep you both safe.”

Outside the hospital room, the club and his brothers would hold. Inside, Blackie held on tight, fear still simmering beneath the surface but channeled now into fierce, unwavering protection.

His family would get through this. They had to.

***

Peaches

She lay in the narrow hospital bed, the steady beep of the monitors and the rhythmic whoosh of Daniel’s heartbeat a constant backdrop. Blackie had finally dozed off beside her, one arm draped protectively across her body. She watched him for a long moment, her fingers gently tracing the scars on his knuckles, then turned her gaze to the ceiling.

The terror was still there, a tight knot in her chest, but she breathed through it the way she’d learned years ago.

Peaches blinked awake, only knowing she’d been dozing when she woke up. She looked around, the hospital room coming back into focus. Blackie stirred beside her, mumbling something profane and protective in his sleep. She smiled softly. Even in his sleep he’d take care of business. Daniel gave a strong kick, as if sensing her thoughts.

Events in her past had forged her into the woman who could hold this club family together, who could organize care packages with one hand while rubbing her aching back with the other. The girl who survived on sheer will had become the queen who refused to break—even now, hooked up to machines with doctors talking early delivery.

She’d made her way through worse with far less support.