Page 43 of Always My Fate

He was about to have a sixth kid. Another son. A little boy who would look up to him the way Tater did, who would need him to be better than the man Blackie used to be.

Blackie stepped into the room and ran his fingers over the rough rail of the crib. He’d sanded out the worst of the bite marks from the previous kids, but liked the idea that his new son would be resting inside the crib his brothers and sisters used first. His hands were scarred, calloused, with his knuckles still healing from the fight at Belle. They looked ridiculous against the soft bedding Peaches had chosen.

“I don’t deserve you yet, little man,” he murmured, voice thick. “But I’m gonna spend every damn day tryin’ to. Your momma, lord, I tell you right now that she’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. She carried five of your brothers and sisters already, and currently you. And me? I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to stand beside her.”

Fear clawed at him hard. What if something went wrong during delivery? What if the preeclampsia came back with a vengeance? They were still a week away from what the docs had said was a safe window for delivery. That was another weight of concern riding his shoulders. What if he couldn’t protect them from the threats lingering out there from Roscoe or the MDMC remnants or any other enemy who might try and take down the Freed Riders?

Blackie’s breath hitched. He gripped the crib rail until his knuckles went white.

“I’m scared shitless, Daniel,” he admitted quietly. “Terrified I’ll fuck this up. Afraid I won’t be the dad you deserve. But I swear on everything I am that I will love you fierce. I will protect you. I will teach you how to be strong without bein’ cruel. How to lead without losin’ your soul. And I’ll never walk away from you.”

He heard soft footsteps behind him. Peaches appeared in the doorway, one hand supporting her heavy belly, a gentle smile on her face.

“You talkin’ to our boy again?” she asked softly.

Blackie crossed to her immediately, wrapping his arms around her from the side and resting his chin on top of her head. “Yeah. Tellin’ him how lucky he is to have you for a momma. And how his old man’s gonna do all he can not to fuck this up.”

Peaches leaned into him. Daniel gave a strong kick between them right then, like he was answering.

Blackie closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the wave of awe and terror crashing through him.

“He’s almost here,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Our son. Fuck, Peaches. I’m blown away. Of this. Of all of it.”

She turned in his arms and kissed him slow and deep, grounding him the way only she could.

“We’ve got this, Blackie,” she whispered against his lips. “All of us.”

He held her tighter, heart full to bursting with fear and love and fierce, unbreakable hope.

Daniel was almost here.

And Blackie Langdon had never been more ready, or honestly more terrified, in his entire life.

***

The hospital room was a whirlwind of beeps, chatter from the doctors, and Peaches’ determined grunts. Blackie hadn’t left her side for a single second. He held her hand through every contraction, wiped her forehead, and whispered all the filthy, loving things he could think of.

“You got this, Peaches,” he growled, voice hoarse as another contraction hit. “You’re the strongest fuckin’ woman on this planet. Bear down, darlin’. Bring our boy home.”

Peaches squeezed his hand so hard he thought she might break bones, her green eyes blazing with effort and fire. “He’s comin’, Blackie—ahhh!”

And then, after one final, powerful push and a string of curses from both of them, the room filled with a sharp, beautiful newborn’s cry.

Daniel Kirk Langdon entered the world at 3:47 a.m., loud and furious.

Blackie stared, completely frozen, as the doctor lifted their son and placed him on Peaches’ chest. The baby was red-faced, wrinkly, slimy-looking, and absolutely perfect. His tiny fists were waving, strong lungs already working overtime.

“Holy shit,” Blackie breathed, tears burning in his eyes. “Holy fuckin’ shit, Peaches. Look at him. Look at our boy.”

Peaches let out an exhausted, joyful sob-laugh, cradling Daniel against her skin. “He’s here. He’s really here.”

Blackie leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, then gently kissed the top of his newborn son’s head. The smell of new life, Peaches’ sweat, and hospital antiseptic hit him all at once. Overwhelming. Perfect.

“He’s got your fight already,” Blackie rasped, voice cracking. “Proud of you, baby. You did it. You brought our son into this world like the queen you are. I love you so fuckin’ much it hurts.”

The nurse gave them a few precious minutes. Blackie stayed glued to the bed, one arm around Peaches, the other carefully supporting Daniel’s tiny body. The baby’s fingers wrapped around Blackie’s scarred pinky, and something inside him shattered and rebuilt stronger than before.

“Welcome to the world, Daniel,” he whispered fiercely, tears slipping down his face. “You got the best momma any boy could ask for. And your old man, well, I swear on my patch, on every drop of blood I’ve spilled, I’m gonna do right by you. By all of you. This family? This legacy? We’re makin’ it unbreakable.”