Page 7 of Always My Fate

It wasn’t Peaches who spoke, but the words came through tight and urgent. “Blackie, it’s Jasmine. Peaches had some cramping and spotting.” Jasmine was Barbary’s old lady, one of many who’d been helping out. She continued, “She’s resting now, but she’s scared. We called the doc, and they said to get her checked if the cramps don’t ease up. Peaches didn’t want me to call—”

“I’m on my way.” He didn’t wait for more. The phone was already back in his pocket as he stomped to the exit. “Gunny—watch the house. Rook, you’re with me if I need backup.”

He was out the door before anyone could respond, boots pounding across the lot to his bike. The engine roared to life under him, loud and angry, matching the storm building in his chest. He twisted the throttle hard and tore out of the compound, gravel spitting behind him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The road blurred under his wheels as he pushed the bike faster, the wind whipping at his face. Every scant mile felt like a goddamn eternity. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning up nightmarish images of Peaches pale and hurting, and the baby...their baby...in trouble. Blackie’d faced down clubs, guns, blood on the pavement, but nothing had ever clawed at him like this.

“Hold on, baby,” he growled into the wind, leaning low over the tank. “I’m comin’. Just hold the fuck on.”

His heart hammered harder than a bike’s pipes. What if something’s wrong? What if I’m not there in time? What if I lose them both? The thought sliced into him like a blade between the ribs. He’d survived a lot of shit in his life, but him without Peaches? Or if their child died? That would break him clean in half. No coming back from that.

“Goddamn it, Peaches, you better be okay,” he muttered, voice raw. “You and that little boy in there—you’re my everything. My whole fuckin’ world. I can’t do this without you, baby. You gotta...be okay. Please.”

The road flew by in a haze of fear and fury. He didn’t slow for anything—cars, lights, nothing. By the time the house came into view, his hands were white-knuckled on the grips and his chest felt like it was caving in.

He killed the engine hard, bike still rocking as he swung off and sprinted up the steps. The front door flew open under his hand.

“Peaches!” His voice cracked with the force of his emotions. “Baby, where are you?”

Jasmine appeared in the hallway, holding up a hand. “She’s in the bedroom, resting. Cramping eased up some, but she’s worried. Go easy, Blackie—she needs you steady right now.”

He nodded once, accepting the instruction from Jasmine, but he was already moving past her. The bedroom door was half-open, and he pushed through, heart in his throat.

Peaches was propped up against the pillows, face pale but eyes clear when they met his. “Blackie...why are you. Dammit, you didn’t have to—”

“The hell I didn’t,” he cut in, crossing the room in two strides. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, hands gentle as they framed her face, and he stared into her eyes. “You scared the ever-lovin’ shit outta me, woman. You and this little one—you can’t do that to me. Not ever.”

His voice broke on the last words, raw fear pulsing through him. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady movement under their joined hands as the baby shifted.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, fingers threading through his hair. “We’re okay. Just a false alarm.”

Blackie closed his eyes tight, a shudder running through him. “Fuckin’ scare of my life. Love you so much, Peaches. Both of you. Can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

He stayed there on his knees, hands protective over her belly, whispering curses and promises until the fear slowly loosened its grip. She was here. They were here. And he’d burn the whole world down before he let anything change that.

Chapter Four

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and fear. Blackie hated every inch of it.

He sat in the too-small chair pulled flush against the bed, Peaches’ hand gripped tightly between both of his callused ones. Her fingers looked small and pale against his scarred knuckles. The monitors beeped steadily beside them—tracking the baby’s heart rate, Peaches’ vitals, and every little thing that could go wrong. Each blip made his chest tighten like a vise.

“Peaches,” he whispered, voice low and gruff, leaning close so only she could hear. “You gotta stop scarin’ the absolute fuck outta me like this. I’m too old for this level of terror. You and this little one—you’re my reason for existing. You hear me? Both of you. I gotta have you both. Can’t do this life without you. Plus, Randi, Tater, Possum, Punkin, and Lil Bit...they all need their momma. I need you.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a hard kiss to her knuckles before resting his forehead against the back of her hand. His other palm spread protectively over the swell of her belly, feeling the faint shift of their child. “Stay strong for me, darlin’. We’re gonna fight through this. I’m right here with you. Ain’t goin’ nowhere. I swear on everything I am—I will burn this whole goddamn hospital down if it means keeping you and our baby safe. Just...stay with me. Please.”

Peaches squeezed his fingers weakly, her green eyes soft despite the exhaustion lining her face. “We’re hanging in there, Kirk. Both of us.”

The door opened, and the doctor stepped in, chart in hand. Blackie straightened but didn’t release her hand. The man—mid-forties, calm and professional—gave them both a nod.

“Mr. Langdon. Charlotte. Good news first. The cramping has eased significantly, and the spotting has slowed. The baby’s heart rate is strong and steady. That’s encouraging.”

Blackie let out a harsh breath, shoulders dropping a fraction. “And the bad news?”

The doctor’s expression sobered. “This is still a high-risk pregnancy. We’re only about twenty-two weeks along, and we’ve managed to stop the immediate contractions with medication, but Charlotte needs complete bed rest moving forward. No stress, minimal activity. We’ll set up home monitoring and weekly check-ins, but any more episodes like this and we may need to hospitalize her until delivery. Risks include premature birth, which could lead to complications for the baby—breathing issues, developmental delays, and more. We’re doing everything we can, but you both need to treat this seriously.”

Blackie’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. “Whatever it takes. Tell me exactly what we gotta do to keep them both safe.”