his arms as he descended them.
“Cody!” I snapped. “You can’t carry me. I’m an elephant, and you’ll pull something. Plus, I’m totally capable of walking.”
He put me down but did not let me go. One of his hands went to the large swell of my stomach, the other to the back of my neck. “Not going to apologize for not letting my pregnant wife go through fucking contractions on the middle of the staircase,” he gritted out. “You can be the strong, independent woman all you want in every other aspect of your life. But not this part. Not when my whole world is possibly in danger. When I can’t do a damn thing but take you to the hospital. So let me take you to the fucking hospital.
Long story short, I let him take me to the fucking hospital.
Jack Cody Derrick was born fifteen hours later.
The entire club took over the waiting room during that time, showing their support. Showing me my son would always have family.
I closed the door, quietly.
Not that I needed to, Jack slept like the dead. He had since we’d brought him home from the hospital.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
It had me checking on him every five minutes to make sure he was still breathing. Olive stayed with us for the first two weeks of Jack’s life. She might not have approved of the life her son had chosen, but she loved him and supported him no matter what. She supported me no matter what too.
My own mother warmed up with the birth of her first grandchild, but that wasn’t really saying much considering she was my mother. It was like saying hell had gotten itself a space heater.
She wouldn’t be the favorite grandmother, that title was reserved for Olive. My father, on the other hand, would most definitely be the favorite grandfather, and not just because he was the only one Jack would have.
Along with his grandparents and parents, Jack had an entire club of uncles ready to fight for him, to protect him. He even had a Sons of Templar onesie already. He was born into the club, and most likely would patch in to it when he was older. Of course he would have a choice, and I could be wrong about the kind of man he’d turn out to be; he may not want anything to do with the club, but I didn’t think so. I had the feeling he would grow up to idolize his dad and the men in the club. He would be surrounded by family, by Harleys, the idea of a life lived free and wild.
The thought was bittersweet. I loved the club, loved the idea of my son wearing a patch and having brothers. But not the way the club was now. Not with the idea that my baby boy could either end up behind bars or in an early grave if the club continued on the way it was going.
It would kill me if something happened to my son because of the club. It would kill all the love and loyalty I had for the club. I shouldn’t have been thinking of such morbid things when my son was still decades away from such a choice, but I couldn’t help it. My mind forced me to think of every single danger to my boy so I could protect him from it.
Including the club.
Yet I couldn’t protect him from that.
“He sleeping?” Ranger asked, handing me a glass of wine.
I took it, thankful for the fact that my husband was cooking me dinner and had wine ready for me after putting our son to bed.
“Yeah,” I said taking the first sip. It was cold, sweet and cheap. The only wine I really drank. I wasn’t cultured in my drinking habits and was happy with a beer most of the time. But dealing with a baby required wine. Ideally some mood stabilizers too.
Ranger lowered the burner on the stove, put down his beer—he was not a wine guy—and moved to kiss me. Long. Slow. Enough to make my stomach dip beautifully.
“Good,” he murmured. “As much as I love our son, and I do, more than anything in the world, I do need some alone time with his mother.” His hands trailed along my hips—much wider than they had been before Jack. Fortunately, Ranger hadn’t made me feel self-conscious about that one bit.
“You’re not allowed to do that,” I murmured. “We still have two more weeks before the doctor said we’re allowed