Page 14 of Reckless

Sin’s eyes close just for a second. His forehead drops, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of a fear he’d refused to let anyone else see. When he opens them again, they’re shining, fixed entirely on the tiny, furious little boy announcing himself to the world.

Around the room, the club finally exhales.

Koa laughs.

Nitro lets out something between a yell and a sob.

Ro is openly crying, one hand still clamped over her mouth.

Even Bear has to scrub a hand across his face before anyone notices his eyes aren’t quite as dry as they were thirty seconds ago.

And me, I sit here staring at this tiny little person wrapped in Marley’s hands, trying to understand how one cry could make an entire room full of hardened bikers look like they have forgotten how to stand.

Somehow, in the middle of all the blood, sweat, panic, and chaos…

Everything feels different.

Like the clubhouse itself has shifted to make room for one more heartbeat.

The baby lets out another pissed-off bellow, his tiny face scrunched up while a set of lungs entirely too big for his body makes itself everyone else’s problem.

Nitro makes a sound that starts as a whoop and turns into something wrecked halfway through. Koa laughs so loudly it bounces off the ceiling. Liam starts clapping until Hash smacks him in the arm and then starts clapping too.

“Holy shit, he’s loud,” Deek says, sounding absurdly proud of a kid who isn’t even five seconds old.

Bear sits down hard in the nearest chair, drops his elbows to his knees, and covers his face with both hands like the entire weight of the last ten minutes has finally found somewhere to land.

Ro is crying.

Marley is smiling through tears.

Ghost lowers the phone, and for the smallest second, his eyes find the baby. Then, inexplicably, me. And the corner of his mouth shifts.

It is barely there, almost nothing.

But in the middle of a room that’s just split open and rearranged itself around a newborn cry, I feel something inside me answer before my brain has a chance to catch up.

Then the baby is wrapped in towels, flamingos and all, and placed against Victoria’s chest.

Victoria looks at him like the rest of the room has stopped existing. Her hand trembles as she strokes his cheek, and for a second she just stares, like she’s trying to convince herself this tiny little person is actually hers.

Sin doesn’t reach for either of them straightaway. He waits until Victoria has their son against her chest, until she’s looking at him instead of the room. Then he leans in. His forehead rests against hers, one hand slipping into her hair while the other covers hers where it’s curled around the baby.

I don’t hear what he says.

But Victoria lets out this tiny, broken sound, and suddenly she’s crying so hard her shoulders shake. She grips the front of his cut with one fist and holds her baby with the other, and Sin stays there on his knees like the floor could fall away beneath them, and he would still keep the two of them from going with it.

There are men in this room who have buried bodies in the desert.

Men who have survived raids, bullets, betrayal, and the kind of enemies who wear suits while ordering bloodshed. Men with scars written across their skin and violence etched into their DNA.

And every single one of them is standing around one furious newborn wrapped in a flamingo towel like he is the most extraordinary thing they have ever seen.

Maybe he is.

I sit back on my heels, flexing fingers that are going to remind me of Victoria’s grip for the next week, and take my first proper breath in what feels like hours.

The clubhouse sounds different now.