Chapter Twenty-Three - Erik
The stillness of the night is shattered by a soft, trembling voice calling my name.
“Erik,” Chloe whispers, her voice laced with urgency.
My eyes snap open instantly, my instincts on high alert. She’s sitting up in bed, clutching her stomach, her face pale and glistening with sweat.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice sharp as I sit up, reaching for her.
“It’s… it’s happening,” she says, her breath hitching. Her hand tightens over her stomach, and she winces as a contraction takes hold. “I think… I think the baby’s coming.”
It takes me half a second to process her words before I’m moving, throwing the covers off and jumping to my feet. The clock on the nightstand reads three fifteen, but the time doesn’t matter.
“You’re early,” I say, my voice more steady than I feel. “It’s not time yet.”
She gives me a sharp glare through the pain. “Tell that to the baby!”
Her words snap me into action. I grab her overnight bag, the one we packed weeks ago just in case, and sling it over my shoulder. “Let’s get to the hospital,” I say, moving to her side.
She nods, her breathing uneven as I help her to her feet. Her hand grips my arm tightly, her nails digging into my skin with each contraction.
We make our way down the stairs, her steps slow and measured. Every few seconds, she stops, gripping the banister and doubling over as another contraction hits.
“Breathe, Chloe,” I murmur, my hand steady on her back.
“I am breathing!” she snaps, her frustration evident.
I bite back a smirk, knowing better than to argue. Once we reach the car, I help her into the passenger seat, fastening the seat belt over her carefully.
“Comfortable?” I ask, though I know it’s a pointless question.
She glares at me again. “Do I look comfortable?”
I don’t reply, closing the door and rushing around to the driver’s side. As soon as I’m in, I start the car and pull out of the driveway, my focus razor-sharp.
The roads are empty, but I barely notice the silence outside the car. My world narrows to the sound of Chloe’s labored breathing and the sharp gasps that escape her every time a contraction grips her.
“Erik,” she says, her voice strained.
“I’m here,” I reply, glancing at her briefly before fixing my gaze on the road.
“You’re driving like a maniac,” she mutters, her hand gripping the door handle.
“I’ll drive slower when the baby’s born,” I say, my tone clipped as I blow through a red light.
She doesn’t argue, though her knuckles whiten as she grips the seat.
The hospital comes into view, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Pulling up to the entrance, I slam the car into park and jump out, rushing to her side.
“Stay with me,” I say as I help her out of the car, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she grits out, her face contorted in pain.
Inside, the hospital staff moves quickly, a wheelchair appearing as if out of thin air. Chloe is whisked away to a labor and delivery room, and I’m by her side every step of the way, refusing to let her out of my sight.
Once she’s settled in the room, the doctor arrives, his expression calm and reassuring. “You’re in early labor,” he says, glancing at Chloe’s chart. “The baby’s a little early, but everything looks good so far.”
“Define ‘good,’” I demand, my voice cold.
The doctor meets my gaze without flinching. “Good means the baby’s in the right position and Chloe is progressing normally. We’ll keep monitoring her closely.”
I nod, though the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.
Chloe’s hand finds mine, her grip surprisingly strong. “Erik,” she says, her voice softer now. “I’m scared.”
I kneel beside her, my free hand brushing the hair from her face. “You’re the strongest person I know,” I say, my voice low but steady. “You can do this.”
She exhales shakily, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Promise you won’t leave me.”
I squeeze her hand tightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The hours blur together, the steady beeping of monitors and Chloe’s labored breathing filling the room. I stay by her side the entire time, holding her hand through every contraction, murmuring reassurances even as fear gnaws at the edges of my composure.
“Push, Chloe,” the doctor instructs as the time finally comes. “You’re almost there.”
Her grip on my hand tightens to the point of pain, but I don’t flinch. “You’ve got this,” I whisper, my voice firm. “Just a little more.”
Her cries fill the room, raw and primal, and my heart twists at the sight of her struggling. Then, a sharp, piercing cry cuts through the tension.
The baby.
I look up, my breath catching as the doctor lifts a tiny, wriggling form into the air.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, his voice warm.
Chloe collapses back against the bed, tears streaming down her face as she laughs shakily. “He’s here,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
I can’t move, can’t breathe, as the nurse wraps the baby in a soft blanket and places him in Chloe’s arms.
“He’s perfect,” she says, looking up at me with a smile that’s equal parts exhaustion and pure joy.
I step closer, my hand resting on her shoulder as I look down at our son. His tiny fingers curl into a fist, his face scrunched in a way that’s both endearing and miraculous.
“He’s so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion.
Chloe looks up at me, her eyes shining. “We did it,” she says softly.
I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You did it,” I correct, my voice filled with awe.
As I sit beside her, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, I realize that nothing else matters. Not the Bratva, not the business, not the power.
This—Chloe, our son—is everything.
***
The room is hushed now, the earlier flurry of activity replaced by a quiet stillness. Chloe cradles our newborn son in her arms, her fingers brushing gently over his tiny head. The soft, downy hair feels impossibly delicate, and I’m struck by the sheer fragility of him.
My gaze is fixed on them, unable to look away. Chloe looks exhausted, her hair clinging to her damp forehead and dark circles shadowing her eyes, but she’s radiant in a way that steals my breath.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the baby, her expression a mixture of awe and tenderness I’ve never seen before. “He’s so small,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.
I step closer, unable to resist the pull toward them. My hand rests on her shoulder, steadying her as I look down at the tiny bundle in her arms. My chest feels tight, my heart pounding harder than it ever has during a deal or a fight.
“He’s perfect,” I murmur, the words slipping out without thought.
Chloe glances up at me, her lips curving into a tired but genuine smile. “He really is.”
The baby shifts slightly, a soft whimper escaping him, and I feel an unexpected wave of protectiveness surge through me. This tiny life, so vulnerable and new, is ours. He’s part of us, and the weight of that realization hits me like a blow.
“Have you thought of a name?” Chloe asks softly, her eyes returning to our son.
I pause, the question settling heavily in the air. A name. A legacy. Something strong, something meaningful.
“Alexei,” I say finally, the name rolling off my tongue with certainty. “It means defender. ”
Chloe looks up at me again, her smile widening. “Alexei,” she repeats, her voice gentle. “I love it.”
Her fingers trace the baby’s cheek, and for the first time, Alexei’s tiny eyes flutter open, dark and unfocused as they try to make sense of the world.
“He’s got your eyes,” she murmurs, her tone filled with quiet wonder.
I lean closer, studying him. “Your nose,” I counter, my lips twitching into a smirk.
Chloe laughs softly, the sound fragile but genuine. The exhaustion in her features seems to melt away as she gazes at Alexei, the corners of her eyes crinkling with pure joy.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Chloe murmurs. “Welcome to the world.”
For the first time in my life, the chaos and ambition that have driven me feel distant, secondary to the overwhelming sense of purpose in this room.
This child. This family.
They’re everything I never knew I needed.
“I’ll protect you both,” I say quietly, the promise heavy with meaning. “No matter what.”
Chloe looks at me for a long moment, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know,” she whispers.
The nurse enters the room, her footsteps soft as she approaches. “He’s a strong little boy,” she says with a warm smile, adjusting the blanket around Alexei. “Would you like to hold him, Mr. Sharov?”
I freeze for a moment, my gaze darting to Chloe. She nods encouragingly, her smile never faltering.
“Go on,” she says gently.
I hesitate, my hands feeling too large, too rough to hold something so small. But as Chloe carefully lifts Alexei and places him in my arms, the hesitation melts away.
He’s impossibly light, his tiny body cradled against my chest as I adjust my hold. His eyes flutter closed again, his soft breaths barely audible.
I’ve held weapons, signed deals, commanded men, but nothing compares to the weight of holding my son for the first time.
“He likes you,” Chloe murmurs, her voice warm.
I glance at her, my throat tightening. “He’s ours, of course he does,” I reply simply, the words carrying a depth I can’t fully express.
The nurse steps back, giving us space as I sink into the chair beside Chloe’s bed, Alexei still nestled in my arms.
For a long moment, the three of us are silent, the world outside the hospital room fading away.
Chloe shifts slightly, her head resting against the pillow as she watches me with Alexei. “I was scared,” she admits softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“So was I,” I confess, my gaze fixed on our son.
Her eyes widen slightly, as though the admission surprises her. “You?”
I nod, my lips pressing into a thin line. “You and Alexei… you mean more to me than anything else. Losing you isn’t something I’ll ever let happen.”
Her hand reaches out, covering mine where it rests on Alexei’s blanket. “We’re here,” she says simply. “We’re not going anywhere.”
I look at her then, truly look at her, and see the quiet strength that has carried her through everything. She’s incredible, and for the first time in years, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
“Neither am I,” I say, the promise clear in my voice.
Alexei stirs in my arms, a soft, sleepy whimper escaping him, and I shift slightly to soothe him. Chloe smiles, her eyes soft and tired as she watches us.
“You’re a natural,” she teases, though her tone holds nothing but affection.
I smirk, glancing down at the baby. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”
She laughs quietly, and the sound fills the room with warmth.
As the night deepens and the quiet hum of the hospital surrounds us, I hold my son close, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and love that I’ve never felt before.
For the first time, everything feels complete.