Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Stevie
Ibarely recognize the woman in the mirror anymore.
I’m not lost anymore; I found the strong woman I always was inside.
I stand in the bathroom in just a soft bra and leggings, one hand braced on the counter, the other spread wide over the curve of my stomach like I’m holding the center of the universe.
My bump is round and heavy now, skin stretched tight and warm beneath my palm.
It shifts when I move, alive in a way that still feels like a miracle.
Alive. That word still knocks the breath out of me sometimes.
I tilt my head, studying the faint silver lines tracing my hips.
The way my belly rises and falls when I breathe.
The way my ribs ache some nights from being stretched wider than they were ever meant to go.
My feet swell by the end of the day. My back complains when I roll over.
My nipples are permanently tender. My bladder has declared war on my sleep schedule.
Once, I would have catalogued every sensation with fear. What does this mean? Is this normal? Is something wrong? Now, I just… notice. My body isn’t betraying me. It’s working.
“Hey there,” I whisper to my reflection.
Then softer, to the curve beneath my palm. “We made it this far.”
A slow roll answers me from the inside, deliberate, unmistakable. A long stretch that makes my skin ripple. I laugh, startled and full, pressing my hand there again.
“Okay, okay. I hear you.” There’s another push, sharper this time.
“You two are already tag-teaming me,” I mutter.
Twins. Even now, that word feels surreal. Angel knocks lightly and pushes the door open before I can answer. He freezes when he sees me like this.
Not embarrassed.
Not startled.
Just… reverent.
His eyes soften in that way they do when he forgets to guard himself. When he’s not Road Captain. Not the man everyone leans on. Just my husband.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
I snort softly. “I feel like a planet.”
“Best damn planet I’ve ever seen.”
I roll my eyes but let him come closer. He steps behind me, wraps his hands around my waist carefully, and meets my gaze in the mirror. There’s awe there. He crouches slowly, palms spreading over either side of my belly. His forehead presses against it like he’s bowing to something sacred.
“Morning, troublemakers,” he murmurs. A strong kick answers immediately.
He jerks back with a laugh. “Hey!”
“That one’s got your attitude,” I say.
“And that one’s got your timing,” he counters as another movement rolls across my skin. “They only do this when I’m around.”
“They know you’re here,” I say quietly.
His hand lingers there. So does mine. And for a second, the bathroom, small and ordinary and cluttered with daily life, feels like the most important room in the world.
The clubhouse looks different, dressed in pastel chaos.
I stop just inside the doors and blink. Streamers hang crooked across the beams that usually hold club banners.
Balloons bob near the bar like they’ve wandered into the wrong territory.
Someone has taped paper cutouts of tiny motorcycles and pacifiers to the walls.
The smell of barbecue mixes with buttercream frosting. A table near the bar groans under the weight of gifts, wrapped boxes, handmade blankets, stuffed animals, tiny boots no bigger than Angel’s palm.
I swallow. For a second, my chest tightens.
Once, being surrounded by children here felt unbearable.
Every stroller.
Every toddler wobbling between boots and denim.
Every proud dad lifting a kid onto his shoulders.
It used to feel like standing in a room full of mirrors reflecting everything I couldn’t have.
Now, my hand drifts automatically to my stomach; it feels like home.
“Look at her!” Carrie squeals from across the room.
She barrels toward me carefully; Polly balanced on her hip, and RJ streaking past her legs like a tiny hurricane.
“You made it!” she says, pulling me into a gentle hug. “Look at you!”
“I know,” I laugh. “I’m enormous.”
“Glorious,” she corrects firmly.
Polly pats my belly with wide-eyed fascination. “Babies,” she announces solemnly.
“That’s right,” I say, grinning. “Two of them.”
Angel stays close at my back, one hand hovering near my waist without gripping. He doesn’t hover anymore. Tank swoops RJ up before he can body-check my knees. Joker nods at me from the bar, a smirk softer than usual. Wolf leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes watchful in that quiet way he has.
Doc approaches and squints at my ankles with professional disapproval.
“You sitting?” he asks.
“I just got here.”
“You’re sitting.”
Angel immediately steers me toward a chair without argument. See. Balance. Laughter fills the room. Easy. Warm. No sharp edges. I glance around and realize something that makes my throat tighten. They’re not celebrating the babies. They’re celebrating us. What it took to get here.
When it’s time for gifts, someone drags a chair to the center of the room and decorates it with streamers like a ridiculous throne.
I sit down, breathless, and emotional, before I’ve even opened anything.
Every package is a story. A tiny leather vest with soft stitching and a stitched heart on the back makes me cry outright.
“They gotta start young,” Tank says gruffly.
Carrie hands me a knitted blanket in club colors. “Neutral enough for either,” she says, wiping her eyes.
Angel clears his throat and looks at the ceiling as if it offended him. Trouble One and Trouble Two onesies send the room into hysterics.
“Because of course,” I say, laughing through tears. “Twins.”
“We don’t do anything halfway,” Angel murmurs in my ear.
Halfway almost broke us. All the way brought us here. That truth hums quietly in my chest.
Later, when the music softens and the crowd thins, I slip outside for air.
The Texas sky stretches wide and forgiving overhead, streaked pink, and gold as the sun dips low.
The air is cooler out here. Quieter. Angel follows without asking.
He wraps an arm around me from behind, careful, and solid, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder.
“You, okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just taking it in.” He presses a kiss to my cheek.
“You did this,” he says softly.
I shake my head. “We did.”
He exhales slowly. “Yeah. We did.”
I lean back into him, both hands resting over the curve of my stomach. The babies shift again, strong, confident movements that make me gasp and laugh at the same time.
“They’re getting big,” Angel murmurs.
“Too big,” I mutter. “My ribs have officially filed complaints.” He chuckles low against my ear.
“I used to think happiness would feel loud,” I say after a moment. “Like fireworks. Like something that explodes.”
He hums thoughtfully. “Feels pretty loud to me.”
I shake my head, smiling. “It’s quieter. But steadier.”
He squeezes me gently. “Best kind,” he says.
I think about the woman I was months ago. Curled around grief. Measuring my worth in test results. Disappearing into numbers.
I think about the woman who asked for space because she couldn’t breathe.
The woman who was terrified love wouldn’t survive the weight of loss.
I think about the version of us that sat in a therapist’s office admitting we didn’t know how to do this.
And I realize, this isn’t just about pregnancy. It’s about us.
We didn’t win because my body finally cooperated.
We won because we learned how to stay, even when it was ugly, when it hurt, and hope had teeth.
Angel’s hand slides down, resting gently over mine on my belly.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly.
“Me too,” he says without hesitation.
“But not the same way,” I add.
“No,” he agrees. “Not the same way.”
This fear isn’t about losing each other. It’s about protecting what we’ve built. There’s a difference.
Inside, someone laughs loudly. A glass clinks.
Music shifts. Life is going on. The last of the bikes pulls away one by one, engines rumbling like distant thunder fading into the night.
I close my eyes and breathe. And for the first time in a long, long while, I don’t feel like I have to grip it so tightly it bruises.
I can hold it gently. Steadily. Like hope learned to behave. Angel kisses the side of my head.
“We’re close now,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
Close. Not done yet. But close. And whatever comes next, labor, chaos, exhaustion, fear, we’ll meet it the same way we met everything else. Together. I look down at my belly one more time.
“Alright, you two,” I murmur. “We’re ready when you are.”
Another strong kick answers.
Angel laughs. “Guess they heard you.”
I smile, resting into him as the last light fades from the sky. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m chasing happiness. I’m standing in it. And it’s enough.