40. EPILOGUE 3 - ABBEY
Ringo squeezes my hand as he practically jogs beside the bed, nurses and doctors surrounding us as I’m rushed into the surgical suite. Each time he looks down at me, he smiles, like he’s trying to be encouraging, but I can see the strain in his eyes.
He’s worried… and so am I.
So much happens as I’m wheeled into the birthing theatre. Things get hooked up to me, and a fabric screen gets put up over my chest, blocking the view of my very big baby bump.
“Ringo,” I whimper as the fear of what’s happening really hits me.
His whisky eyes peer down at me as a nurse rolls a stool towards him, and he quickly takes it, looking completely different dressed in the hospital scrubs he had to quickly put on over his clothes.
“I’m here, Angel. You’re doing great,” he rasps, but his voice matches his strained eyes.
Moving up close to my head, he gently strokes his fingers over my cheek, his eyes jumping around to all the activity happening around the room, before coming back to me.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, and those gentle eyes soften even more.
“I know, but remember. This isn’t the same as last time. You’re safe. In the best place for something like this to happen, and our little baby will be in our arms in a matter of minutes.”
I nod, feeling my lower body being moved and tugged, yet not really feeling it at the same time, and my eyes fill with tears as my birth plan flies out the window.
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” I whimper, annoyed at my stupid cervix that apparently won’t dilate any further and has become inflamed.
“Remember what you said yesterday?” he asks as his beard brushes my temple before he kisses me there, his warm, minty breath fanning over my ear. “It’s impossible to keep plans when you have children.”
My lips tug up at the corners, and I nod, staring around at the room.
There’s so much bustling in the space, doctors and nurses talking medical lingo that I’d know if I’d gone to nursing school, but I decided to hold off.
I need to be around for my kids, and Tahli too.
I will study later down the track when I can devote more time to it, but right now, I kinda wish I knew what they were talking about.
“Hey, Angel. Focus on my voice,” Ringo says quietly, leaning close and practically hugging my head to him. And then, to my surprise, he starts singing, right by my ear.
“Why are there so many… songs about rainbows… And what’s on the other side?”
A giggling sob passes my lips, and I close my eyes and focus on the deep gravel of his voice.
He sang this song at Bobbi’s funeral. A song he’d been singing at his daughter’s grave since her death.
But now, he sings it with Bobbi. She loves watching him play the guitar and sings along with him in her sweet little voice, sometimes by Hope’s grave, and sometimes up on the porch when the mood strikes.
It doesn’t carry the heaviness of grief, but the willingness of hope, and in this moment, as the surgeon cuts me open to extract our baby, this song couldn’t be more perfect.
I think of how far we’ve come, from that desperate girl that painted herself in blood being kept prisoner by her parents, to only last week when we celebrated Easter and Ringo left a trail of carrot crumbs and powdered bunny prints for me and Bobbi to follow to find the chocolate eggs.
The two events seem like worlds apart. Like they are two completely different lives led by two completely different people… and I guess they are, but also, they aren’t.
I’m still that girl sometimes. Trapped in my bedroom. My parents dictating every breath of my life.
Some days are easy, but some are hard. The difference between then and now is I have people who love me.
Who will fight for me. And who let me dictate my own life…
well, as much as a mother can, because let me tell you, when I lay out clothes for my daughter each day, I guarantee, ninety percent of the time, she refuses to wear it and picks the most random things to wear instead.
But, oh wow, I love that side of motherhood. Letting my daughter decide her own path. Letting her choose her clothes, her shoes, her books. Letting her play the songs that speak to her heart. Letting her just be herself.
As Ringo’s deep baritone soothes me, the doctors’ voices get louder, and my lids flash open the moment I hear it… my baby crying.
My eyes lock with Ringo’s, and tears instantly fill his before he looks over the screen.
“Congratulations, Mum and Dad,” someone says. “You have a healthy baby boy.”
I can’t see anything but the screen in front of me, but nothing is more important than watching this moment as my husband sees his baby for the first time.
He never got to see Hope alive. Everything about that situation was brutally devastating, and deep down, I’ve been determined to give him something he lost, even if it can’t be the same thing.
I follow his gaze movements, and can tell he’s tracking our son, and the moment he stands, I know this is it.
I’m about to meet our little boy.
“Here he is.” A nurse hands a bundle to Ringo, and his hands look gigantic as he takes it, little hands jerking around as our son cries.
But then… he stops, and as Ringo sits, lowering our son next to my head so I can see him, I take in his big eyes as he stares up at his daddy, like he’s committing his daddy’s face to his memory.
“Hey there, little man,” Ringo coos, his deep tone soft and soothing. “Welcome to the world.”
I’m crying. It’s impossible not to in this beautiful moment, knowing I’ve helped to stitch a part of my monster’s heart closed a little more.
“Abs…” Ringo’s glazed eyes dart to mine. “He’s just beautiful.”
“Like his dad,” I whisper, and his eyes soften as he shakes his head.
“Like his mum.”
“What’s his name?” one of the nurses asks, and I bite my lip as Ringo and I stare at each other.
He told me he wanted me to name our child. I’ve thrown name ideas at him over the past few months, but he just keeps telling me it’s my decision. So I chose another name that could be used for a boy or a girl.
“His name is Lex Cameron Musgrove.”
Ringo’s eyes widen. “Cameron is Bobbi’s middle name.”
“I know. I thought we could start a tradition of having all the middle names the same.”
He throws his head back, laughing, and shakes his head. “The next one has to have your name as the middle name. It’s only fair.”
I giggle. “What if it’s a boy? I don’t think he’ll like having Abbey as his middle name.”
“He won’t know any different.” Ringo chuckles, and we both stare down at our son.
“Lex,” he mutters, like he’s testing the name.
“She means a lot to both of us,” I whimper, my emotions getting the better of me. “She never gave up on me. She sent you to me. I think naming him after Lexi is perfect.”
“Yeah. It is.” Ringo smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to Lex’s forehead, and as the surgeons stitch my tummy back up, Ringo and I get to know our little boy.
By the time we get taken to the hospital room, I’m utterly exhausted, and we spend the next few hours catching up on rest and teaching Lex how to drink from me.
We have so many friends and family who have been eagerly awaiting the news, all of them camping out at our home, in true Southern Sadists style.
The pandemic that swept through the world has settled. There are no more lockdowns. No more requirements to wear face masks, but the world hasn’t been the same since.
Even now, hospitals are stricter on how many visitors can be in a room at once, so everyone will have to wait, except for the three very special visitors waiting out in the hall, eager to meet our son.
I’ve tried to make myself look as human as possible, but I feel pretty sluggish from the caesarean earlier today, but with Ringo’s help, we tamed my hair and dressed me in an oversized tee, and Ringo passed our son to me.
“You ready?” he asks, and I nod eagerly, staring down at Lex, wrapped in a bundle, sleeping soundly in my arms.
“I’m ready. Bring our little tornado in.”
Chuckling, Ringo opens the door, and the tornado I was referring to bursts in.
“Daddy! Where’s the baby?”
Dropping down to Bobbi’s height, Ringo scoops her up and points to the bed.
“Mummy has him.”
“Oh my God! Him! A boy?!” Tahli cries, bursting in after Bobbi, with Lexi on her heels, and suddenly, I’m engulfed.
Tahli bounces on one side of the bed, and Bobbi scrambles out of Ringo’s arms, cramming me in on the other, and they start doting over Lex immediately, while I watch my best friend’s eyes fill with tears.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” Lexi giggles, and I bob my head towards my son in my arms.
“Come and meet him,” I say. “His name is Lex.”
Her eyes flash up from the bundle to me, her mouth dropping open as she shakes her head.
“It is not.”
“It is.” I giggle. “Lex Cameron Musgrove.”
“Hey! Cameron is my name.” Bobbi whines, and Tahli giggles, reaching across me to ruffle Bobbi’s blonde curls.
“Cameron is also Daddy’s name, kiddo.”
Bobbi screws up her face. “No, it’s not. It’s Daddy.”
We all laugh at that, and Bobbi looks confused as hell, and as I lock eyes with my husband, who mouths, ‘I love you,’ I know that no matter what life throws at us, we will be alright, because we have each other.
Family is everything to me and my husband. We have some that are related to us by blood, and some that are connected to us through friends and community. The foundation is the same, sharing unconditional support and a sense of home.
I’ve found my home. My family. And I know my children and my found family will carry on this legacy Ringo and I have built, to continue to protect and fight for those who don’t have a voice, for those that need help and guidance, and for those that need their soft place to land too.
I was once weary of being associated with an MC, but now, I’m proud to be the wife of a Southern Sadist. I wear leather with my lace, ride on the back of my husband’s hog when I’m not in my mum van, and the only prayer I recite is the one the club brothers say with conviction and a fist thumped to their chest.
“May the road rise up to meet us.
May the wind be always at our backs.
May the sunshine be warm upon our faces.
May the rain clouds never be black.
We are the Southern Sadists MC.
Ride ‘em high.
Ride or die.”
THE END
Abbey & Ringo’s story might be over, but there’s more alpha male energy to come with the Marx family!! Grab your fix of alpha male energy with the first book in the Marx Empire series:
DIRTY, DEADLY & MINE