Chapter 24
FARRIS
T he second Calypso’s eyes roll back, my entire world stops. The machines start screaming, nurses shove me aside, and Doctors rush in, cutting away at her clothes, their hands moving fast, too fast, like they already know she’s slipping.
I can’t fucking move.
I can’t fucking breathe.
“She’s coding, get the crash cart NOW!”
No. No, no, no.
Capone’s strong hand grips my shoulder, dragging me back, but I can barely feel it. “Law Dog, let them work.”
The roaring in my ears drowns out everything. My blood turns to ice, and my stomach drops. This isn’t happening. She was just talking to me. She was just in my arms. She can’t fucking leave.
I shake Capone off so hard he stumbles back. “She’s not fucking dying.”
Torch and Blayze step in front of me, blocking me when I try to lunge toward her.
“You can’t help her right now, brother.” Torch’s voice is steady but firm, but I don’t give a shit.
I fight against their hold, my heart hammering like it’s trying to break free of my chest. “I don’t fucking care. I need to get to her.” My voice cracks, raw and broken. “She can’t leave me. Not her. Not after everything.”
I’ve lost people before. Too many people. I know what death looks like, and I won’t survive this if she goes.
A loud, piercing cry cuts through the chaos, and my breath locks in my throat. Our baby.
I snap my head up as the doctor lifts a tiny, wriggling body, a perfect mix of blood and life and fucking miracles. A cry so small, yet so goddamn strong, echoes through the room. The sound of my baby’s first cry shatters something inside me.
One of the nurses turns to me, her voice barely above a whisper over the chaos. “It’s a girl,” she says softly. “A strong, healthy little girl.”
A daughter. My daughter.
The weight of it slams into my chest like a goddamn freight train. I should be able to fucking breathe now. I should be feeling something other than this wrecking ball of terror still crushing me, but I can’t because Calypso still isn’t moving.
The doctors are still working on her. Her skin is too pale. The heart monitor isn’t beeping fast enough.
My baby is alive, but where the fuck is her mother? “Calypso?” My voice is barely a whisper now, but she doesn’t answer.
A nurse places my daughter in my arms, and the second I feel her tiny weight, something inside me cracks wide open. She’s so fucking small, so warm and fragile but strong. She doesn’t even know the hell she was just born into.
I hold her against me, breathing her in, her heartbeat pounding steady against my chest. She’s here, but I need Calypso. I need her to fucking wake up.
I turn back toward her still body, my breath a shattered, uneven wreck in my chest.
“Lyp,” I rasp, moving toward her, pressing my daughter against my chest with one hand while I grip Calypso’s cold fingers in the other.
She’s too fucking cold. Her lips are parted, her chest barely moving. My throat burns, I can’t lose her. Not her. Not now. Not ever.
I drop my forehead against hers, my tears falling into her dark hair. “Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Come back to me.”
Seconds stretch into an eternity. Then, A twitch. A small, weak flutter of her fingers against mine.
A choked sound rips from my throat, and I clutch her hand harder. “Calypso?”
Her eyelashes flicker, then those fierce, green eyes slowly, weakly, open.
I let out a breath so jagged it nearly breaks me. She’s alive.
Calypso blinks sluggishly, a tear slipping down her cheek. Her lips part, and her voice is barely more than a whisper. “She made it?”
I choke on the knot in my throat. I press my forehead against hers, my voice breaking. “She’s perfect, baby.”
Her exhausted, weak smile tugs at something deep inside me. “She’s gonna be a little hellraiser.”
I laugh, my voice breaking. “Damn right she is.”
I press our daughter gently into her mother’s arms, watching as the strongest woman I’ve ever known holds the most precious thing in my world.
The rest of our clubs wait outside, their voices muffled, their boots pacing, but at this moment, nothing else exists but us. My woman. My daughter. My entire goddamn life and if anyone ever tries to take this from me, I’ll burn the world down before I let them.
The room is finally quiet. The chaos, the screaming machines, the rush of doctors and nurses, it’s all fading into nothing. Now, there’s only soft breaths, warmth, and the steady hum of life where death nearly took hold.
Calypso is tucked against my side, her head resting against my chest. She’s exhausted, barely holding herself upright, but she won’t let go of our daughter, not for anything.
Her fingers slowly trace delicate patterns along the baby’s tiny back, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. Like she’s still trying to convince herself this is real. That we made it. That our baby is here.
“She’s so small,” Calypso whispers, her voice hoarse from everything her body has just endured. “I thought she’d be bigger. She feels so fragile.”
I press a kiss into her hair, my own breath unsteady. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
A soft huff of laughter escapes Calypso, but her eyes stay locked on the baby. “Yeah,” she sighs. “She has to be, with parents like us.”
I reach out, carefully running the back of my knuckles along our daughter’s tiny cheek. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm, and new, untouched by the ugliness of the world. She doesn’t know anything but this moment.
Her mother’s heartbeat, my voice, the safety of our arms wrapped around her.
Calypso shifts slightly, tilting the baby’s face toward me. “She has your eyes.”
I look closer and realize she’s right. The baby blinks up at me, barely able to keep her gaze steady, but her eyes are the same piercing blue as mine.
Fuck. I thought I was ready for this. I thought I had my emotions locked down, but seeing my eyes staring back at me from the face of my daughter?
I come undone.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper, my throat tight. “Just like her mother.”
Calypso leans into me, but I feel the tremble in her body, the leftover exhaustion pulling at her. She’s too weak to fight it, but she’s still fighting anyway, just to stay awake.
I shift slightly, carefully wrapping my arms around both of them, holding them against me like the precious, irreplaceable pieces of my soul that they are.
“You can rest now, baby,” I breathe, my lips brushing against her forehead. “I got you.”
Calypso breathes out a shaky sigh, her grip on the baby tightening slightly. “I don’t want to sleep. I want to remember this.”
I press another kiss into her hair, smoothing back the damp strands, letting my fingers trail down her arm, grounding her in the same way she’s grounding me.
“You will,” I promise. “Every single second of it.”
Calypso’s eyelids flutter, heavy and struggling, but she doesn’t fight it anymore. She trusts me, trusts that I’ll be here when she wakes up.
I watch as her breathing evens out, the fight finally giving way to peace. Then I look back down at our daughter, still cradled in her arms, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling against Calypso’s chest.
I reach out and carefully slide my finger into her palm. She grips it instantly. Strong, unshakable. My heart lurches violently in my chest.
This little girl, this tiny, fragile, impossibly strong little girl, owns me, and she doesn’t even know it yet, but she just became the most powerful force in my world. I smile, blinking hard, trying to burn this moment into my soul.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice shaking more than I’d like. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She lets out a soft, contented sigh and snuggles deeper into her mother’s warmth, and just like that, I know.
I’ve fought a lot of battles. I’ve won wars, but this is the only fight I’ll never walk away from because they are mine, and I will kill, burn, and bleed to keep them safe.