Epilogue
CATCHER
The morning sunlight spills through the kitchen window in soft gold bands, catching dust in the air and warming the old hardwood floors beneath my bare feet. The coffee pot gurgles behind me while bacon crackles in the skillet.
And somewhere down the hallway, Ruby mutters, “I swear to God if my feet swell one more size…”
A grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
Months ago, I didn’t smile much. Didn’t sleep worth a damn either.
Back then, mornings felt like something to get through.
Now, I wake up beside a woman who steals all the room in the bed and complains about pregnancy at six in the morning while wearing one of my old shirts stretched tight over her belly.
Life is strange as hell, but for once, it’s the kind of strange that feels less like punishment and more like mercy.
I lean against the kitchen counter and take a drink of coffee while listening to her shuffle down the hall.
The sounds are familiar now, comforting in a way I never saw coming—soft slippers scraping hardwood, sleepy grumblings under her breath, the little hitch in her breathing when the baby shifts and puts pressure somewhere uncomfortable.
Even now, the fact that Ruby is carrying my child hits me square in the chest every time, as if my heart still doesn’t know what to do with having something this good.
Ruby appears in the doorway, looking half awake and fully irritated with life.
My shirt hangs off one shoulder, her curls piled messily on top of her head, and her belly—fuck.
My eyes go there instantly, round and heavy beneath the cotton.
Living proof that somehow, I got lucky enough to be standing in the middle of a life I used to think belonged to other people.
Something fierce and almost painful moves through me.
Ruby notices me staring. “What?” she asks, suspicious like she already knows I’m about to say something she won’t let herself enjoy.
“You’re fuckin’ beautiful.”
She snorts. “I look like a swollen marshmallow.”
“You look pregnant.”
“I feel pregnant.” She waddles toward the kitchen with a scowl that would scare most men.
Doesn’t scare me, though. Mostly because I’ve seen her cry over pickles, threaten to stab Kiwi with a fork because he ate the last powdered donut, and still curl into me as though I’m the only place she can rest. I survive by staying adaptable.
Ruby braces both hands against the counter and sighs dramatically. “My back hurts.”
“Come here, I’ll rub it.”
“My boobs hurt.”
“Can’t help you there without getting yelled at.”
Her mouth twitches. “My ankles disappeared three days ago.”
I bite back another grin. “They did not disappear.”
“They absolutely did. I have cankles now, Garrett. Cankles.”
I lean in and kiss the side of her head. “You’re still beautiful.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re obligated to say that.”
“Good thing it’s true anyway.” Ruby tries not to smile but fails, and that tiny almost-smile hits me harder than it should.
I set my coffee down and move behind her just as she reaches for the orange juice.
The second I touch her, everything in me settles so fast it’s almost violent.
My hands slide around her belly, palms spreading over the hard curve while I press my chest against her back.
Ruby melts into me on instinct, and our child shifts beneath my hand.
She lets out a quiet little sound, and I feel it all the way through me—that tiny movement, small enough to miss, strong enough to rearrange whole parts of me anyway.
“There he or she goes again,” she murmurs.
I kiss the side of her neck slowly. Ruby relaxes into me fully, letting her head rest briefly against my shoulder while morning sunlight wraps around us. This right here is the shit I never thought I’d have again. It’s not perfect or easy, but real and warm against my chest.
I think about everything in our lives that has led to this moment, fucking thankful I have any of it to wake up to in the first place.
The people who came after Ruby are dead.
And between our people and Hades Outlaws, we made damn sure word spread through New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and every dirty corner in between that nobody touches our family and keeps breathing afterward.
Things slowly quieted after that, as if the world were testing whether we are finally allowed to breathe again.
I still don’t know if I trust that quiet because it can turn on you.
But I’ve learned how to stand in it anyway.
Ruby’s brother, Robby, went into treatment three months ago and, against every ugly expectation I had, he’s still sober.
Still attending meetings. Still holding down a construction job while slowly paying Ruby back every damn cent he stole from her, and every bit of debt he dumped in her lap.
Some days I think the bastard is trying harder than he knows how to live with himself, trying to build something out of all that ruin because the alternative is drowning in it.
Can’t say I blame him. I know too damn well what it looks like when a man is trying to survive himself.
Doesn’t mean I trust him. Probably never will.
Ruby shifts against me suddenly, then freezes. I feel it instantly—the tension, her body going stiff beneath my hands. “You okay?”
She blinks. “Uh…”
“What?” A strange expression crosses her face. Then she looks down, and so do I.
Water hits the kitchen floor. For exactly two seconds, neither of us moves. Then Ruby whispers, “Oh my God.”
Everything explodes after that. “You’re in labor?”
“I think so?”
“You think so?”
“I’ve never done this before, Garrett!”
Fair point.
I grab towels. Ruby starts laughing and crying at the same damn time, which somehow makes my panic worse.
“Okay,” I say quickly. “Hospital bag. We need the bag.”
Ruby points toward the hallway. “Closet!”
I move fast, boots forgotten completely as I sprint down the hall. Adrenaline punches through me so hard my chest hurts.
Fuck. I grab everything I can carry and nearly shoulder-check the bedroom door on my way back. Ruby is sitting at the kitchen table, breathing hard now as I tear through the kitchen, opening drawers, looking for phone chargers. “You okay?”
“Stop asking me that!”
“Right. Sorry.” Another contraction hits, and she glares at me.
“Holy shit,” she forces air past clenched teeth.
My stomach drops so hard it feels as if I missed a step off a roof. I’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten half to death, but none of that touches this. Nothing has ever terrified me more than watching her in pain and knowing I can’t take one second of it onto myself.
I crouch in front of her immediately. “Hey, look at me.” Ruby does. Her eyes are already glassy, bright with hurt and trust, and that combination damn near undoes me on the spot. “You’re okay,” I tell her firmly, even while my own pulse pounds.
“Garrett, calm down.” Ruby rubs her belly, laughing weakly. “You sound panicked.”
“I ain’t panicked.”
“Baby, you grabbed frozen waffles.”
I look down. Fuck. Still holding the damn waffles.
Ruby smiles through the pain, and somehow that steadies me more than anything else could. Then she starts laughing harder and immediately groans because laughing hurts.
I toss the waffles onto the counter. “Don’t judge me right now.”
“Too late,” she pants. “You’re gonna be a terrible labor coach.”
“Probably.” Another contraction hits, and she squeezes my hand hard enough to damn near break bones.
Twenty minutes later, I’m speeding through New Orleans traffic in the car while Ruby breathes through contractions beside me. Rain threatens to let loose overhead, as dark gray clouds roll low across the city skyline.
Ruby has one hand gripping the oh-shit handle above the window and the other holding her phone to her ear. “Promise, my water broke,” she mutters between breaths. “Gotta go.” She moans as another contraction hits. “Promise said she’ll let the others know.”
Good. She probably already has half the damn club mobilized by now. Saves me the hassle.
By the time we pull into the hospital parking garage, my phone is blowing up nonstop—Riggs, Nova, Wick, my mother somehow. Jesus Christ.
Ruby notices and snorts softly. “Told you.” I kill the engine and rush around to her side immediately. “I can walk,” she says.
“Not a chance.”
“Garrett—”
Too late. I already have her in my arms.
She wraps both arms around my neck with an annoyed sound while I carry her through the ER doors. “You’re being dramatic.”
“You’re having my kid.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to carry me everywhere.”
I look down at her. “Kinda feels like it does.”
Ruby rolls her eyes, but her hand slides up into the hair at the back of my neck and stays there. The nurse behind the desk takes one look at Ruby and immediately starts moving. And just like that, everything changes.
Hours blur together after that—monitors, nurses, doctors, Ruby crushing my hand every time a contraction hits. At one point, she threatens to murder me. At another, she cries because the ice chips taste bad. I love her so damn much it physically hurts.
The Kings and the rest of the family take over half the waiting room before midnight. Her mom is crying. Her dad pretends he isn’t emotional while gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise it. My parents and Dean stay on FaceTime almost the entire damn night.
Then, finally, everything narrows down to one moment.
One cry. My knees almost buckle. The room goes quiet for one suspended heartbeat before our child screams again, and suddenly, I can breathe.
It feels like surfacing after being held underwater too long, as though every part of me that had been braced for disaster has to relearn what relief even is.