Chapter 9
NINE
CHLOE
Life is slowly starting to settle into a new normal for me. Getting pregnant was not on my bingo card for this year, but I’m figuring it out day by day. Hawk has become the big brother I never had—always there when I need him, stepping in to help with everything.
When Sophie calls to say she can’t make it to my doctor’s appointment, I sigh, staring at the calendar. Another one alone. Before I can even ask, Hawk tosses his keys in the air and catches them. “I’ll take you. No big deal,” he says, already heading for the door.
Since then, he’s shown up to almost every appointment, sitting next to me in the waiting room like it’s his own routine. He flips through those old, beat-up magazines—usually something random like Better Homes & Gardens —before leaning over to ask the doctor questions like, “Is that normal?” or “How long does that usually take?”
The looks he gets from the other patients are priceless. This rough, tattooed biker, acting like a concerned dad, makes people do a double-take every time. Honestly, it’s the highlight of my day.
Then there’s my doctor—she’s been delivering babies longer than I’ve been alive, which is oddly reassuring. She’s seen it all, but I think Hawk might be a first for her. I catch her hiding a smile every time he asks a question, and I’m pretty sure she gets a kick out of him.
Today, though, he looks more excited than usual. As the ultrasound technician moves the wand over my belly, Hawk leans closer. “What are we looking at?” he asks, squinting at the screen.
The technician grins. “Would you like to know the baby’s sex?”
“Hell yeah, we do,” Hawk says, then glances at me. “Right?”
I nod, my breath caught somewhere between nervous and thrilled.
“It’s a boy!” she announces, her voice lighting up the room.
“A boy!” Hawk laughs, throwing his arms up like he’s just scored a touchdown. “You’re gonna have a little dude, Momma Bear!”
I can’t stop smiling. “A boy,” I whisper, the reality sinking in.
On the drive home, Hawk can’t resist. “So, Momma Bear,” he teases, tapping the steering wheel, “have you picked out any names yet? Something strong, like Titan or Diesel. Ooh, how about Hawk Jr.?”
I roll my eyes, laughing. “Definitely not Hawk Jr.”
“What? Hawk Jr. sounds badass!”
“It sounds ridiculous,” I shoot back, grinning.
He chuckles, glancing over at me. “You’re glowing, you know that? Like, nuclear-level glowing.”
“Shut up,” I say, swatting at his arm, but my smile betrays me.
He grins, his eyes on the road. “You’re gonna be a great mom, Momma Bear. You got this.”
And just like that, I feel it—the steadiness he always brings, grounding me in this wild, beautiful moment.
We pull into the parking lot in front of Perdition, laughing about the ridiculous name he suggested. I push open the door to the clubhouse, still caught up in the moment.
That’s when I see him.
Dagger.
He’s sitting at the bar, nursing a drink like he belongs there. His dark eyes lock onto mine the second I walk in, and the world tilts. My smile freezes, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Dagger stands abruptly, his barstool clattering to the ground behind him. His eyes flick to Hawk, then to me and my hand resting protectively over my stomach. His expression hardens like stone.
“Dagger,” I whisper, but it’s too late. He looks like he’s about to rip Hawk apart, his fists clenching at his sides.
Hawk notices the shift and steps forward palms raised in front of his chest, his usual easy-going demeanor replaced with something more serious. “Calm down, brother,” Hawk says, his voice low and even. “Ain’t what you think.”
Dagger doesn’t answer, but the tension in the room spikes.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Mason’s voice booms as he steps out from the back. His eyes sweep the room, landing on Dagger. His face tightens for a second before he barks, “Dagger. In my office. Now!”
Dagger doesn’t move at first, his jaw ticking, but then he turns, his eyes meeting Mason’s. Without another word, he stalks off toward the office, his shoulders stiff.
The sound of the door slamming echoes through the clubhouse, and the room falls into silence.
I exhale shakily, finally finding my voice. “He’s back,” I mutter, my eyes still glued to the office door.
Hawk puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, he is. You okay?”
I nod slowly, but my mind is spinning. Dagger’s back. After all this time, he’s here. And I have no idea what happens next.
Why did Dagger look so damn upset? The way his eyes burned into Hawk and his fists clenched at his sides—he looked like he was about to destroy this place and everyone in it, including me.
Maybe he thinks Hawk and I are a thing. We did just walk in together, laughing and talking. I glance down at my bump, my hands instinctively resting over it. Or maybe he saw that.
This tight shirt doesn’t hide much, and at this point, it’s impossible to miss. I’m definitely pregnant, and it wouldn’t take much for him to put the pieces together.
But the big question is why. Why does he even care?
He’s the one who left. He’s the one who walked out after that night, the one who hasn’t reached out in over four months. Four long months of silence while I’ve been trying to figure out my life, trying to prepare for something I didn’t see coming.
If he cared so much, why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he text, or check in, or even let me know he was okay?
The hurt I thought I’d buried comes rushing back, sharp and unforgiving. I’ve spent all this time wondering what I did wrong, why he left without a word. And now he’s here, looking at me like I’m the one who owes him an explanation.
My chest tightens, and I try to shove the emotions back down where they belong. Dagger might be back, but that doesn’t mean anything. Not yet.
I press my lips together, stealing a glance at Hawk. He’s standing tall, his jaw set like he’s ready to take on whatever Dagger throws his way. He doesn’t deserve Dagger’s anger, not after everything he’s done to help me.
And me? I don’t deserve to feel like this—like I’m still waiting for a man who left me behind.
I cross my arms over my bump, my mind racing. If Dagger has something to say, he better be ready to explain himself first.
I tie the apron around my belly, the fabric snug against my growing bump, and start setting up behind the bar. The clink of bottles and the hum of the crowd are usually grounding, but not tonight. Not with Dagger in the other room.
My hands tighten around a bottle of whiskey as the thought crosses my mind—I could march down there, confront him, and let him know exactly how I feel. My blood heats at the idea. He deserves it.
Instead, I take a deep breath, shake it off, and focus on the line of customers filtering in. A guy at the bar taps his fingers impatiently.
“What can I get you?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Whiskey sour,” he says, sliding a crumpled bill across the counter.
I nod, reaching for the shaker. My hands move on autopilot—pour, mix, strain—while my mind keeps drifting. Dagger’s voice filters in from the other room, low and sharp, and my grip on the glass tightens.
“Hey, you okay?” the guy asks as I slide his drink over.
“Fine,” I say quickly, offering another forced smile.
But I’m not fine. Every time I hear Dagger’s voice, I feel the tension rising. My fingers itch to slam down the cocktail shaker and storm in there. Instead, I plaster on a calm face, wipe down the counter, and move on to the next customer.
Drink after drink, I remind myself to stay put. Stay professional. The bar doesn’t run itself, and no matter how much I want to, now is not the time to pick a fight.
I don’t see Dagger for the rest of the night. Not in the crowd, not lurking in the corner. It’s like he disappeared, and honestly, I’m not sure if I should be relieved or worried. Did he leave? Did someone say something? I don’t know, but at least nothing exploded tonight. Small wins, I guess.
By the time the bar clears out, my feet feel like cinder blocks, and my back’s screaming for mercy. I lean against the counter, staring at the mess I’ll deal with tomorrow. Right now, I’m too wrecked to care.
As I lock the front door, Hawk steps up out of nowhere, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “Damn, you look wiped,” he says, falling into step beside me as I head toward my car.
“Feel like it too,” I mutter, digging for my keys. They’re somewhere in the bottomless pit of my bag.
Hawk watches me fumble, then grabs my arm lightly to stop me. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now. His eyes flick to mine, and for a second, I feel pinned in place. “You okay? You’ve been... I don’t know, quieter than usual.”
I shrug, letting out a tired laugh that sounds fake even to me. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Fine, huh? You’ve got ‘running on fumes’ written all over you.”
I sigh and finally pull out my keys, holding them up like a trophy. “Okay, not fine. But I’ll survive. Me and Turbo”—I rest a hand on my belly—“are going home, eating something unhealthy, and sleeping for, like, three days. That’s the dream.”
Hawk’s mouth quirks into a grin. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Just don’t fall asleep at the wheel, alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” I promise, opening the car door and tossing my bag onto the passenger seat.
He steps back but doesn’t leave right away. “Text me when you’re home, okay? Just so I know you didn’t pass out halfway there.”
I smirk at him, more amused than annoyed. “Alright, Dad. Thanks for looking out.”
“Anytime,” he says, giving me a lazy two-finger salute. “Now go home and crash, Momma Bear.”
As I drive off, his figure disappears in the rearview mirror, but his words stick with me, pulling me back down to earth even as exhaustion tries to take over.
I pull into the driveway and park next to Sophie’s SUV, cutting the engine with a sigh. For a moment, I just sit there, my hands still gripping the steering wheel as I stare at the house. The faint glow from the backyard lights spills over the fence, and I can hear muffled voices through the crisp night air.
Grabbing my bag, I climb out of the car, the chill biting at my skin. Instead of heading inside, I take the familiar path around the house to the backyard. Laughter carries through the night, warm and easy, and when I turn the corner, I see Sophie and Tank sitting together on the patio.
Tank says something that makes Sophie throw her head back, laughing like she doesn’t have a single care in the world. He’s smiling at her like she hung the moon, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair. I pause, my feet rooted to the ground as I watch them.
A pang hits me—sharp and sudden. It’s not that I’m jealous of Sophie, not exactly. It’s more that I want that —someone to look at me like that, someone who’s mine. Not just anyone, but my someone.
I shake it off and keep walking, slipping past them as quietly as I can. They don’t notice me, too wrapped up in each other, and that’s fine by me. I make my way to the shed at the edge of the yard—my she-shed. It’s small and cramped, but for now, it’s my space.
I push the door open and step inside, flipping on the string lights that hang overhead. They cast a warm glow over the tiny loveseat, the cluttered desk, and the crib crammed into the corner. I drop my bag on the loveseat and sink down beside it, letting out a long breath.
The crib catches my eye, and my chest tightens. It’s barely squeezed into the space, and I know I can’t stay here much longer. It’s one thing when it’s just me, but me and a baby? There’s no way.
Tank’s been amazing, refusing to take any rent, which has let me save up enough for a deposit on a rental house or maybe an apartment. I should feel excited about starting fresh, but instead, I just feel... torn. Leaving Sophie and Tank feels like losing the only family I’ve got.
The buzz of my phone pulls me from my thoughts. I pull it out of my pocket and see Hawk’s name on the screen.
Hawk: Did you make it home, Momma Bear?
I stare at the message for a second before laughing softly. Whoops, I forgot to text him, like I promised.
“Oops,” I mutter, typing back a quick reply.
Me: Yeah, I’m home. Thanks for checking, Dad.
The response comes almost instantly.
Hawk: Just looking out for you, kid. Go to bed.
I smile, shaking my head as I set the phone down. Despite everything, the text leaves a warmth lingering in my chest. I stretch out on the loveseat, letting the quiet settle over me, and for the first time all day, I feel the smallest flicker of peace.
I push myself up from the bed, the weight of the day pressing down on me, and head to the shower. The hot water streams over me, washing away the tension clinging to my skin. I close my eyes, letting the heat soak into my muscles, but my mind refuses to stay quiet. It drifts back to the clubhouse, to the moment I saw Dagger again.
He looked the same, but different somehow. The sharp lines of his face were still there—the strong jaw, the intense eyes that always seemed to see right through me—but there was something new. A heaviness in the way he carried himself, a quiet edge that hadn’t been there before. Like life had carved more into him in the months he’d been gone.
My stomach twists as I think about the way he looked at me, his eyes flicking from Hawk to my bump. Did he think Hawk and I were together now? Did he think this baby was his?
I lean my forehead against the cool tile, the questions swirling in my head like a storm I can’t outrun. Why did he leave without a word? Why didn’t he come back sooner? What was he feeling when he saw me standing there?
And then the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t gone to the wedding? What if that night had never happened? Would I still be in this mess of emotions, wondering where I stood with him?
I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling stubbornly. By the time I step out of the shower, the bathroom is thick with steam, the mirror completely fogged over. I stare at the blurred outline of my reflection for a moment, as if it might hold some of the answers I can’t seem to find.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I dry off and pull on my softest pajamas, the ones that make everything feel a little less overwhelming. They don’t solve anything, but they make me feel like I can breathe, even if it’s just for a moment.
Climbing into bed, I grab my phone, my fingers hesitating over the screen. I don’t even know what I’m looking for—some distraction, maybe, or a way to quiet my mind. But the memory of Dagger is still there, lingering, refusing to be ignored.
I stare at the ceiling, pulling the covers up to my chin as my thoughts spiral. So many questions, so many what-ifs, and not a single answer.
The quiet wraps around me, but it doesn’t bring peace tonight. It just leaves me with the ache of wondering what happens next—and whether Dagger is part of it.
I rub my belly, trying to soothe both of us into sleep. “It’s okay, little man,” I whisper softly. “We’ve got this. I’ve got you.”
I remind myself what really matters: this baby. My little boy. He’s going to be here before I know it, and I need to get my shit together.
The thought of Dagger flashes in my mind, uninvited but unavoidable. I need to talk to him. He deserves to know the truth—that this baby is his. As much as it scares me, I can’t keep putting it off.
Mentally, I start making a list of everything I need to do. First, I need to find a new place to live. The she-shed isn’t going to cut it with a newborn. Then there’s telling Dagger, and figuring out what that conversation is even going to look like.
And the baby stuff—God, there’s so much to buy. A car seat, clothes, diapers, a crib, bottles. My head spins just thinking about it all.
I take a deep breath, my hand still resting over my bump. “One step at a time,” I murmur, trying to calm the panic rising in my chest.
For now, all I can do is hold onto the one thing I know for sure: this little boy is my everything. And no matter what happens, I’ll figure it out for him.
But even as I say it, doubts creep in. My mind spins with everything I need to do, everything I still don’t have. A car seat, clothes, diapers, bottles, a crib. The list feels endless, and with every passing day, the clock ticks louder.
And then there’s Dagger. He doesn’t know, and that weight sits heavy on my chest. He deserves to know, doesn’t he? I can’t keep pretending this isn’t his baby. But the thought of that conversation—the look on his face, the things he might say—it terrifies me.
I close my eyes, my hand still resting on my bump. “I’m not going to be like my mom,” I whisper to myself, my voice firmer this time. “I can’t be.”
I think of her, the way she gave up so easily, the way she always let life happen to her instead of fighting for anything. I can’t let that be me. I can’t let that be my son’s story.
Whatever it takes, I’ll figure this out. I’ll get a new place, tell Dagger the truth, and make sure my boy has everything he needs. He deserves that. He deserves better.
And I’m going to make sure he gets it, no matter what it costs me.
At the end of the day, he’s the only thing that matters in this world. My little boy. Everything else—Dagger, the fear, the uncertainty—fades when I think about him.
I rub my belly again, my fingers tracing slow, soothing circles. “I love you so damn much,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “And I haven’t even held you yet.”
The thought of him, tiny and fragile in my arms, fills my chest with an ache I can’t explain. It’s overwhelming and terrifying, but it’s the purest thing I’ve ever felt.
I wipe at the corner of my eye, a tear slipping free, and let out a shaky breath. No matter how hard things get, no matter how many questions I don’t have answers to, I know one thing for sure.
I love this baby with everything I am. And I’ll do whatever it takes to give him the life he deserves.