CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KADE
“I specifically said do not give birth while I’m gone,” Martha declares as she breezes into the room, dropping her bag and kissing Eden gently on the cheek.
Eden lets out a weak, exhausted laugh. “It wasn’t the plan.”
Nothing about the last twelve hours was.
The ambulance had finally arrived just after two in the morning.
The cord had already been cut by my shaking hands, following instructions barked through a phone while rain hammered the roof.
The local midwife came shortly after, calm and unflappable, checking Eden over, checking the baby and showing her how to latch, like we hadn’t just dragged a woman in labour through a storm on a motorbike.
“Oh my,” Martha whispers now, peering down at the bundle in Eden’s arms. Her voice softens instantly. “Girl or boy?”
“Girl,” Eden says quietly, her voice thick with exhaustion and awe.
Martha’s eyes flick to me, and she grins. “Oh boy. You’re gonna have your work cut out.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, though my throat tightens around the words.
“She’s beautiful,” Martha adds, her voice reverent.
“She is,” I agree, because nothing has ever felt more true.
Eden shifts slightly and looks up at her sister. “Do you want to hold her?”
I stiffen before I can stop myself.
Every instinct in me screams no—too soon, too fragile, too much. Eden notices immediately. She smiles at me, tired but knowing.
“Relax,” she murmurs. “She knows how to hold a baby.”
I nod, even though my heart is slamming violently against my ribs, my hands itching to hover, to catch, to protect.
Martha takes my daughter carefully, like she’s holding something sacred. And watching someone else cradle her—our baby—brings out a whole new feeling inside of me.
Eden reaches for my hand, and I give it to her instantly.
“We have to share her,” she says softly, like she can sense the way my chest is tightening. Like she knows I’m already struggling with the idea of letting anyone else hold what we made.
I bend down and press a kiss to her forehead, breathing her in. “Did I tell you how amazing you are?”
She smiles sleepily, her eyes heavy. “Only about five hundred times.”
A shaky laugh leaves me as I brush her hair back from her face, my gaze roaming over her like I need to memorise every inch. “Only five hundred? Fuck, I better up my game.”
But the truth is, I don’t have words big enough for what she just did.
Watching her bring our daughter into the world—through pain, fear, exhaustion—without breaking, it wrecked me.
She didn’t just survive it, she owned it.
Commanded the room. Took control of something that we were both terrified of.
And the respect I already had for her? It multiplied into something fierce and unshakeable.
She’s a force, my Queen.
And now, she’s the mother of my child.
“We still need to talk,” she says gently.
My stomach drops.
I’d forgotten. Forgotten that she came looking for me for a reason. Forgotten that this moment, this bubble of warmth and love, might not be permanent.
“Right,” I say quietly, every muscle in my body tensing.
Because I can survive a lot of things. Violence. Loss. Pain. But if she tells me that this—us—is a mistake . . . if she tells me the weekend, the closeness, the hope, was just a moment and not a beginning . . .
I don’t know how I can come back from that.
I lean in and kiss her lips this time, slow and lingering, my eyes squeezing shut like I can will a different outcome into existence. Like if I hold on long enough, I won’t lose another piece of my life.
“Okay,” I murmur against her mouth. “I’m here whenever you’re ready.” I pull back just enough to look at her. “But right now, you need rest.”
I glance over at Martha, still staring down at our baby girl like she’s something holy, something precious beyond words. The tension in my chest eases a fraction.
“I think Martha and I have this,” I add softly.
Eden doesn’t argue. Her eyes are already fluttering closed as exhaustion finally claims her. I kiss her forehead one more time, then carefully step away.
We slip out of the room quietly, closing the door behind us.
And as I stand there, listening to my daughter breathe and knowing Eden is finally resting, I make a silent vow.
Whatever she needs to say next . . .
Whatever comes after this . . .
I’ll deal with it.
“She’s so tiny,” Martha whispers as she hands my baby girl back to me.
I exhale slowly, carefully moving the blanket she’s swaddled in away from her delicate face. She looks so peaceful.
“So, you and Edes,” Martha continues, taking a seat on the couch.
I lower into the armchair opposite. “If you want a love story, you won’t find it here. I think Eden is gonna end it.” I sigh. “Not that it ever started. Not really.”
Martha frowns. “You spent the weekend together?” I nod. “And now, you think she’s gonna walk away?” I nod again. “Why?”
“Because she was heading here to tell me something important when she went into labour. And honestly, when I think about it, I want to be mad. She could’ve given birth on the side of that dirt track with no one around, in a fucking storm.
” I shake my head. “What could’ve been so important that she risked walking here? ”
Martha’s silent for a long minute, then she says, “Maybe she just wanted you to know how much she loves you.”
EDEN
I wake with a start.
Soft cries pull at my heart before my eyes even open. I push myself upright, wincing as my body protests, every muscle heavy, aching, spent.
Kade appears in the doorway, our squawking bundle cradled carefully against his chest. The sight of them together makes my throat tighten.
“I tried to wait as long as I could,” he says apologetically as he crosses the room. “But she’s getting pretty impatient now.”
I smile as he hands her over, instinctively settling her against me. I lift my top and position her just like the midwife showed me, murmuring softly until she latches on.
Kade leans in, watching with intense focus.
“Can she breathe?” he asks, his brow creased with concern.
I smile despite myself. “Yes, Kade, she can breathe.”
He nods, shoulders easing as relief washes over him, and something warm blooms in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving these moments when his protectiveness slips out without him even realising. He’s going to be an incredible dad. I know it in my bones.
We sit quietly for a few minutes, the only sound of our daughter’s soft, eager gulps.
Then, Kade straightens slightly.
“I just wanted to say . . . I’m so proud of you,” he says quietly.
“I always knew you’d be an amazing mother, but last night .
. . fuck, Eden. The way you handled all of that.
No drugs. No real help. I honestly thought you were going to explode at one point.
” A small, awed laugh escapes him. “You bossed it, Queenie.”
I shake my head, tracing a finger gently over our daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t do it on my own.”
He looks at me, surprised.
“You kept me calm,” I continue. “You kept me focused. You were amazing, Kade. My rock.”
His eyes search my face now, guarded, like he’s bracing himself for what I’ll say next. Like he’s already convinced it might break him.
“In fact,” I say softly, meeting his gaze, “you’ve been pretty perfect these last few months.”
His breath hitches.
“When you first showed up here, I wasn’t happy,” I admit.
“I didn’t expect you to have changed. Or to care about what I wanted.
I thought you’d make demands. Maybe even try to take her from me.
” His brow furrows deeper. “And I never thought I’d forgive you.
I assumed you’d say your piece then go back to the club.
” I take a steadying breath. “But I was wrong.”
He doesn’t speak, his eyes fixed on me.
“You stayed,” I continue. “You proved you could. You gave me time. Space. You were patient. Careful. It’s like you finally saw what I needed all along.” My voice wobbles slightly. “And the group sessions . . . the effort you made just to understand me, it meant everything.”
“I had a lot of growing up to do,” he mutters. “I didn’t see it until I came here.”
I reach for his hand, and he gives it to me without hesitation.
“But I don’t want you to give up your life,” I say gently.
He shakes his head immediately. “Eden—”
“Just listen,” I cut in softly. “Because one day, you’ll be in the garden playing with her,” I nod to our daughter, “and you’ll think about summers with the club—kids running wild, grills smoking, bikes revving in the background.
You’ll see a biker pass and imagine how much she’d love having fifty uncles watching out for her. ”
His grip tightens, tears gathering in his eyes.
“Without you, none of that matters,” he says thickly. “Those memories, they all have you in them. I wanna look across the yard while I’m grilling and see you laughing with the old ladies. I wanna sit our baby girl on my bike and have you take the photo so she remembers it.”
I lift my hand to his face, my thumb gently brushing away the tear that slips free.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Kade,” I whisper. “I want to be there with you. I want our daughter to have that freedom, that life.” I meet his gaze fully. “I want us to go home.”
He inhales sharply, shock flashing across his face.
“This life here is lovely,” I continue. “Perfect, even. And if I wanted to run a farm, own sheep and chickens, I’d sign up permanently.” I smile faintly. “But I never really liked the smell of farm animals. And I hate gossip that travels faster than breakfast.”
His lips twitch.
“I want bike oil and whiskey,” I finish softly. “I want us to try again.”
His chest heaves with heavy emotion as he nods, words failing him.
“But this time, we do things right,” I say firmly. “We’re completely honest about it all. The club, the shit you do. The things I need to look out for to keep our daughter safe.”
He nods again. “Of course.”
“I mean it, Kade. I can’t keep us safe if I don’t know the dangers to look out for.”
He leans closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “You get to know it all, I swear. I know you’re stronger than I give you credit for. I’ll tell you everything.”