Chapter 7 #3
When he’s finished, he stretches out beside me, pulling me against his chest. I go willingly, settling into the curve of his body like I was made to fit there. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, gradually slowing to its normal rhythm.
His fingers trace idle patterns on my back, the touch soothing rather than arousing now. “You okay?” he asks, voice rough with lingering pleasure and something deeper.
I nod against his chest, too content to form words immediately. The weight of his arm around me feels like safety, like belonging.
“More than okay,” I finally manage, tilting my head to look up at him. The vulnerability in his eyes tells me this moment matters to him as much as it does to me. “That was… I don’t even have words.”
A smile tugs at his lips, softening the hard lines of his face. “The doctor, speechless? Must have done something right.”
I laugh softly, the sound surprising me. After everything—the hospital shooting, the threats, the lockdown—I hadn’t expected to find joy so quickly. Yet here it is, warm and real in Zach’s arms.
“You did everything right,” I assure him, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. The steady thump beneath my lips feels like a promise.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. One hand slides into my hair, fingers gently massaging my scalp in a way that makes me practically purr with contentment.
“Been wanting to do that for years,” he admits, voice low and intimate in the quiet room. “Touch you like this. Hold you after.”
The confession sends warmth spreading through my chest. I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him properly, needing to see his face. “How many years, exactly?”
His expression turns thoughtful, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “Years.”
The admission steals my breath. “I had no idea.”
“That was the first time I really knew I was in trouble,” he says, gaze returning to mine.
The possessive statement sends a pleasant warmth spreading through my chest. I lay my head back down, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
“I’ve been thinking about my future,” I say quietly, the words slipping out easier than I expected. “What I really want long-term.”
His hand continues its gentle movement along my spine. “Yeah? And what’s that look like?”
I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous to voice the dreams I’ve kept mostly to myself. “I want to open my own practice someday. Something small but meaningful. Focus on underserved communities, maybe partner with a few other doctors who share the same vision.”
“You’d be amazing at that,” he says without hesitation, his certainty warming me. “You’ve always cared more about the patients than the prestige.”
“And I want a family,” I continue, the words tumbling out now. “Kids. I want to be a father someday.”
His body goes still beneath mine, and for a terrifying moment, I wonder if I’ve said too much too soon. Then his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer.
“How many?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.
I lift my head to look at him, searching his face. “Two, maybe three. I always wished for siblings growing up, before Samantha came along. You?”
Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes. “I never thought about it much before. Never thought I’d have the chance, with the life I lead.” He pauses, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “But, yeah. I’d like that. Being a dad.”
The image forms unbidden in my mind: Zach with a child in his arms, those strong hands that can deal such violence being infinitely gentle with something small and precious. It fits, somehow. The fierce protectiveness he shows toward his club family would translate perfectly to children of his own.
“You’d be a good father,” I tell him, meaning it completely.
He looks surprised, like the thought had never occurred to him. “You think?”
“I know it,” I say firmly. “You protect what’s yours. You’re loyal. Patient when it matters.” I press a kiss to his chest. “And you’ve got so much love to give, even if you try to hide it behind that scary enforcer facade.”
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath my ear. “Not scary enough to keep you away, apparently.”
“I see through you,” I tease, but there’s some truth beneath the lightness.
His expression turns serious, fingers threading through my hair. “Yeah, you do. Always have.”
We fall silent, the weight of possibility settling between us. It’s too soon for concrete plans, for promises we might not be able to keep. But the shared vision of a future, one with a home, a practice, and children, feels right in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Would they call you Doctor Dad?” Zach asks suddenly, amusement coloring his tone.
I laugh, the tension breaking. “God, I hope not. That sounds terrible.”
“Doctor Daddy?” he suggests, eyebrows waggling ridiculously.
I swat his chest, grinning despite myself. “Even worse.”
His smile fades gradually, replaced by something more serious. “Your own practice would mean leaving the hospital?”
“Eventually,” I nod. “Not right away. I’d need to build up savings, find the right location, navigate the bureaucratic nightmare of insurance networks.” I sigh, the practical realities tempering my dream slightly.
We lie together in comfortable silence, the sounds of the clubhouse muffled by the closed door.
“Sleep,” Zach murmurs eventually, his voice rough with his approaching slumber. “I’ve got you.”
And I do, drifting off in the safety of his arms.