Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I CAN NEVER GIVE YOU THIS
LOUISIANNA
Vivienne Lou Wilder arrives in this world weighing eight pounds, eleven ounces, and stretching twenty-two inches long. The hospital room is thick with the scent of antiseptic and warm skin, punctuated by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the quiet, steady breaths of Evie.
Maddox sits behind Evie, his broad chest a steady anchor as he holds her up, their fingers tangled together like they are one.
His voice is low, rough with emotion but steady, whispering fierce love and encouragement with every contraction.
“You got it, pretty girl. Breathe baby, just breathe and push.”
I grip one of her legs, slick with sweat and trembling, and count down each push, urging her to dig deep and bear down. The tension in the room is electric, every muscle straining. Then, suddenly, she is here—tiny, warm, and perfect—resting gently on her mama’s chest.
In this moment, I’m completely undone. Her thick, dark curls spill across Evie’s skin, framing a round, delicate face that makes my heart shatter and rebuild all at once.
Maddox lifts his head from where it had been buried against Evie’s neck, his hands trembling as he reaches for her.
Vivienne’s tiny fingers curl tightly around his massive one.
The big, tough man is shaking, raw and vulnerable, and the nurse’s soft voice fills the room.
“Welcome to the world, Vivienne Lou Wilder.”
Then I lose it—sobbing like a God damn baby, overwhelmed by the fierce, perfect beauty of it all.
I give them some privacy and quietly make my way down to the waiting room, where the whole family waits in a tense hush.
My throat tightens, nerves twisting like a coil, and I take a shaky breath before pushing the door open.
The room falls silent—every movement stops—and every pair of eyes locks onto mine, heavy with anticipation.
“She’s here,” I say, voice rough but steady, “and God damn, is she perfect. Eight pounds, eleven ounces, and twenty-two inches long.”
A ripple of relief and excitement washes through the room.
“Name? What’s her name?” Maggie asks, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide and hopeful.
I swallow hard, the weight of the moment pressing down as I choke out, “Vivienne Lou Wilder.”
Vic gasps, pulling Joe in for a tight hug. “Did you know? Did you know she was going to name that baby after me, you old leather bag?”
Aunt Joe rolls her eyes as she pats his back. “Pretty sure it’s a mixture of both our names. So, shrink that fat ass head of yours.”
“Y’all didn’t know?” Bash pipes up, like it was no big secret. I had been trying for months to get Evie to tell me her name and she’d skirt around it.
At the same time, Charlie’s small voice breaks through, “How’s my mama?”
“Your mama’s doing great,” I answer, the warmth of reassurance steady in my voice. “You’ll get to see her shortly.”
Knowing Evie needs time to rest, we decide not to overwhelm her with the entire crew at once. So, naturally Maggie and the boys head back first.
I sink down into the chair, the cool plastic pressing against my skin, and almost immediately Dallas sidles up beside me. His presence is quiet but steady. “So, how was it, Louis?” he asks, eyes bright with curiosity.
I offer a tired smile, the mix of emotions still swirling in my chest. “Terrifying, exciting, and anxious—all rolled into one.”
His brilliant blue eyes lock onto mine, shimmering with a teasing light. “Did you know they were naming her after you?”
“No, I didn’t,” I admit, my voice soft.
“Well, thank God they stuck with Lou and not Louisiana.” He smirks, a crooked grin playing at the edges of his mouth.
“Yeah, thank fuck for small miracles, kid,” Mercy chimes in from his spot near my sister and Allie, his voice warm and easy.
Too drained to shoot back a witty comeback, I simply hum my agreement, leaning my head onto Henry’s strong shoulder.
His hand, warm and steady, slides down to wrap around my thigh, grounding me.
Shortly after, a small, soft head settles into my lap, a tiny arm curling around my waist, anchoring me in this fragile, perfect moment.
“Wildflower, come on, sleepyheads—it’s our turn.”
Henry’s gravel-rich voice rumbles through the haze of sleep, low and warm, tugging me gently back to consciousness. The weight of exhaustion still clings to my limbs, but the sound of his voice—steady, familiar—grounds me like sunlight cracking through morning fog.
Dallas stirs beside me, his grip around my waist loosening as he shifts, still half-asleep. Henry leans down in front of us, blocking the soft glow of the hallway light, and there’s nothing but love carved into the lines of his face—quiet, steady, and so achingly tender it makes my chest tighten.
“This is a nice view to wake up to, Henny,” I murmur, my voice still thick with sleep as I reach up and trail my fingers down the ink winding along his neck.
He gives me one of those rare, almost bashful smiles—the kind that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle—and gently urges us up. “Come on, wildflower,” he says, voice gravel-low.
The second we step into the room and Henry lays eyes on Maddox cradling that tiny pink bundle, it’s like the air shifts.
His whole face transforms—lit up with a fierce, unshakable pride that damn near bowls me over.
He beams at his brother like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and for a moment, there’s nothing else in the world but that look.
He crosses the room without hesitation, placing a steady hand on Maddox’s shoulder. His voice cracks just a little when he says, “You did it, Maddy. She’s precious.”
Maddox, still holding his entire world in his arms, just nods—eyes glassy, jaw tight, heart wide open.
Dallas leans over carefully, eyes wide with wonder as he stares at the tiny bundle in Maddox’s arms. “She’s so small,” he whispers, voice full of awe.
“If you wash your hands, you can hold her,” Evie calls gently from where she’s propped up on the hospital bed, her voice still hoarse with exhaustion but filled with warmth.
Dallas whips his head toward Maddox, eyes round. “I can?”
Maddox nods, smiling. “Absolutely.”
I swear I’ve never seen two people move so damn fast. Dallas and Henry scramble to the sink like it’s a race, scrubbing their hands with the kind of urgent energy usually reserved for high-speed chases.
“That was only sixteen seconds,” Henry mutters.
“It was twenty, I counted,” Dallas shoots back.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Shut up and dry your hands,” I say, smiling despite myself.
Maddox rises from the chair as Henry finishes at the sink, and gently, carefully, he passes Vivienne into Henry’s waiting arms. The sight of her curled against his chest—tiny, warm, and perfect—takes the breath from me. Their hands, both big and calloused, cradle her like she’s made of spun glass.
“You too, heifer,” Evie calls over to me, nodding toward the sink. “Wash up.”
I roll my eyes but obey, stepping to the sink and turning on the warm water.
As I scrub, I steal glances at Henry, at the way he looks at her like she’s the beginning and end of every prayer he’s ever said.
“Look at all that hair,” he murmurs, voice cracking around the edges with soft laughter.
“Thank God she looks like you, sunshine. There’s only room for one big growly bear in this family and your daddy has proudly already taken that role. ”
“Explains the heartburn,” Evie says with a grin, rubbing her chest like she still feels echoes of it.
Dallas is pressed against Henry’s side now, both of them bent over Vivienne, cooing and whispering like she might open her eyes and recognize them. I feel the sting of emotion swell up sharp in my throat. That familiar, bitter burn of longing and loss, of what ifs and can’t haves.
But I swallow it down. I’ve done too much work to give that pain a home again.
I refuse to carve out space in myself for grief that isn’t mine anymore.
“Alright, Lou,” Henry calls gently, his eyes still on her. “Come take her before I decide not to give her back.”
He stands and turns toward me, moving slowly, carefully, like he’s carrying the whole damn world in his arms as I take his spot in the chair. Gently, he places Vivienne in mine, her tiny weight warming my chest, her breath feather-light against my collarbone.
This precious baby—who shouldn’t even be here if life had its way. Born from two people who nearly didn’t survive the wreckage they crawled out of. Two people who had every reason to give up, but didn’t.
And she’s named after me.
Me—the woman who once flinched at the idea of her. Who turned green with envy at the thought of someone else holding what I thought I’d never have. Who let my own emptiness twist into something sharp and ugly the second I heard she was coming.
“What’s wrong, wildflower?” Henry’s voice is quiet, gruff in that way it always is when he’s trying to keep himself steady. He crouches a little, tilting his head to catch my eyes, his hand still resting on my knee like it’s the only thing tethering me to the ground.
I look down at Vivienne—her impossibly tiny body warm and heavy in my arms, her breath whispering softly against my chest. Her fingers twitch and curl near her cheek, her little mouth making shapes like she’s dreaming.
Something twists hard in my chest. A slow, deep ache that’s lived in me for so long, I don’t remember where it ends and I begin.
I breathe her in—sweet, soft, new, and when I look up at him, I already feel myself breaking.
“I…” My throat closes up. I try again, voice thinner than paper. “I can’t ever give you this.”
It guts me. Just saying it. Because it’s the truth I’ve buried under a hundred jokes, a thousand excuses, every wall I ever built between us, and now it’s out in the open, raw and bleeding between us.
Henry doesn’t move. His brows draw together, confusion flickering into something sharper.
“Give me what, wildflower?”
I close my eyes, tears sliding hot and quiet down my cheeks. “When they took my gallbladder out they botched it, and caused an infection that rotted my reproductive system.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I can’t have kids, Henny.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
He doesn’t speak, not right away. Doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t recoil either. He just breathes, like the weight of what I said is settling onto his chest.
For a second—for a cruel, endless second—I think this is it. This is where he lets go. Where all the reasons I pushed him away finally make sense, and he sees why I was never enough.
But then I feel it.
His hand on my cheek. Calloused. Warm. Gentle.
He leans in until our foreheads touch, and his breath shakes when he lets it out.
“You little fucking idiot,” he says, voice hoarse with emotion. “You really think that changes a God damn thing?”
I swear, in that moment, I could’ve wept forever.
Because I’ve spent years believing that broken meant unworthy. That love had to come with conditions—perfect bodies, perfect timing, the promise of a future I couldn’t give. I thought if I couldn’t hand someone a baby, a legacy, a reason to stay…then what was I worth?
But Henry never asked for any of that. Never made me feel like I had to earn him. He didn’t want some version of me I couldn’t live up to.
He just wanted me—loud, stubborn, messy, scarred.
Me, with all my cracks and missing pieces.
Me, exactly as I am.
The fucking dream.