Chapter 9 - Ace
One month.
One month since Sarah told me she was pregnant.
One month of her living in my room at the clubhouse, both of us adjusting to this new reality.
One week since we eliminated Charles and his entire operation, one goddamn week of peace after three weeks of intense planning, surveillance, and finally, execution.
And now, here I am, sitting in a doctor's waiting room, my t-shirt sticking to my skin with nervous sweat as I flip through a parenting magazine without absorbing a single word.
"Stop bouncing your leg," Sarah says, placing a hand on my knee. "You're shaking the whole row of chairs."
"Sorry," I mutter, forcing my leg to still. "Just... fuck, I don't know what I'm doing here."
She smiles, that patient smile she uses with her first graders. "You're supporting me at my twelve-week ultrasound. That's what you're doing."
Twelve weeks. Our baby is twelve weeks old today, though it's still too small to be more than a blob on a screen. At least, that's what Sarah told me when I asked what to expect. A blob with a heartbeat.
"You okay with me being here?" I ask for probably the tenth time since we left the clubhouse. "I can wait outside if you'd rather—"
"Ryan," she interrupts, using my real name as she always does outside the club. "I want you here. This is your baby too."
My baby. The reality of it still hits me like a punch to the gut every time I think about it. I'm going to be someone's father. Me—the guy whose own father was such a piece of shit that being like him has been my lifelong fear.
The door to the inner office opens, and a nurse appears. "Sarah Collins?"
Sarah stands, grabbing her purse. I rise too, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs. This is it. I’m about to see our kid for the first time.
"Coming?" Sarah asks, extending her hand to me.
I take it, grateful for the anchor as we follow the nurse through the door.
The hallway is lined with photos of babies.
So many fucking babies, all looking vaguely alike to my untrained eye.
The nurse leads us to an examination room, instructs Sarah to sit on the table, and tells us the doctor will be right in.
When the door closes behind her, I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"You're really nervous," Sarah observes, looking amused.
"That obvious?" I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace.
"You haven't said more than ten words since we left the clubhouse, and you're sweating through your shirt." She reaches out, taking my hand again. "It's going to be fine. This is just a routine checkup."
"Nothing about this feels routine to me," I admit.
Before she can respond, there's a knock at the door, and a middle-aged woman in a white coat enters. "Sarah! Good to see you again," she says warmly, then turns to me with a slightly more reserved smile. "And you must be the father."
"Yes, ma'am. Ryan Carter." I extend my hand, trying to appear more put-together than I feel.
"Dr. Monroe," she says, shaking my hand firmly. "Alright, let's see how this little one is doing, shall we?"
She has Sarah lie back on the examination table and lift her shirt to expose her still-flat stomach. As she squirts clear gel onto Sarah's skin, I move to the head of the table, wanting to be close enough to see everything but out of the doctor's way.
"This might be a little cold," Dr. Monroe warns, though Sarah doesn't flinch when the gel hits her skin.
The doctor presses a wand-like device against Sarah's abdomen, moving it around slowly. A grainy black-and-white image appears on the monitor beside the table. At first, it's just static to me, meaningless shapes in varying shades of gray.
"There we are," Dr. Monroe says, freezing the image and pointing. "See that? That's your baby."
I lean closer, squinting at the screen. And then I see it. A distinct shape in the center of all that gray, something that actually looks vaguely human-shaped. Small, alien-like, but undeniably there.
"Holy shit," I breathe, then immediately regret my language. "Sorry, I mean—"
Dr. Monroe laughs. "I've heard worse, believe me. First-time fathers tend to be colorful with their reactions."
Sarah reaches for my hand, and I grip hers tightly, unable to look away from the screen. "That's really our baby?" I ask, needing confirmation that what I'm seeing is real.
"That's really your baby," the doctor confirms. "About the size of a lime right now. Let me see if we can get a heartbeat for you."
She adjusts something on the machine, and suddenly the room fills with a rapid whooshing sound—quick, strong, otherworldly.
"Is that...?" I can't even finish the question.
"That's the heartbeat," Dr. Monroe says. "Good and strong, about 160 beats per minute, which is perfectly normal at this stage."
My own heart seems to stutter in response to the sound. This is real. There's an actual human being with a beating heart growing inside Sarah—a human that I helped create.
"Everything looks good," the doctor continues, still moving the wand. "The size is right on track for twelve weeks, and I'm not seeing any concerns."
"So, the baby's healthy?" Sarah asks, her voice trembling.
"Appears to be perfectly healthy," Dr. Monroe confirms. "Would you like some pictures to take home?"
"Yes," I answer immediately, surprising both women with my eagerness. "Please."
The doctor smiles, pressing buttons on the machine. "I'll print a few. You can share them with family and friends."
Family. The club, she means, though she doesn't know it. The brothers who fought beside me to end Charles's reign of terror, who've been supporting me through this unexpected journey into fatherhood.
Dr. Monroe wipes the gel from Sarah's stomach and helps her sit up. "I'll give you two a moment while I get those pictures," she says, slipping out of the room.
Left alone with Sarah, I find myself at a loss for words. The sound of that heartbeat seems to have hollowed me out, replaced everything inside me with something new and terrifying and beautiful.
"You okay?" Sarah asks softly.
I nod, still struggling to speak. Then, "That's our kid. Our actual kid. With a heartbeat and everything."
She laughs, the sound breaking through my daze. "Yes, that's generally how it works."
"I know, but..." I shake my head, trying to articulate the tornado of feelings whirling through me. "It wasn't real before. Not really. But now I've seen it. Heard it."
"And?"
"And it's the most fucking terrifying, amazing thing I've ever experienced." I finally look at her, really look at her, and I'm struck anew by how beautiful she is, how strong. "Thank you. For letting me be part of this."
Her eyes soften. "Where else would you be?"
"I don't know. Anywhere. Nowhere. A lot of guys would've run when you told them you were pregnant."
"You're not a lot of guys," she says simply.
No, I'm not. I'm a biker who's spent the last month orchestrating the systematic destruction of another MC while simultaneously learning how to be a supportive partner. I'm a man with blood on his hands who's now preparing to raise a child.
I'm a study in contradictions, and somehow, this incredible woman sees past all that to something worth loving.
Because that's what this is becoming, isn't it? Love. The word I've avoided my entire adult life, the concept I've dismissed as weakness, as vulnerability I couldn't afford. Now it's taking root inside me, growing alongside the image of that tiny lima bean-shaped person on the monitor.
"We should get our own place," I blurt out.
Sarah blinks, clearly caught off guard. "What?"
"A house," I clarify. "Our house. Not my room at the clubhouse, not your apartment. Something that's ours, for the baby."
"Ryan—"
"I know it's fast," I continue, the words tumbling out now that I've started. "But we've been living together at the clubhouse for a month already. And it's not the right place to raise a kid. We both know that."
"You want to buy a house? With me?" She asks, hope flickering in her eyes.
"Yes." I take both her hands in mine. "I want us to have a real home. Somewhere quiet, with a yard, maybe close to your school. I want us to be a real family."
"A real family," she echoes, her expression softening. "That sounds... perfect."
"Yeah?" I can't hide my surprise at her immediate agreement.
"Yes," she says firmly, squeezing my hands. "Absolutely yes. I've been worried about raising a baby at the clubhouse. It's been fine for now, but long-term..."
"It's no place for a kid," I finish for her. "I know. The club will always be part of my life, but it doesn't have to be our whole life."
This is the truth. In the aftermath of our victory over the Vultures MC, Reaper had called a meeting to discuss the future of the Outlaw Order. "We've earned some peace," he'd said. "Time to build something that doesn't require constant warfare to maintain."
The timing couldn't have been better for me. For us.
"We could start looking right away," Sarah says, excitement building in her voice. "I have some savings, and—"
"I've got money," I interrupt. "Been saving almost everything I make for years. Never had anything worth spending it on before."
Before she can respond, Dr. Monroe returns with a small envelope. "Here are your pictures," she says, handing them to Sarah. "I want to see you back in four weeks for your sixteen-week checkup."
Sarah thanks her, and the doctor leaves us again to get dressed and check out. I take the envelope when Sarah offers it, slowly extracting the small black and white images. Our baby, from different angles. The same alien-like blob, but now it's the most important blob in the universe.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Sarah says as we gather our things. "Buying a house together."
"Believe it," I tell her, feeling lighter than I have in years. "I'll talk to a realtor tomorrow."
As we walk out of the doctor's office into the bright Pine Haven sunshine, I can't help but marvel at how different my life is now compared to just a month ago. Then, I was living for the next fight, the next adrenaline rush, the next meaningless hookup.
Now, I'm planning a future, thinking about mortgage rates and school districts, wondering if I should start a college fund.
Sarah takes my hand as we approach my truck, her touch still sending electricity through me after all this time. "I'm glad you were there today," she says. "It meant a lot to me."
"Wouldn't have missed it," I tell her honestly.
And I mean it. Wild horses couldn't have dragged me away from that ultrasound room. Nothing short of death itself would have kept me from seeing my child for the first time. That's how I know I'm changed, fundamentally and irrevocably.
I help her into the passenger side of my truck, then walk around to the driver's side. Before starting the engine, I take one more look at the ultrasound pictures. Our baby. Our future.
"Everything okay?" Sarah asks, noticing my hesitation.
I tuck the pictures into my wallet. "Yeah," I say, feeling a smile spread across my face. "Everything's perfect."
And for the first time in my life, I actually believe it.