Chapter 21 #5
Ruby’s palm slides slowly along my jaw. “You survived it anyway,” she whispers, like survival is something tender instead of bloody.
I don’t tell her how I barely did. Because lying here with her wrapped around me, carrying my child while the clubhouse stands guard downstairs, survival finally feels different now, less empty.
My hand drifts unconsciously lower against her stomach beneath the oversized shirt, and the second I feel the warmth of her there, something deep in my chest goes tight and tender all at once.
Ruby notices immediately. I glance down at where my hand rests protectively over our baby, and her expression softens.
I lower my forehead against hers slowly, and for one suspended second, it feels as if the whole damn world narrows to her breath touching mine.
Then my phone suddenly vibrates loudly against the nightstand beside the bed.
Mom.
I stare at the screen for half a second while Ruby shifts slightly beside me. “Your mom?” she murmurs against my chest, and I can hear the smile in it.
She glances toward the clock on the nightstand. “She usually calls this late?”
“It’s an hour earlier back home.”
The second I answer, my mother’s face fills the screen, warm kitchen light behind her. “Hey, Ma.”
Her expression changes instantly, eyes widening, mouth tightening. “Jesus,” she blurts. “What happened to your face?”
Ruby snorts quietly against me before she can stop herself.
I rub a hand over my jaw. “I’m good, Ma.”
“It doesn’t look like you’re good.”
In the background, I hear cabinet doors opening and closing, followed by my father’s voice somewhere deeper in the house. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Your son, and he looks like he got hit by a freight train,” Mom calls back.
A second later, Dad appears behind her shoulder, wiping his hands on an old shop rag. He squints at the screen. “Well, damn.” Dad studies my face for another second before asking in that calm, rough voice of his, “How’s the other guy look?”
“Worse.”
“Good.”
Ruby laughs softly this time, unable to help it.
Both my parents immediately still at the sound of her laugh. Mom’s eyes sharpen with interest while Dad slowly lifts one brow.
“Well, now,” Mom says carefully.
Ruby’s face instantly heats against my chest while I shift the phone slightly.
“This is Ruby,” I say roughly. “My woman. The mother of my child.” The words settle heavy in the room, but heavier in me because the second they’re out, I know they’ve been true for a while, and some part of me has been bleeding toward them the whole damn time.
Ruby’s eyes snap up to mine.
Mom absolutely melts. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently. “It’s good to meet you.”
Ruby gives a shy little wave from where she’s tucked against me beneath the blankets. “Nice to meet you.”
Dad keeps watching quietly from behind Mom’s shoulder, his eyes drifting from Ruby to the way I’m holding her against me. Something subtle shifts in his expression after that, “You look comfortable,” he mutters dryly.
I chuckle.
Ruby makes a strangled sound of embarrassment beside me.
Dad folds his arms, eyeing me for another long second before his mouth twitches faintly beneath his beard.
“Well…” he says calmly, and his voice goes rough around the edges, “… about damn time you stopped waiting to die and start living again.” The words hit harder than they probably should because he means every single one.
Mom turns all her attention to Ruby. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Good,” Ruby says softly.
Mom’s eyes get suspiciously shiny after that, though she quickly covers it with a warm smile. I can tell Mom has questions, given the bruises on Ruby’s face, but instead of questioning anything, she smiles so warmly it physically hurts something in my chest.
Hope is a dangerous thing when you’ve already buried the people you built your entire life around.
But Ruby’s weight against my chest, the sound of her breathing, the fact that for the first time in years I want tomorrow more than I fear it, this feels real enough to hurt.
Maybe peace isn’t in the cards for me. Maybe all I get is this one raw, fragile thing with sharp edges.
But tonight, it’s enough to make breathing feel less like surviving and more as if maybe I’ve still got something left worth staying alive for.
I know better than to mistake one quiet night for safety. Danger is still out there. Men like me don’t get to relax just because the room is warm and the woman in our arms is breathing easy. Trouble always circles back. Blood always finds its way home.
But lying here with Ruby tucked against me, my hand over our baby, while my family crashes headfirst into the middle of all this through a damn FaceTime call, something inside me shifts anyway. As if some rusted part of me is finally grinding loose after being stuck too long.
This is the first time in years I’ve seen my future and not immediately expected it to be ripped away from me.
That hope doesn’t feel like a setup, and wanting someone this badly feels more terrifying than any war I’ve ever walked into.