Chapter 23
EVERLY
I wake up wrapped in Rush's arms, and for a moment I just lie still, listening to him breathe.
His face is relaxed in sleep, younger somehow without the tension he carries when he's awake.
One hand rests on my hip, the other is tucked under the pillow.
He's holding me tighter than usual, protective in a way that's new since I told him about the baby.
The morning light filters through the curtains and I can see his leather jacket draped over my desk chair, my lab bag by the door where I dropped it yesterday, small pieces of our separate lives overlapping into something shared.
His eyes open slowly and he sees me watching him. "Morning," he says, his voice rough.
"Morning," I reply softly.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Not long."
He pulls me closer and I settle against his chest.
"I slept," he says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Really slept. No nightmares, no waking up at three in the morning. Just... sleep."
The admission surprises me because Rush rarely talks about how he sleeps.
"That's good."
"It's different with you here."
I tilt my head to look at him. "Different how?"
"Quieter. Like my brain finally shuts off."
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest warm. I take his hand and place it on my stomach, not because there's anything to feel yet, but because I know he needs the grounding.
He spreads his fingers wide, covering the space where our baby is growing.
"Still can't believe this is real," he says.
"Me either."
"You scared?"
"Terrified."
"Yeah, me too."
We lie there in the quiet and I realize something has shifted between us. He's always been protective, but this is different. This is him choosing to stay in the fear instead of running from it.
We make coffee together in my tiny kitchen and he leans against the counter, watching me.
"What?" I ask.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how everyone at the club knows now."
"Is that a problem?"
"No, but it's a lot of pressure, like I have to get this right."
I set down my mug. "Get what right?"
"All of it. Being a good partner, being a good father, not fucking everything up."
"Rush, you don't have to be perfect."
"Don't I? Everyone's watching now, waiting to see if I can handle it."
I step into his space and touch his face. "You don't have to handle everything alone."
"I know."
"Do you? Because it sounds like you're carrying the weight of everyone's expectations."
"Maybe I am."
"Well stop. The only expectations that matter are ours. Not the club's, not my dad's. Ours."
He leans down and rests his forehead against mine.
"How do you always know what to say?"
"I don't. I'm just telling you what I need to hear too."
"That we don't have to be perfect?"
"That we just have to be present."
His hands go to my hips and he holds me there, breathing me in. This is what love looks like with Rush, I realize, not grand gestures, just this quiet presence.
He kisses me soft and slow, his hands steady on my waist. When he pulls back his eyes are clearer, less haunted.
"Thank you," he says.
"For what?"
"For being you."
I meet Maya at a café near campus that afternoon.
She's already there when I arrive, two coffees on the table.
"Hey," she says with a grin. "You look different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know, glowy? Happy? What's going on?"
I sit down and take a breath. "I'm pregnant."
Her eyes go wide. "What?"
"I'm nine weeks pregnant."
"Holy shit, Everly."
"Yeah."
She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrified, excited, overwhelmed."
"And Rush?"
"He's... processing. But he's happy and so am I."
Maya squeezes my hand. "That's huge."
"Yeah, it is."
"Are you okay? Really okay?"
The question makes my eyes sting because it's the first time someone's asked about me, not just about Rush or the baby.
"I don't know," I admit. "I'm scared of losing myself in all of this. Of becoming just Rush's girlfriend or the baby's mom instead of Everly."
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're too stubborn to disappear and because you're asking the question. That means you're aware of the risk."
I take a sip of my coffee. "What if I'm not ready for this?"
"Nobody's ever ready."
"But what if I fuck it up?"
Maya's expression softens. "Can I tell you something?"
"Yeah."
"My mom left when I was eight. Just walked out one day and never came back."
I didn't know that.
"My dad tried to hold it together but he was drowning. He loved me, but he was damaged by what she did, and I spent my whole childhood trying to fix him."
"Maya—"
"I'm telling you this because I know what it's like to love someone who's broken. And I know what it's like to be terrified you're not enough to save them."
I swallow hard, unsure what to say, but I need to know. "What did you do?"
"I learned that I couldn't save him. I could love him, I could be there, but I couldn't fix what she broke. That was his work, not mine."
The words land hard because they feel true.
"Rush isn't your responsibility to fix," Maya continues. "He's your partner. You can support him but you can't carry all his trauma for him."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're trying to be his anchor while drowning yourself."
"I'm not drowning."
"Not yet, but you will be if you don't start asking for what you need too."
I think about that, really think about it.
"What do I need?" I ask quietly.
"That's for you to figure out, but Everly, you're allowed to want happiness. You're allowed to need support. You're not just here to hold Rush together."
The permission hits something deep.
"Thank you," I say.
"For what?"
"For reminding me I'm allowed to take up space too."
She smiles. "Always, and Everly? I'm here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it."
Our friendship shifts in that moment from surface-level to something deeper, chosen family instead of just lab partners who grab coffee.
I walk home alone afterward and my mind is racing.
My life doesn't look anything like what I planned six months ago.
I was supposed to be focusing on my research, building my career, figuring out who I am.
Instead I'm pregnant with a man I've been with for three months, navigating club politics and my dad's disapproval.
But somehow it feels more real than anything I imagined for myself.
I touch my stomach as I walk—still flat, still no sign of the life growing inside. The baby feels abstract still, more concept than reality, but Rush feels real, the club feels real, this life I'm building feels real.
My dad will come around eventually, or he won't. Either way I'm making this choice, not because Rush needs me to—although he does—but because I want to, because loving him isn't just about supporting him through his darkness.
It's about choosing the life we're building together.
Fear exists. It's always going to exist. But so does hope, and right now hope feels stronger.
I realize something as I turn onto my street, I've been so focused on being Rush's safe place that I forgot to check if I'm safe too. Maya's right, I'm allowed to need support. I'm allowed to ask for what I want. I'm not just here to hold Rush together while I fall apart.
This baby, this relationship, this life…I'm choosing it for me too, not just for him.
For me.
Rush shows up at my flat around eight that night. I hear his bike before I see him, then his knock on the door. When I open it, he looks wound tight, his jaw clenched and his shoulders locked.
"Hey," I say, giving him a soft smile.
"Hey," he responds, grinning back at me.
"You okay?" I ask, my brows knitting together. Why is he standing there?
"Can I come in?"
I blink. Why is he hesitant? "Of course." I open the door wider and let him in. He walks inside and I close the door, watch as he paces my living room. Something happened at the clubhouse. I can tell by the way he's moving.
"Talk to me," I ask, not wanting to push.
"I don't even know where to start."
"Anywhere."
He stops pacing and looks at me. "Pyro wants me to take on more responsibility. Says now that I'm having a kid, I need to step up."
"And you don't want to?"
"It's not that I don't want to. It's just... more pressure. More eyes on me, waiting for me to fuck up."
I don't push, just wait for him to keep talking.
"Everyone keeps congratulating me like this is some huge accomplishment. But all I can think about are all the ways I could ruin this."
"Rush—"
"I didn't realize how loud my head was until it went quiet with you."
The admission stops me cold.
"What?"
He runs his hand through his hair. "My whole life there's been this constant noise in my head. Fear, anger, guilt—all of it screaming at once. But when I'm with you it goes quiet."
I step forward and open my arms. He sinks into me immediately, his face buried in my neck.
"I've got you," I say quietly.
"I know."
We stand there holding each other, and I realize this is what he needs. Not me to fix it, not me to make it better, just me to be here, solid and present while he processes.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," I say.
"I know, but I don't know how not to."
"Then let me help."
He pulls back and looks at me. "How?"
"By letting me share the weight, by telling me when it's too much, by trusting that I'm strong enough to handle it."
"You are."
"Then prove it. Stop protecting me from your fear."
He touches my face. "I don't want to burden you."
"You're not a burden. You're my partner. And partners share the hard stuff."
He kisses me and it's desperate, like he's trying to anchor himself to something solid. I let him, understanding that this is how he processes emotion. When he pulls back his breathing is steadier.
"Thank you," he says.
"For what?"
"For not running when I show up like this."
"Where else would I go?"
"I don't know, somewhere easier."
"I don't want easy. I want real."
"This is real."
"Yeah, it is."
Later that night, we're lying in bed and Rush is finally asleep. His arm is around me, his breathing deep and even.
I lie awake listening to him and thinking about everything. Our life is changing in ways I can't fully predict.
The club will always carry danger. That's not going away. My dad will always be protective, probably overprotective. The world isn't suddenly safe just because we're having a baby, but our relationship is becoming something solid, something we choose daily instead of falling into by accident.
Rush stirs beside me and pulls me closer in his sleep. I feel the strange peace of knowing I'm not alone in this anymore.
Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.