Page 66 of Angel
“Okay, Stevie,” the doctor says, sharper now. “We’ve got another one coming.”
Another. Right.I laugh, a wild, exhausted sound. “Of course I do.”
Angel presses a kiss to my temple, breath shaking. “One more. You can do one more.”
I don’t know where the strength comes from. I thought I was empty. I was wrong. There is something deep inside me that refuses to quit. Fear steps aside. Resolve steps forward. Another contraction builds.
I grip Angel’s hand with my free one and push. Everything burns, stretches, and demands. But this time I’m not fighting it. I’m meeting it.
“Again!” the doctor urges.
I push until my vision goes white at the edges. And then, another cry.Higher pitched. Still furious. Still perfect.They place her on my other side, and suddenly my chest is full, too full of warmth and weight and love so overwhelming it almost hurts more than the contractions ever did.
My daughter. Dark hair plastered to her tiny head. Eyes squeezed tight in outrage. Her cry is sharp and indignant, like she’s already got something to say about this world. Angel drops to his knees beside the bed. Actually drops. His forehead presses against the mattress and his shoulders shake.
“We did it,” I whisper, tears sliding freely down my temples. “We actually did it.”
He looks up at me like I hung the moon. “You did this,” he says, voice wrecked. “You’re incredible.” For the first time in years, I believe him.
“Our girl,” I whisper, brushing a trembling finger down her tiny cheek. “We said if she came…”
Angel swallows hard.
“Harper,” he says.
I smile through tears, Harper Grace. Strong. Soft. Grace because we fought for it. Grace because we needed it. Maddox and Harper. My chest aches with it. They are both crying now, two different notes, two different personalities already forming. Nurses move around us, efficient and gentle, checking, cleaning, wrapping.
But I don’t lose them from my sight. Not for a second. I memorize every detail. Maddox’s tiny chin. Harper’s long fingers. The way they quiet just slightly when Angel’s voice rumbles low and close.
He stands again, still shaking, and carefully takes Maddox when the nurse offers. He looks terrified, awed, like a man holding the universe.
“Hey, Maddox,” he whispers, voice breaking. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Maddox quiets just a fraction. I clutch Harper to my chest, inhaling her scent, new and sweet and entirely hers.
The door opens not long after. Because of course it does. Word travels faster than reason in this club. Leather vests fill the doorway. Joker steps in first, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Permission to meet the newest members?” he asks softly.
I laugh, exhausted and glowing. “Permission granted.”
Carrie’s already crying openly. Pandora stands behind her, expression fierce and protective like she’s assessing whetherthe world deserves these children. Tank tries to wipe his eyes discreetly and fails spectacularly. Wolf hangs back, arms folded, eyes soft in a way I’ve never seen before. Tiny hands get counted. Tiny feet admired. Maddox yawns. Harper stretches one arm like she’s claiming territory.
“They’re perfect,” Carrie whispers.
“They’re Havoc,” Joker corrects with pride.
Angel stands at my side, arm around my shoulders, one hand resting lightly over Harper’s tiny, bundled body. He doesn’t speak much, just watches. Like he’s engraving this moment into his bones.
After a while, Doc clears his throat pointedly.
“Alright,” he says. “Mom needs rest.”
The club grumbles but obeys. Hugs are careful. Promises are made. Tank swears he’ll teach Maddox to throw a punch before he can walk. Pandora announces she will teach Harper to rule properly.
Joker just claps Angel’s shoulder and says quietly, “You did good, brother.”
Then the room empties. The door closes. Silence settles. Not the lonely kind. The sacred kind. It’s just us. Angel sits beside the bed, Maddox asleep against his broad chest, tiny fist curled around Angel’s finger. Harper rests against me, her breathing soft and steady, her cheek warm against my skin. I watch them breathe.
