“He told me you don’t feel like I listen to you anymore, that I switch off about things that are important to you.”
Her eyes don’t let mine go. “I did say that to him.”
“I hate what IVF has done to us, angel. There are days where I feel like an ocean sits between us.”
Tears fill those beautiful eyes of hers again. “Yes,” she whispers. It’s barely a breath but the anguish it carries twists my heart inside out.
“It’s not that I’m not listening or that I’m switching off or that I’m refusing to hear what you say; it’s that I don’t know how to take it all in. I don’t know how to watch you lose yourself to it anymore, because it fucking feels like you’ve already lost so much.” I wipe the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m going to try harder.”
“I am, too. I hate the moods I put you through and I’m sorry I do it.”
“Don’t apologise for something you can’t control.”
She smiles through her tears. “I love you for saying that, but it’s not all true. I could try harder to bite my tongue.”
“Baby, I can handle your moods.” I place my hand to her heart. “This is what I can’t handle. When this breaks, it fucking shatters me, and that’s when I lose my way.”
Her lips press to mine and after she kisses me, she says, “I thought I’d pushed you too much, that you were getting close to done.”
“Fuck, no. I will never be done, Birdie. Fucking never. I know we’ve taken some hits, but I will always get back up and fight for you.”
At that, she wraps her arms around me and clings to me. When she finally lets me go, she says, “I will never be done, either.”
Thank fuck.
As far as I’m concerned, this marriage is for life. For fucking eternity. And although it sometimes feels like we’re unravelling, I will do everything in my power to ensure we don’t. Birdie is my world; without her, I have nothing.
“Okay, angel, we need to get going for this blood test or we’re gonna be late.” Birdie has regular blood tests so the doctor can monitor her pregnancy. After two miscarriages, the doctor wants to make sure Birdie’s hormone levels are doing what they’re supposed to.
Birdie bites her lip like she’s not sure about something. “Tell me if this sounds wrong after Max just died, but I thought we could maybe go look at baby furniture like you wanted to.”
“Fuck I love you. It sounds like just what we need.”
“I think so, too.”
Making plans for our baby is exactly what Max would have wanted us to do.
“There’s nothing to report here,” Ransom says during our daily check-in call while Birdie and I are shopping for a cot. He’s running everything while I take some time off.
“No sign of Silver Hell?” After Max was killed and I retaliated by killing one of Silver Hell’s members, we expected shit to go down. Bull came to me and advised he didn’t sanction his member’s actions that day and that he didn’t plan to take this any further. However, I don’t trust him or his club, so I ordered our club to keep an eye on all Silver Hell moves.
“Nothing of interest. They’re still quiet.”
“Good.” Birdie’s eyes find mine, all lit up, and she waves me over. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
After we end the call, I make my way to Birdie. “You like this one?”
She runs her hands over a white sleigh cot that looks fit for royalty. “I love this one. It’s too expensive, though. Maybe you could take a crash course in woodwork and learn how to make one.”
I slide my arm around her waist. “Or maybe we could blow our fucking budget for once.”
Her eyes widen. “Where’s my husband and what did you do to him?”
“Life’s too short, angel, to always make practical choices.” Fuck do I know that now.
Her eyes soften and she places her hand to my chest. “I agree.”
“Is this the cot you want?”
“Yes, but do you like it?”
“I do.” Any cot will do. The point of bringing Birdie to look at them was simply to get her to take this next step towards believing our baby will be born.
Excitement slowly fills her face. “This really is happening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and after I build it, you’re gonna find ways to thank me.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll insist on that, but I was referring to our baby. We’re really going to bring a child into this world, aren’t we?”
I place my hand over her belly and nod. “Yeah, baby, we are. And you are going to make the best mother out there.”
She covers my hand with hers and looks down at them. When she gives me her eyes again, tears shimmer in them. “I’ve imagined being a mum every single day since we got back together. I’d stopped believing it would happen after I lost my second tube. Thank you for giving me hope again.”
Birdie has wanted kids for as long as I’ve known her. I have too, but she fiercely wants a family and to be a mother. She doesn’t know it, but I’ve seen the magazine cut outs and print outs from the internet she’s saved over the years. The ones about mothering that sit in folders in her meditation space that’s taken over a part of our wardrobe. Tripping over that damn meditation cushion irritated me when she first put it there, but once I realised just how fucking much she needs that space, I stopped giving her hell her over it.
“We’re going to have our family, Birdie. I don’t care what I need to do to make that happen, it’s happening.”
She kisses me and says softly, “I know.” Two little words, but the emotion is deafening and I feel it as much as she does.
“Okay, let’s hand over all our money and get this cot home. I’m past ready for your lips as my reward for being the best husband in the world.”
She shakes her head at me, amused. “I wish Max was here; he would have built this cot for me without any expectations.”
Her mention of Max spears my heart, but I love that she brought him up. “My brother may have been the nicer one of the two of us, but he was still a male, angel. He would have been on my side over this.”
She rolls her eyes, still smiling, though, and says, “You’re right. Okay, start making this happen so we can get to the good bit of today.”
I don’t need further encouragement. Birdie is more relaxed over her pregnancy than I’ve seen her in a long time. The blood test she had earlier came back all good, and we’ve talked a lot today about setting up the nursery. We’ve also both acknowledged our relationship needs some attention and talked about how we’ll make that happen. Max’s death has drawn us together again, and while I hate how it happened, I’ll do anything to keep it this way.
26
Winter
* * *
“I met with Torres today and we’ve settled on the new price,” I say to King over the phone as I enter my home late on a Monday night two and a half weeks after Max’s death. I wanted to be home in time for dinner tonight, but I got caught at the clubhouse going over stuff with Ransom. Now, it’s almost 10:00 p.m. and I’m annoyed that I’ve missed time with my wife tonight. She’s likely asleep already; the pregnancy has been kicking her ass this last week.