Page 109 of Catcher

“Too late,” she pants. “You’re gonna be a terrible labor coach.”

“Probably.” Another contraction hits, and she squeezes my hand hard enough to damn near break bones.

Twenty minutes later, I’m speeding through New Orleans traffic in the car while Ruby breathes through contractions beside me. Rain threatens to let loose overhead, as dark gray clouds roll low across the city skyline.

Ruby has one hand gripping the oh-shit handle above the window and the other holding her phone to her ear. “Promise, my water broke,” she mutters between breaths. “Gotta go.” She moans as another contraction hits. “Promise said she’ll let the others know.”

Good. She probably already has half the damn club mobilized by now. Saves me the hassle.

By the time we pull into the hospital parking garage, my phone is blowing up nonstop—Riggs, Nova, Wick, my mother somehow. Jesus Christ.

Ruby notices and snorts softly. “Told you.” I kill the engine and rush around to her side immediately. “I can walk,” she says.

“Not a chance.”

“Garrett—”

Too late. I already have her in my arms.

She wraps both arms around my neck with an annoyed sound while I carry her through the ER doors. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re having my kid.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to carry me everywhere.”

I look down at her. “Kinda feels like it does.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but her hand slides up into the hair at the back of my neck and stays there. The nurse behind the desk takes one look at Ruby and immediately starts moving. And just like that, everything changes.

Hours blur together after that—monitors, nurses, doctors, Ruby crushing my hand every time a contraction hits. At one point, she threatens to murder me. At another, she cries because the ice chips taste bad. I love her so damn much it physically hurts.

The Kings and the rest of the family take over half the waiting room before midnight. Her mom is crying. Her dad pretends he isn’t emotional while gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise it. My parents and Dean stay on FaceTime almost the entire damn night.

Then, finally, everything narrows down to one moment. One cry. My knees almost buckle. The room goes quiet for one suspended heartbeat before our child screams again, and suddenly, I can breathe. It feels like surfacing after being held underwater too long, as though every part of me that had been braced for disaster has to relearn what relief even is.

Ruby is crying as the nurse places him against her chest, and the sight damn near stops my heart—tiny fists, dark hair, angry little face. Perfect. Absolutely-fucking-perfect. Ruby looks wrecked, exhausted, and beautiful beyond words while staring down at him like the whole world just narrowed to that small, warm weight against her skin. “Hi, little man,” she whispers tearfully. Something inside my chest cracks wide open so fast and clean it almost feels like pain.

The doctor says something. Nurses move around us. None of it fully registers, because all I see and feel is them—my family. I move closer slowly, as if I’m afraid touching either of them will make this disappear.

Ruby looks up at me, finally, and Jesus Christ, the love in her eyes hits harder than any bullet ever has. “You wanna hold him?” she whispers.

I freeze. Actually freeze. Fear punches through me unexpectedly—not fear of him, fear of me—of dropping him, failing him, or loving him enough to destroy me if something ever happened. It’s instant, ugly, and honest.

Ruby notices, and her expression softens. “Garrett.” I swallow hard. My hands shake slightly when I reach down. Then suddenly he’s there, warm, tiny, and real in my arms. My son opens his dark, sleepy eyes briefly before settling again against my chest, and something inside me gives way all at once.

Just like that, I’m gone, completely done for, and wrecked by seven pounds of screaming human who doesn’t even know yet that I already belong to him.

A rough breath leaves me. I look down at him in my arms—red-faced, pissed off at the whole damn world already—and something in me goes still.

Ruby is crying and smiling at the same time when she says it softly, as if she already knows what it’s gonna do to me. “Welcome to the world, Garrett Carver, Junior.”

For a second, I can’t say a damn thing. My throat locks up hard. I look at Ruby, then back at my boy, and all I can get out is a rough and low, “I love you.”

Hours later, the room fills again with the Kings’ family, Ruby’s parents, laughter, coffee cups, and congratulations. I’m standing near the hospital bed while everybody crowds around.

Riggs eventually steps forward, eyes settling on the baby before lifting to me. Then he smirks slightly. “Well…” he says, “… looks like the Kings got another member.” The room erupts after that with voices, laughter, and a couple of smart-ass comments I don’t even fully catch. Riggs looks at me again and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “This is what livin’ is all about, brother.” I glance down at my son sleeping against Ruby’s chest and feel the truth of that deep in my bones, in old scars, in every part of me that once thought surviving was the best I’d ever do.

Three days later, I drive my family home.