Page 145 of Priest

Deacon’s mouth twitched. “Bout damn time. Kid awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s meet him.”

They didn’t all go in at once. Even a room full of bikers knew how to move careful around a newborn and a mother who had just delivered him.

Lila managed the flow of bodies with the kind of natural authority that made arguing seem pointless. Evan stood near the foot of the bed, arms folded, already grinning like he’d decided this baby was the best thing to happen to him personally in months. Blue looked tired but steadier with each familiar face that came through the door and softened when they saw my boy.

Rook went first, though he didn’t crowd the bed. He stopped beside it, big and silent, his shadow angled away from Blue like even that much of him knew to be careful.

For a few seconds, he only looked down at the baby.

Jackson blinked up at him, one tiny fist working free of the blanket.

Rook’s gaze shifted to Blue, asking without words. When she gave a small nod, he reached down and offered one finger. The baby’s hand closed around it with surprising strength.

Something in Rook’s face went still.

“Strong,” he murmured.

Blue’s tired mouth softened. “Yeah?”

Rook looked back at the baby, his voice low enough that the room had to quiet around it to hear him. “Good.”

That was all he said.

Blue’s expression softened.

Rook gave the baby one last look, then stepped back, quiet as he’d come leaving the word behind like a blessing.

Ink stepped closer after that, hands in his pockets at first like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. Blue offered him the baby, and for a second he looked almost alarmed.

“You sure?” he asked.

“She just pushed him out,” Evan said. “I think she’s qualified to decide.”

Ink shot him a look, then carefully took Jackson like he was handling something far more dangerous than any weapon. The baby blinked up at him, frowned, and then made a face so severe it looked almost like a tiny scowl.

Evan grinned. “Look at that face. Already mean-muggin’ like he knows he’s being held by the hot biker with emotional damage.”

Deacon barked a laugh from the wheelchair. “Mean little thing. Jax suits him.”

That broke the room open.

“Little Jax,” Evan repeated immediately, delighted. “That’s it. He’s Little Jax now.”

Blue laughed softly and looked at me over the baby’s head.

Little Jax.

It fit.

By the time Deacon wheeled himself close enough to demand his turn, a nurse had already appeared in the doorway wearing the exact expression of a woman reconsidering every life choice that had brought her to a maternity floor overrun by bikers.

“You cannot have that many people in here,” she said.

Deacon looked down at his hospital gown under his cut and then back at her. “And yet.”