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“It’s good to see you Wren,” he said. Then he left.

Chapter 10

❧

— Glitch —

On Monday, Wren had sat eight feet away from me.

There had been one night in the middle of that year when I’d forced myself to consider that she might be dead. I’d searched until I proved she wasn’t, because death leaves records and Wren had left nothing. After that, I knew she was alive somewhere. Knowing it and seeing her breathe were not the same thing.

I wanted to cross the office, pull her out of the chair and hold her until the year between us disappeared. I wanted to get on my knees and apologize until I ran out of words. I wanted to put my hands on her face and make sure she was ok.

Instead, I sat where she told me to sit and kept my hands to myself.

Fuck, she looked good.

Motherhood suited her. Her hips were fuller. So was her chest. There was a softness across her stomach where she’d carried our daughter, and I wanted to put my hands on every change and learn it. The desk between us might as well have been a locked door.

But her body wasn’t the biggest difference.

My Wren had been shy in public. Quiet. Reserved. She let other people fill a room while she watched from the edge of it. In private she was different. Dirty notes on my whiteboard. Filthy messages sent from nine feet away. A smile that told me exactly what she wanted before she put it into words.

The woman sitting across from me on Monday didn’t fold into herself once. She held my eyes. She said what she meant and waited for me to deal with it. She didn’t soften a single word to make it easier for me.

Maybe motherhood had done that. Maybe I’d done it when I put her out of the clubhouse and left her no choice but to become someone who could survive me. I hated that last possibility but I couldn’t dismiss it just because I hated it.

The confidence suited her. That gutted me too. I had spent a year wanting my songbird back—the woman who felt safe snugged into my side and looked up at me for approval when she wanted something. The woman I’d found was stronger than the one I’d lost. I wanted her too.

Then she gave me our daughter’s name.

Sparrow.

A girl. We had a girl.

For a year, my child had been a due date and a set of calculations. Then Wren said her name, and she became real. A baby girl. My daughter.

Wren told me the pregnancy had been fine. No issues. Sparrow’s birth had been textbook and they’d both been healthy. Then she stopped, and I didn’t ask her for more. I’d wanted to. I wanted to know every single detail. But everything from her was on her terms.

Before I left, she told me I could meet Sparrow on Wednesday.

I’d been reading about babies since the onesie arrived, following the rough timeline I’d built from Wren’s medical records. Knowledge wasn’t the problem.

Nothing I’d read told me how to meet my daughter.

I’d told Dutch on Tuesday morning. “I’m not available tomorrow afternoon. I’m meeting Sparrow.”

There was a pause. “Sparrow?”

“That’s her name.” I swallowed. “I’ve got a baby girl, Dutch.”

Another pause, longer this time. “All right, brother. You call if you need anything. If you don’t, send me one word when it’s done.”

News moved through the club after that.

Holden sent Remember to breathe.

Colt sent Photos or the old ladies will kill every man in the club.