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His eyes fall to the baby in my arms. “Grace, Rocco Carter.”
He looks at me for approval, and I lift my chin, my head dropping back.
His right hand strokes the side of my face before running into the back of my hair. The name he’s chosen is perfect. “Rocco means rest,” he says, dusting a thumb over my cheek.
Looking deep into his soul, I can tell he’s given this some thought. This isn’t spur of the moment. “My saving Grace is going to be just that. You and her,” he looks down, “you are all I’ve ever needed. With you, I want to rest. Free from fear, I want to live for you. You dived in to save me from drowning, and I will spend every minute of the rest of my life showing you how grateful I am that you fell over that night.”
I laugh, my nose streaming, my eyes soaked. “It was Beatswho knocked me down.”
Dean laughs too, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Well, I’ll buy him a beer when we get back.”
With that, my smile fades a fraction.
Getting back will look different when he leaves. That was the hardest part of him being asleep for so long. I wanted to scream at Travis that Dean was getting out every time he spoke about having his president back. I still don't know how he’s going to make that possible. Dean’s made it clear leaving the club isn’t a decision that comes lightly, nor is it met with open arms. I’ve never seen a member leave. “Have you told them yet?”
He sits on his heels, his arm still around me sat in the wheelchair. He looks at Grace, then back to me. Searching my features, he says, “Whatever they decide, I’ll have to go with it.”
“Meaning?” I ask.
He takes a second, looking at Grace. “Meaning, Ronnie and Rocco made some now old-fashioned rules for getting out. The club will take a vote.”
Grace makes a noise, and we both look down to her, her little chest rises and falls, fast.
“There is nothing you need to worry about. I mean it. My biggest hurdle is Travis.”
I lean my head to him. “He loves you. He knows what you need.” I can see in his eyes he hopes I’m right.
“Speaking ofneed.” Dean reaches into his cut, taking something out of the inner pocket. “This belongs to you.” He opens the box. A gold ring holding a red ruby lined with twelve small diamonds shines brightly.
“Dean.” My eyes water, flicking between him and the ring. It’s beautiful.
Taking it out, he reaches for my hand.
I uncurl my fingers from around Grace, still holding her.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s… I love it.”
Pushing it all the way on, he holds my hand, dusting his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
I let out a small laugh between my tears.
I don’t count how many minutes we sit in silence, simply marvelling at our future. Dean holds Grace, his chest bare, the skin-to-skin contact recommended by the nurse. Grace is blissfully unaware of the light she’s brought into his life. I vowed to make sure he never loses himself again. I can see by the way he watches her; he’s never going to forget now. Because our little girl deserves the best of him, the side I saw from the first day I met him. He was never a bad man. Just lost in his darkness.
Together, we gave each other a second chance. Not to do better, just to do it differently. He taught me love still exists after I thought it was gone. I taught him to never let how he feels make him forget his worth.
We saved each other.
A little under three weeks later, we manage to make it home. Grace was born weighing 4lbs and is now a healthier 5lbs 2oz. We no longer have to tube feed her after she took so well to breastfeeding. Boy does that girl like my boobs.
Dry, cracked nipples are definitely not sexy, and they have never been so sore, but you will not hear me complaining. To be able to bring Grace home with no infections or complications, knowing she can breathe well on her own, has been an absolute miracle.
Unlike her father who has moaned everyday about being unable to ride, she’s been a dream. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my car keys off the side with a huff. He only has few more weeks before he’s allowed to ride again.
He picks Grace up in her car seat, and I take one last look back. “Are we crazy?”
He walks to my side, draping his free hand over myshoulder. “When has anything we’ve been through not been a little crazy?”
