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“That’s up to the baby,” I said with a grin. “Say bye to Mom.”

“Bye, Mom!” Dylan shouted. He waved both hands over his head and bounced up and down, excited now that he knew this pain wasn’t anything catastrophic.

“You better drive fast,” Harley said from the backseat. She was lying supine on the backseat, propped against the door with one foot on the floor. “This baby iscoming.”

“Yes ma’am!” I said.

I drove as fast as I could to the hospital without putting anyone’s life at risk. The last time I was at this place, I was being wheeled into the trauma bay with a bullet in my chest. This time, I was rushing through the front doors with my truck still idling at the curb, shouting for someone to come out with a stretcher.

The next few chaotic minutes felt like hours. Nurses whirled out like a hurricane, wrangled Harley into a wheelchair, and rushed her up to the maternity ward. I ran behind, trying to catch the nurse’s instructions and pay attention to the doctor’s too. From there, there were doctors, nurses, curtains, a mask over my face, a hairnet, even covers on my shoes, my hands washed, an IV put in Harley, and her face pinched in pain as she cried out at each contraction.

I stood at the head of the hospital bed, her hand in mine. “Breathe,” I said, just like we’d practiced in the birthing classes months prior. “Deep breaths, baby.”

“I’m breathing!” she snapped.

“The baby’s already crowning,” the doctor said. “Keep pushing, Harley.”

“I am!” She gripped my hand so hard, I was sure she was cutting off my circulation, but I didn’t care. Her pain was so intense it vibrated through our bond, pulsing through me like a throbbing bruise.

I leaned closer to her and wiped the sweaty hair from her forehead, whispering encouragements as she gritted her teeth and pushed. A few more breaths, a few more guiding words from the doctor, and then one more shout of pain and strength and then?—

A high-pitched cry rang through the room.

When Dylan was born, I wasn’t there. I didn’t evenknow.I hadn’t been there to support Harley through the challenges ofpregnancy. Hadn’t held her hand in the delivery room. Hadn’t heard Dylan take his first big breath and cry out.

I wasn’t going to miss another moment.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said. She placed the infant into Harley’s waiting arms. “You have a daughter.”

“A daughter,” Harley echoed in a small, awed voice as she cradled the baby to her bare chest.

I knelt by her. The baby’s cries sounded like music. She was tiny, with perfect skin, perfect round little face, perfect dusting of dark hair.

“She looks just like you,” I whispered.

I leaned close to Harley, and we shared a kiss with our newborn daughter between us, still crying her little heart out.

In another flurry of activity, we were moved from the delivery room to a regular hospital room, and our daughter was swaddled, fed, and soon stopped crying. Her face smoothed into a peaceful expression as she slept in Harley’s arms.

“Here,” Harley said with a smile. “Hold her.”

I pulled my chair close to Harley’s bed, then gently took my newborn daughter in my arms. She was warm. So small, so precious. My heart swelled with more love than I ever thought possible.

I felt Harley’s love through our bond, glowing warm like an ember. She was watching us with a small smile on her face. She still had sweat at her hairline, and she was flushed from the exertion of her delivery. She was gorgeous. My perfect, strong mate. My dragon rumbled with pleased possessiveness. “I love you so much.”

She laughed. “I love you too, Steph.”

“She really looks just like you.” I rocked our daughter in my arms. She had Harley’s nose and the same small, expressive mouth.

“Thank God,” she said. “I was afraid your genes were so strong I’d have another clone of you running around.”

“Yeah, one mini-me is enough,” I said with a small laugh. I traced my forefinger over our daughter’s forehead and watched in awe as her expression shifted in sleep. I followed the touch with a gentle kiss.

“What should we name her?” Harley asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked. We’d discussed a few names, made a shortlist, and I’d expected that Harley would choose her name when we met her.

“You should name her,” she said. “You weren’t there when I named Dylan. So, you should name her.”