Page 3

As I drive, Wren’s laboured breathing fills the backseat and I glance over my shoulder, trying to stay calm. “You good?” I ask.

She groans in response, clearly not in the mood for small talk. I focus on the road but reach back, running my palm up and down her calf in an attempt to comfort her. My touch feels fucking useless right now, and I know nothing I do can really ease what she’s going through, but I try anyway.

Suddenly, she grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly, her knuckles white. “How much further?” she manages through gritted teeth, her breath coming in short bursts.

“A couple of minutes at most.”

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of her as she throws her head back against the seat, her face tight with pain, but she keeps a death grip on my hand the entire time until we’re finally at the hospital.

After checking in, we're led to a spacious private room. I keep a steady hold on Wren’s waist as I guide her toward the bed. She braces herself against it with both palms, her head dropping as she takes deep breaths. Nurses move around the room, preparing everything for the delivery, but I stay close to her, running my hand gently along the small of her back, trying to give her any small relief I can.

When the nurses ask her to undress, I step in and help her strip down, then lift her onto the bed. The whole time, I’m feeling completely fucking useless. It’s a shitty feeling—knowing that, as the dad, all I can do is watch while she’s the one going through agony. We men help create this painful situation, but it’s only the mom who bears the burden of it all. Which, in reality, is fucked.

Wren’s handling this a lot better than I expected. She’s in her zone, breathing steadily through the pain, her face focused and calm. It’s the exact opposite of how Bridge was when she was giving birth to Cree—she screamed the entire fucking place down throughout, like she was being torn apart.

But Wren? She’s a different fucking breed. She’s always been tough, and the fact that she’s tolerating the pain so well shouldn't surprise me at all. When I think about it, she's been through quite a lot of it in the past—mostly because of me. We’ve been through some seriously twisted shit together; I've pushed her body in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible, and she never broke. Not then, and not now.

She leans back against the pillow, her hair damp with sweat clinging to her forehead. I reach over, brushing it away with gentle fingers. I pull the sheet higher over her, tucking it beneath her arms, covering her bare tits, but when she looks up at me, something shifts. Her eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time since I’ve be reunited with her, I feel like we’re in this together. No walls, no bullshit—just us. Everything else can wait. This moment is what’s important. A memory that neither of us will ever erase from our souls.

I lean down and press my lips firmly against her forehead, hoping to break through her tough exterior and she responds as expected. Her hand flies to the back of my neck, fingers gripping tight, pulling me closer. I fucking knew it—knew she needed this as much as I did.

I grab her hand from my neck and press it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. Her eyes fill with unshed tears, glistening, but she squeezes them shut, sinking her head back into the pillow as a deep, guttural groan escapes her while her hand tightens around mine as another wave of pain crashes over her.

Everything feels like a blur as I take the seat close beside her, resting my arm on the bed. Voices murmur around us, and people move about, examining Wren, but my focus is locked solely on her. The way she breathes, the rise and fall of her chest, the sheen of sweat that makes her golden skin glow—I'm completely lost in her beauty. How can someone be in so much pain yet still look like a fucking goddess? Wren fucking Hayes, that's who.

To say I missed her is a fucking understatement. I thought I loved her before, but almost losing her showed me the true depth of it. I’ve felt that emptiness, and I’ll never let it happen again. I might have been broken physically, but mentally—without her or Cree—it nearly fucking destroyed me. I can’t even count how many times I forced myself out of that bed, yanking out tubes of my body like a madman, just trying to get to them. Sometimes, I wonder how I made it through that shit at all.

I get why this has shattered her. How could I not? I grieved for Bridge—I watched the woman I loved be lowered into the ground, but she never came back from the fucking dead. Wren’s shock and pain makes sense. I've been there, full of doubts and questions, but she’ll understand soon that I’m not going anywhere. I won't be leaving her again, and I’ll pull her out of her darkness, just like she did me. That’s what we do—what we’ve always done. That’s what our love is, no matter how fucking twisted and sadistic it might be.

As I watch her hand glide over her bump, her engagement ring catching the light, it hits me. We’ve got a lot to talk about—conversations waiting, things we need to set straight—but she’s right She probably needs some space right now, but from my own experience, I can’t help but worry that if I pull away too much, she might never come back from it. So, being the asshole I am, I smothering her instead, pushing too hard for her to accept my return. I know it’s a shitty move on my behalf, I've never been perfect or claimed to be, but it’s my fucked-up way of showing that I’m not going anywhere.

After a while, I hear a nurse mention something about our baby's heartbeat dropping, and my heart fucking drops with it. My head whips around as I try to catch every word of their hurried conversations about getting Wren down to the OR. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wren's head snap up, her eyes wide with fear as she watches the nurses.

I turn back to her, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’ll both be fine; I’ll be with you the entire fucking time,” I promise, reaching up to stroke her hair gently.

She squeezes her eyes shut, throwing her head back against the pillow, and I stand, my heart racing as they prepare to move her to the operating room.

As we’re wheeled into the OR, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely panicking inside. My mind is racing, and though I’m doing everything I can to stay calm, the worry is eating me up. All I can think about is her—our baby—and the hope that nothing goes wrong.

The anaesthesiologist gives the epidural, and slowly, I begin to lose all sensation from the waist down. It’s a strange feeling, but as soon as they set up the screen in front of us to block our view of the surgery, reality sinks in hard. I glance up at Arlo, my eyes watery. He stands beside me, dressed in blue scrubs, looking strangely out of place yet; powerful, like nothing could break him.

I catch him trying to peek over the screen, his curiosity betraying him. He’s not one to shy away from blood or gore; hell, considering what he does for a living and how executes his victims, this is almost second nature to him. But here, in this moment, it’s not about death or destruction—it’s about life.

When Arlo realizes I’m looking up at him, he meets my gaze and slowly takes a seat beside me, his elbows resting on the bed as he holds my hand to his lips. His presence feels steady, reassuring, like an anchor in the mayhem.

“I just hope she’s okay,” I whisper, feeling the emotion well up inside me. I close my eyes and turn away, trying to keep it all together, but it's hard.

He gently kisses my hand again, and when I turn back to him, his dark eyes are locked on mine. “She’ll be fucking fine,” he says with a raised brow. “Do you know who the fuck her parents are?”

I smile softly as I trace my gaze over his handsome face and my hand instinctively moves to the side of his tattooed neck, searching his eyes.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting,” I begin, my tone hesitant. “It’s just... it's going to take some time, you know? I’ve been so overwhelmed with everything.” I pause, struggling to find the right words. “It’s been a lot to take in, but honestly, I am so fucking happy that you got back home just in time. I was terrified I’d have to do this without you, Arlo.”

He leans in, resting his brow against mine and I slide my hand to the back of his neck and with our eyes close, and we share a quiet moment—just us, nothing else.

“I don’t want to hear you fucking apologize to me,” he says. “None of this, none of what you’re feeling, is your fault. It never has been, but I promise you, with everything in me, I’ll make it right. I don’t care how long it takes. What matters right now is this—us, in this moment, with our baby girl.”

When my eyes flutter open and he tilts his head, presses his tongue against my lips gently before capturing them in a slow, sensual kiss. We move together, our lips grazing over each other’s, the connection between us feeling electric, so real and powerful that it pulls me out of my panic for a moment. I’m lost in him, in us, until I feel a sudden tugging sensation in my stomach and my eyes snap open, reality flooding back in.

I rest my head against the pillow, eyes darting toward the screen separating us from what’s happening. My heart pounds as I mentally brace for what’s next. Time stretches on, and just when the anxiety seems unbearable, they finally hold her up for a brief moment. A sob bursts from my chest, completely uncontrollable, and Arlo turns to me, his expression shifting. I hear her cry—soft but strong—and relief crashes over me in waves.

Arlo’s grin is huge as he looks at me, leaning over to pepper my lips with kisses. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice full of emotion. “You fucking did it, beautiful.”

I laugh softly through the tears streaming down my cheeks, soaking in the moment between us. Arlo stands and moves toward the nurses, taken away to cut the umbilical cord. I watch him from where I lie, feeling pride and love as he snips the cord. My heart aches to hold her, to feel her close, and I anxiously wait, my eyes following every movement.

Finally, the nurse brings her over and my breath catches as they lift the sheet, placing her tiny body on my bare chest. The warmth of her skin against mine makes me melt completely. She’s so small, so perfect, and already asleep. Tears fall freely as I gaze down at her, unable to stop myself from taking in her soft skin, the long lashes that frame her little eyes, and the dark hair that already seems so thick.

Arlo leans down beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as we both look down at her in awe. I turn my head to meet his emotional eyes, and we share a soft, smiley kiss, the happiness between us deep. Then, he leans down and presses a tender kiss on her head, sealing the moment.

“She’s perfect,” Arlo murmurs. “Did you ever think of a name for her?”

Our eyes lock, and I nod slightly. “I did,” I say. “But now that you’re here, that decision is totally yours too.”

His chin raises slightly in curiosity. “What did you have in mind?”

I lower my gaze to her, stroking her damp hair softly with the tips of my fingers.

“Lumi,” I answer quietly. “In Latin, it means light of life or glow. I thought it was perfect, knowing she would bring light back into my life.”

A small twitch of a smile plays on his lips, his eyes easing. “I think it’s perfect. I can already see her as Lumi,” he says with a nod of approval.

“There’s a middle name, if you’ll accept it,” I continue, feeling the weight of what I’m about to say and his brow lifts in silence, waiting for me to go on. “I was going to call her Lumi Bridget Hayes.”

I watch his face fall slightly, an almost look of shock and emotion crossing his features. His eyes stay locked on mine as he takes a slow seat beside me, his hand moving to stroke the back of my hair gently.

“You don’t have to do that, baby,” he says softly.

“I know,” I respond, “but I want to. She will always be a huge part of our lives—and Cree's too. I don’t want either of you to ever think she’ll be forgotten while I’m here, because she won’t. I’ll always respect her as Cree’s mom and your wife. She was someone you lost without wanting to, and I know how important she is to you both.”

He suddenly kisses me hard on the mouth, stealing the breath from me. “I don’t fucking deserve you,” he whispers against my lips.

When I open my eyes, I see the tears in his, and I’m relieved he’s happy with the decision. It means something to both of us, to Lumi, and to Cree. We both turn our attention back to Lumi, and I smile as he gently lifts her tiny fist with his large finger.

After what feels like hours of deep sleep, I slowly awaken to the sound of Arlo's deep murmur. Through heavy, tired eyes, I peer around the softly lit room. The morning sun is attempting to peek through the curtains, but I stay still until my gaze finally lands on him. He’s shirtless, his belt fully removed, and his pants hang low on his hips, exposing the band of his black Calvin's and the sharp cut of his V-line.

Lumi is nestled snugly in the crook of his strong, tattooed arm, and he bounces her gently, his eyes locked on her tiny face. She looks so small against his big frame, and I can't help but stare at them, completely in awe to witness this moment.

“Oh, so you’ve finally decided to wake up,” Arlo suddenly speaks, but I soon realize he's speaking to Lumi, not me.

“You're behaving like you did all the work,” he adds, and I bite my lip to stifle a giggle. I watch while he settles into the maternity chair across the room.

He lifts her gently beneath her tiny arms, his tattooed fingers supporting her fragile head. Lumi makes that adorable baby crunch that always melts my heart as Arlo studies her features before letting out a dramatic sigh, tucking her back into his arm and leaning back with his legs spread wide.

“As I thought, you’re exactly like your mom, and you’re going to be the death of me,” he says, an eyebrow raised as he watches her make soft baby noises and presses his fingertip into her tiny palm.

“I know you’re new to the world, but we need to establish some ground rules already,” he continues, and I try to keep a straight face.

“First and foremost, allow me to introduce myself: I’m your daddy, Arlo Hayes, and I’m a nutcase.” I suppress a laugh as he continues, his tone half-serious, half-joking.

“Yes, Lumi, you’ve been cursed with the most overprotective, insane father in the entire world. So take this as a warning: please don’t push me as hard as your mother does. I have a feeling having you as my daughter might land me in jail for a very long time for countless murders.”

Unable to hold it in any longer, I release a small giggle and his dark eyes dart to mine. I flash him a lazy smile as he stands and strides toward me with Lumi nestled in the crook of his arm. When he reaches my side, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over me with concern.

“You good?”

I nod slightly, then shift my focus to Lumi, lifting my arm and gently gliding my fingers over her soft, fuzzy cheek.

“I’m okay. How has she been?” I respond.

He moves Lumi with ease, sliding his hand under her head and then supporting her bottom before settling her on my chest.

“She’s been asleep most of the time, so make the most of her being awake.”

I smile as I cradle her in my arms, her brown eyes wide open and curious while Arlo drapes a blanket over her.

“I should probably head home and grab some things for you both,” he says before continuing. “You’ll probably be here for a few days.”

I meet his gaze, nodding in agreement. “You should also go see Cree. Maybe bring him here with you to meet Lumi. Take my phone and call Sara,” I suggest.

He inhales deeply and stands straighter, but I catch his hand before he walks away. “He’ll be so happy to see you. I just know it,” I assure him softly, watching him carefully.

The tension in his body is clear, and I understand why. I struggled with all of this, his return, but how Cree will react I’m not sure. He lost both parents, and now that his dad has returned, will he think his mom might too? But either way, deep down, I believe Cree will be so happy to see Arlo again regardless.

He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my lips, which I welcome before he presses a tender kiss to Lumi’s tiny head.

“I’ll be back soon,” he murmurs, his tone carrying reassurance.

I nod slightly, watching as he turns away, puts his shirt back on, and heads toward the door. He glances back one last time and gives me a wink that makes my heart flutter.

Once he’s gone, I lay my head back on the pillow, thinking about how supportive he’s been through this entire thing. I knew from the moment we arrived here that I couldn’t let our differences ruin this moment. I didn’t want Lumi’s birth affected by whats happened, so I pushed aside my darker feelings for now. I was scared to face all of this without him, but I’m so thankful he made it back just in time to be with us.

I realize now I’ve been unfair to him. I’ve just been so shocked, confused, and hormonal, but I’m grateful he understands that the healing will take time and that we have a lot to talk about when we’re ready. It’s still so early on, and so much is happening already that I feel overwhelmed. I know I have a lot of work to do regarding my mental health. No one can do that for me, and I need to take responsibility for it—for the sake of this small family of ours.