Page 17 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

“Of course I want to,” I rasp, the words scraping over my dry throat. “I’m just not sure she wants to, or if it’s safe with just my good arm.”

Bronte nods. “I hear that. Like I said, she’s only ever been around us, so this is all new. Why don’t I set her down and she can crawl wherever she wants in here? Don’t be offended if she doesn’t head straight for you. She will eventually, when she’s ready.”

She does head straight for me though, with astonishing speed, like she’s in one of those baby races I read about while I was researching.

She zooms at triple time, eating up the floor until she reaches my feet.

She grasps my socks and jeans, yanking hard to pull herself to standing.

She totters a little, but then gets her feet under her and lifts her head.

She grins at me, the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen in my life, with her little pearly front and bottom teeth fully on display.

“You guys made a cute kid,” Dravin says, deadpan, into the stunned silence. “One of the cutest I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks.” Bronte laughs, winking at me as she kneels down next to Elowen.

“I think she’s the cutest, but I know I’m biased.

” She brushes Elowen’s cheek with her finger.

I’m meeting my daughter for the first time, but I’m also seeing a side of Bronte that I’ve never known.

I always compared her to the sun, but she’s not.

Her light encompasses the entirely galaxy, especially when she’s looking at our daughter. “Do you want me to help you up, Ellie?”

Ellie . That’s the sweetest nickname for the sweetest girl.

She coos something to Bronte, who hefts her up.

She holds her out to me, with one arm between her legs supporting her bottom and the other at her shoulders, making the transfer so much easier.

My right arm doesn’t have a big range of motion, but I can lift it about chest height, so I’m able to get my good hand underneath Elowen and use the other to keep her from pitching herself out of my arms.

Bronte stands right there, so there’s no way that Elowen could drop.

“H-hi,” I stammer, staring into the suddenly solemn little face.

She takes her time, staring right back, not the least bit shy. Her hand shoots out suddenly, reaching for my nose, but Bronte grasps her fingers and blows a raspberry against her palm.

“Gentle,” she explains to Elowen. “Like you touch kitty and puppy. Very gentle.” Bronte runs her knuckles down my left cheek. “Here, sweetheart. You can touch here. Just not the other side. Daddy has some ouchies that need to heal first. Ouch, like when you fall down.”

Elowen keeps studying me, trying to figure out exactly what Bronte’s talking about.

Watching her process the instructions is amazing.

Why do people think that babies don’t get it?

Elowen certainly does. She presses her palm to my left cheek where Bronte showed her and pats it, then smiles and lets out a scream that turns into a giggle.

She gets a little wild, but Bronte is there, helping me hold onto her.

She makes this feel natural.

Not like a first meeting and not like I have no clue what I’m doing. Not like I’m… crippled.

“Bro!” Ginny steps into our space. “Where’s my hug? I’m so freaking glad that you’re here. We’ve missed you a crazy amount.”

God. She should be pissed that I’ve treated her sister like shit.

I’ve never heard Ginny or Donna raise their voice, but if anything would give them a reason, it would be something like this.

They could at least go on a lengthy rant about my diabolical behavior or my ostrich head syndrome, stuck so far down into the damn sand.

They could leave the ass kicking for Kenton and Gabriel.

If I was Kenton, I’d be devastated if someone treated my daughter that way, and if it was my sister, I know that I’d want vengeance.

The thing about this family, is that they know how to feel their emotions.

If they’re angry, they just let themselves be angry.

They feel it, they breathe, and they let it go.

I don’t know if it’s because they’re so highly educated themselves, but somewhere along the way, Kenton and Donna taught their children the real deal stuff that they truly needed to go places in life.

Not the bullshit you learn in a classroom that you forget the next hour and never use again.

“Will you sit down with us and talk?” Donna asks. I clearly have an option to say no, but she’s so warm and hopeful that I can’t.

As soon as I nod, Ginny brings the highchair from the corner of the kitchen over to the red Formica table.

She gets half a cookie for Elowen and breaks it up onto a little blue plastic plate then adds a matching sippy cup with milk.

As soon as Bronte settles Elowen into her chair, Donna has a bib in place.

The three of them work like a team, picking up where the other left off.

Could I take over for them if Bronte moved to Hart? Would I be able to do these things for my daughter? Feed her? Hold her? Put her to bed and get her up in the morning? Play with her, teach her, listen to her so that she can impart all the things I seem to have forgotten?

It’s not an if. It’s a when.

I will do these things.

We will be a family.

Visions of it fill my head while I sit down, Dravin beside me, Bronte pulling up a chair to my right.

Ginny and Donna bracket the highchair, helping Elowen when she needs it.

I never fully knew if I wanted kids, mostly because of my own upbringing.

I was terrified of being my father, so I was terrified of ever becoming one.

I knew I’d rather die than become him, but nothing is ever certain, is it?

Watching my daughter cram handfuls of cookie into her mouth that she squishes first, smearing chocolate everywhere, happy as if the whole world has been set at her feet, I know that one thing is beyond a certainty.

I would do anything for her. Anything .

I can’t comprehend the path my father chose, but whatever it was in his head that led to his destruction, I don’t have it in mine.

Not to the same degree. That darkness had its time.

It lost. It took me a fuck of a long time to tear my head out from out my own ass and come through it, but I’m out of it now and there is no going back.

I can see other little babies running around, Ellie as a big sister, Bronte with her hands wrapped around her bump, a house full of laughter.

It stays in the back of my mind while Ginny and Donna ask me polite questions, mostly about sculpting, my business, and the surgery I just had.

I don’t feel like they’re prying or giving me the inquisition because they have doubts about my ability to take care of Bronte and Elowen, or because they’re trying to trap me into a web of regret and misery over the past. It’s so clear from every word, every question, every facial expression and gesture, just how much they missed me.

Later, Bronte puts her hand on top of mine on the table. The big brown teapot is empty, our mugs drained, the plate of cookies that Donna put on the table, gone.

“Ellie usually has a nap before dinner. Would you like to help me clean her up and settle her down?”

Elowen is sitting on her grandma’s lap now. She doesn’t look tired.

“Sometimes, she chooses not to sleep. She just has a rest while I read her a story, and that’s nice too. Just a break from all the action,” Bronte explains.

“Dinner has been all over the place with harvest season, but we try and keep her schedule consistent,” Donna says, getting up with Elowen.

“Kenton and Gabriel promised to be back early today because they knew you were coming and wanted to stop at your place. They should be back in an hour, so I’m going to get dinner started while Ellie naps. ”

Elowen shakes her head. Donna nods emphatically and kisses Elowen’s cheeks before she sets her in Bronte’s arms.

Dravin isn’t uncomfortable. He doesn’t mind sitting in the background, listening to me answer questions, rejoining a family that I’ve been absent for far too long from.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks Donna. He’s so large in the chair that it looks like he’s hovering on nothing but air.

Donna usually handles her own kitchen, but she’s not about to let a guest sit idle and feel awkward either. “Certainly. I’ve got a mountain of potatoes that need peeling.”

“It’s a lucky thing I know my way around a knife or a peeler.”

“I call dessert.” Ginny crosses her arms stubbornly. “I like the fun parts of cooking. Not boring things like roasts and vegetables. Pies and cakes are so much more fun.”

“It’s a lucky thing that we’re a team. No one will starve on our watch.”

I’ve seen the spreads that this family sets out. It’s like a feast every night, especially during harvest time. Dinners might be late or early or all over the place, or sometimes packed up and taken out to the fields,

Bronte’s had the same room since she moved here as a kid. This farmhouse was built with care, and added onto over the years, before Kenton and Donna took it over. There are three bedrooms upstairs and two on the main floor.

It’s so different, climbing those old wooden stairs today, though. The house might look the same, with pretty much the same artwork and furniture, but everything has changed.

Bronte’s bed has been moved against the wall to accommodate Elowen’s crib. The dresser from the guest bedroom has been moved up here. It stands beside Bronte’s own wooden antique tallboy. She could have had something newer but she likes the old stuff.

She gets a fresh blanket out of the bottom drawer and hands it to Elowen. She clutches it with a big smile. It’s little more than a faded scrap of flannel fabric, but clearly a favorite.

“I usually change her diaper and her clothes if she needs it, but she’s managed to keep pretty clean today, so just a bum change it is.”