Page 18 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

She lays Elowen down on the bed. Even though I’m here, standing awkwardly behind them, Ellie is obviously used to this routine.

Bronte unsnaps the pink overalls and has Elowen changed fast . I can’t help but see myself down on my knees, struggling.

Instead of berating myself and letting that shit in my head take over and tell me that it’s just another reason I’d never be a good dad, I talk myself down instead. I could watch a damn instructional video if I had to. If I can carve a fucking statue basically one-handed, I can change my daughter.

Eat shit, intrusive thoughts. I’m fucking over it.

Bronte lays Elowen down in her crib, passing her a super soft stuffed giraffe and tucking the small blanket around her.

There aren’t any other blankets other than a crib sheet over the mattress, and maybe that’s for a reason.

Maybe babies can’t have blankets until they’re older.

That’s one thing I didn’t think to look up.

Ellie seems happy enough with her giraffe and the small blanket.

The crib is only a few feet from Bronte’s bed.

She sits down, reaching for the book of children’s fairy tales from her nightstand.

It’s an ancient copy, tattered and worn.

My lips twitch when I think about how politically incorrect it probably is.

“I change what I have to.” Bronte flips open the book.

Reading my thoughts again, so effortlessly.

She pats the other side of the double bed. I walk around it and sit down, propping my back against the metal headboard, mirroring her position.

She flips open the book and starts reading.

It’s a story I’m not familiar with. Not something that’s been glammed up and made into a movie.

Ellie watches us through the espresso colored slats of the crib, a little smile on her face.

She seems so content. Her world is completely right , even if there’s a strange man sitting on the bed next to her mom.

She reminds me so much of Bronte. Not just in her features, but already in the way that she has a huge heart that is utterly pure.

I’d die to protect that.

I sit and listen, but more so to the tones of Bronte’s voice. I love watching Ellie’s eyes get heavy and close. Her breathing changes a little as she falls asleep. She was adorable awake, but in sleep, she’s so sweet. My heart gets big and heavy, taking up my chest, on the verge of bursting.

I’ve never felt such fear or awe, or such immediate, all-consuming love.

Bronte stops reading a few minutes later. She sticks the frayed yellow string bookmark into place and closes the book soundlessly.

She could say anything. Something to reassure me, questions about Hart, something that her mom and sister haven’t already asked me because they weren’t prying.

She could bring up old memories of being up here.

We were allowed our privacy, but there’s no way I ever would have done anything with Bronte here with her family in the house.

Even if they weren’t, it just wouldn’t have felt right.

Weeks before we ever had sex, she told me that she’d discussed it with her mom.

She had protection and she felt she was ready to take responsibility for her own body and her own desires.

She wasn’t afraid. She waited on me, giving me time to get over all my own worries and get out of my head.

She was the one who made it special. She’d packed her truck and we drove out to one of her family’s fields to stargaze.

She had blankets and pillows. We’d kissed before and explored a little, touching on top of clothes and then under clothes, but it was all very innocent.

I had no idea what I was doing. I had done a little bit of research online, but it’s not like you can learn a lot other than basic science. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to teach myself techniques from adult content to use on Bronte.

She showed me what she liked. Slowly. Tenderly. At our own pace, over a few weeks that summer we were sixteen. Like most things, we found our way together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was special because it was ours.

“What are you thinking?” Bronte asks softly while studying the crib.

I glance at her side profile, my eyes raking over my earlobe. I barely stop myself from leaning in and taking it between my teeth before kissing her neck. I’m suddenly hyperaware of her scent. Sugar and cinnamon, mixed with the smells of dinner drifting up from the kitchen.

I didn’t realize how often I was doing that until right this minute. Tuning out. Blocking everything. I wasn’t intentionally doing it right now, but it’s scary how I’ve forgotten how to just be… present .

“I’m thinking that I understand what you were saying about loving your child.

How it’s not like any other kind of love.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating. I don’t deserve her.

I don’t deserve you. But life can’t be about deserving.

I know you’ll say it’s about grace, and working hard to try and make a world where the people you love can thrive with you. ”

“That’s exactly what I would say.” She turns, her hair brushing against my jawline, she’s so close.

Her lips are just a few inches from mine.

“You try as hard as you can and I’ll try as hard as I can, and when we can’t, we pick each other up until we can again.

That’s what makes my parents’ marriage so successful.

They’re partners. They respect each other.

They’ve worked hard to understand that kind of love, and to love themselves as well.

People talk about romantic love like it’s the most important thing in the world, but all love is equally valuable. ”

“Which book have you been reading?”

Bronte snorts. “For once, it was a video.”

The urge to claim her mouth and properly kiss her is nearly overwhelming. The pain of missing her hurts just as much as any physical pain ever has. Allowing myself to feel it this week has made it nearly impossible to breathe past the constant ache in my muscles. It’s like getting a bad flu.

She’s the one who presses a chaste kiss into the corner of my mouth. I want to tangle my hands in her hair and tug her close. Feast on her, drink her in, eat her like she’s my last fucking meal.

My cock throbs and goosebumps erupt all over my arms. My skin feels too tight and hot. I’m starting to sweat under my t-shirt and black hoodie.

I tilt my face and ram my nose into her hair just to keep myself from doing something that I can’t do. Not here, not now. My body isn’t ready.

My dick might be screaming that it’s more than ready, my balls might be swollen as hell, my jeans so tight and uncomfortable because there’s literally no room in them when I’m this hard, but my face isn’t.

It’s also not happening here. Obviously.

I’ve never been about stealing a moment. I want joyful moments freely given, unhurried, and resplendent. Does that make me a romantic?

“Are you truly okay leaving your life and family behind? Will Ellie be okay?”

“She’ll miss my family,” Bronte sighs, but it’s a sigh of need, rattling out of her lungs because she’s holding herself back.

“I’ll miss my family too, but they always hoped that you and I would be together as a family, raising Elowen.

We all might miss each other, but Hart isn’t that far.

They’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Ellie will be wonderful.

We could always come back here overnight too.

Just because we’re there doesn’t mean we can’t also be here for more than just short visits.

It’s important to me that she grows up around this place and comes to love it as much as I do.

When we came from Seattle, I had no idea how to do farm stuff, but I’m so glad I learned. I love this land.”

“We don’t have to leave. We could… you could stay here, and I could work hard at making more sculptures and selling them so we could buy land from your parents. I could sell mine and we could buy some of theirs and build a house.”

She rakes her fingers through my hair. Her hand travels down my neck, to my shoulders.

She draws little circles there, reminding me again of all the times in the past we wrote words on each other’s back, or drew pictures, and made each other guess what it was.

Something so simple provided so much laughter.

Bronte can make anything special. It’s her gift.

“I know I suggested that before, but I think that right now, it would do you a lot of good to be in Hart. I want to be where you are. I want to live with you, do life with you, support you, and love you. Hart isn’t that big.

It has more of a small town feel than a city vibe.

It’s important to have friends. The club is there, and even if you just operate on the fringes of it, at least for a while, I think that’s where we need to be.

If we ever feel like it’s time to move out here, we could always do it then. ”

She doesn’t press on the selling of land, but I’m the one who brings it up, “It’s so crazy that I never considered selling before, but now that I think about being away from it, all I get is immense relief.

I had this image in my head of going there and just lighting a damn match and being done with it all. ”

“I’ll bring the gas.” It’s nice that she can joke about it as I’m attempting to, but she’s also there for real. “When we got there after dinner, I’ll help you pack every single thing you want to take.”

“I want our future to be stronger than the hate I knew. What we get to create will never wash away what already happened, but we can fill up my heart.” I run my hand from her shoulder down to her wrist, then trace the delicate knuckles down to her ring finger.

I circle it before I turn her palm over and memorize all the lines there by feel.

Every single one, because I know nothing about palmistry, but I want to know every single bit of this woman.

“Thank you for this miracle, Bronte. Thank you for being my home.” I’ve thought it before, over and over, but never said those words.

“I should have realized that all the medication in the world wouldn’t work if I kept poisoning myself.

Thank you for this new beginning, for being there to see me through, for following me and trusting me with this. ”

Bronte usually has all the words. Maybe that’s why all she can do is stare at me with her eyes brimming over and the softest smile. There aren’t any words right now. She’s given me all of them. A lifetime’s worth. It’s my turn to give some to her.

It’s my turn to give everything to her.

“I won’t mess it up this time. I promise.” My hands clench hers, even when her fingers curl up around mine.

The tears spill over, crystal bright, raindrops painting her cheeks. “You never messed it up,” she assures me solemnly. “Never.”

Downstairs, the door opens and closes. Gabriel and Kenton’s voices mix with Dravin’s, Donna’s, and Ginny’s.

I don’t mean to stiffen, but I guess I do. I still think that I deserve more than harsh words from Kenton and an ass kicking from Gabriel for the way I wronged Bronte.

“I’ll wake Elowen up soon,” Bronte says. She doesn’t let go of my hands.

I didn’t realize naps were so short, but I guess we’ve been up here for a while. If a baby sleeps for more than an hour in the afternoon, will they sleep at nighttime? I haven’t ever had a nap that I can remember, but if I did, I can’t imagine sleep would come easily. It’s already hard as it is.

“A few more minutes?” I try not to sound like I’m begging, but I probably fail.

Bronte responds with her usual grace, “A few minutes.”

She makes it sound like a lifetime.