Page 39 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Villain

I never thought I’d be nervous walking into a doctor’s office. I’ve walked into gunfights calmer than this. Fists don’t scare me. Blood don’t faze me. But stepping into that waiting room, knowing she might still shut the door in my face?

That shit sent lightning down my spine.

The place was too damn clean. The walls were some soothing blue, like they thought painting it calm would make bringing a human into the world less terrifying. It smelled like lemon disinfectant and baby powder.

Rachel was already there. Alone.

She sat in a corner chair, her hands folded over the swell of her belly like a damn angel with battle scars. She was reading a pregnancy magazine, but I could tell she wasn’t actually absorbing a single word. Her eyes flicked up when the bell over the door jingled.

She froze.

I gave her a tight nod and walked over, careful not to get too close.

“You said you’d be here,” she said. Her voice was guarded, but not cold.

“I meant it.”

She stared at me for a long moment before shifting her bag off the seat beside her.

“Sit, then.”

I did.

And just like that, I’d won one small battle in the long war to earn her back.

The doctor talked like we were a team. Like I’d been there the whole time. And damn if Rachel didn’t let me stay through it all. She even squeezed my hand when the heartbeat came through the monitor.

I swallowed hard.

That sound? That was mine.

Something shifted in me, permanent and raw.

Afterward, we sat in the parking lot, windows down, Tennessee sun pouring in. She was still half turned toward me, one leg tucked under her like she might bolt at any second.

“I’m not staying in the past,” she said. “If you want to be in this baby’s life, you better learn how to live in the present.”

I nodded. “I will.”

“And I’m not just going to let you waltz back in and pick up where we left off. You earn that.”

I wanted to reach out, to touch her knee, to tell her I’d crawl through fire barefoot just to hold her again.

Instead, I said, “I’ll show you. Every damn day.”

Rachel didn’t look like she believed me. She shooed me out of her car.

Then, I did what I never thought I would.

I slowed down.

No booze. No broads. No late-night fights in the cage. If it didn’t get me closer to Rachel, I didn’t want it.

I cleaned up the house. Irish handed me a damn calendar with “baby prep” written in magic marker like a to-do list for a clueless biker.

Rachel’s mom even let me patch a loose step on her porch.

“Don’t think I like you just ‘cause you swing a hammer, boy,” she said, watching from the window.

“I wouldn’t dare assume,” I replied, wiping sweat off my brow. “But I do want to make this right.”

She just huffed and walked off. But the next day, she made an extra bowl of potato salad when I stopped by.

Progress.

A few weeks later, Eve hosted one of those “low-key” cookouts at Royal Road that still somehow had fireworks, motorcycles lined up along the whole block, and her singing Bonnie Raitt on a stage with a fiddle player named Daisy.

I showed up just to be close.

Rachel was there in a sundress, her bump pronounced now, her smile tighter than it used to be.

She laughed with Cece. She helped Eve stir baked beans. She looked like she belonged.

And when I caught her alone by the back fence, looking up at the stars, I took my chance.

“I used to think love was something that broke you,” I said, standing beside her.

“It can be.”

“Yeah. But maybe it’s also what builds you after.”

She glanced over. “You think you’re building something, Villain?”

“I know I am.”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t walk away either.

We looked up at the stars together, in a comfortable silence. I didn’t reach for her. Not yet.

A few nights later, I found her porch light still on. I didn’t go up. Just stood at the bottom of the steps, helmet in hand.

She opened the door like she’d been waiting.

“You here to apologize again?” she asked.

“No.” I swallowed. “I’m here to say I’m proud of you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’ve done all this on your own. You didn’t wait on me. You didn’t ask for anything. You just did it. And you deserve someone who’ll stand beside you through it all.”

“I do,” she said, voice strong.

I stepped forward. “So let me be that. Don’t forgive me today. Hell, don’t forgive me at all. Just... let me prove it.”

“I’m tired of being disappointed,” she whispered.

“I’m tired of being the man who disappoints.”

And then, for the first time since she left, she reached out.

Took my hand.

Held it tight.