#thebikeriders

The familiar hum of chatter filled your ears as you leaned against a wall, nursing your drink. The bikeriders’ meeting place was packed that night, and you had lost count of how many men had brushed up against you to get your attention. At least those who knew you were Johnny’s girl wouldn’t try anything, so you were a bit safe.

You weren’t particularly close to that world, where men drank until they passed out and violence had its own rules. You’d have rather gone out to the movies with friends or stayed home watching TV. You didn’t belong here. 

At the start of your relationship with Johnny–when everything was easy and pretty–you had been worried about having different interests. But it wasn’t bad, was it? It made the conversations at home more lively. Johnny would tell you about his day at work while you cooked something, and he would listen to your blabbering as you sat on the couch. It had become the routine. At least, when he talked to you.

With your pop in hand, you tried to catch his gaze. It felt like you had taken a huge step backward in your relationship. Now, Johnny was too tired to ask about your day. He barely looked at you. And the main reason was the very sight in front of you. 

The club. 

Johnny was drifting further away from you every day, and there was nothing you could do besides trying to hold his hand a little longer when you could. There was this superpower force pushing him away from you, no matter how hard you pulled. Every day, the same questions made you uneasy. Had we moved in together too fast? Shouldn’t he have proposed by then? Is there someone else in his life? It wasn’t like you could tell him to leave the club aside for some time. This whole thing was his life.

Your second anniversary was in two days, and you weren’t even sure he’d remember. 

Without warning, warmth brushed your side. One of the new guys–blond buzzcut and cute smile–was towering above you. It would have been intimidating had he not been leaving a step or two between you both. Clever one, you thought. 

“Wanna try to beat me?” he asked you, and by the time you had registered his question, looking like an idiot, he had already repeated himself.

“Oh, um,” your gaze narrowed to the pool table, clearing your throat as it started to burn. “Why not. Yeah.”

You usually weren’t the kind to mingle with the men, but this time you really needed to be distracted from everything. Before the guilt pounding behind your breastbone became unbearable, you followed the guy to the pool table, where a few men were already gathered. 

Discomfort nipped at your edges as you stood there, tightening your grip over your drink. You greeted those you hadn’t seen quickly, not knowing what to do.

“Charlie,” the blond guy introduced himself, shouting in your ear. 

You gave him your name back, finally making a move to set your drink down on a table nearby.

“What do I get if I win?” Charlie asked, handing you a cue. 

You chuckled, and suddenly your chest started feeling a bit lighter. When was the last time you had fun? 

“What d’you want?” you replied with a quick shrug, breaking eye contact when you realized how flirty this sounded. 

“A kiss,” Charlie didn’t hesitate. “On the cheek, if you’d rather.”

“Right. I’m Johnny’s girl.”

With a raise of his eyebrows, Charlie invited you to start. You doubted he would give it a response or care, so you moved to the end of the table and inhaled sharply as you bent to take your first shot. 

“Ya won’t hit it from that angle,” he interrupted, pointing at the cue ball. “Ya need to move over there, see?"

“Is is obvious that I’ve only played once before?” you straightened, beaming at his burst of laughter. "I’m so bad at this."

“Nah. You’re okay,” Charlie rounded the table to stand beside you. Close. “Want me to start instead?”

Perhaps it was universe, or something linked to that superpower you often thought of. That thing beckoned you to glance over the tables against the wall. Johnny was watching you, his glass frozen against his lips. 

You imagined running your hands through his hair and feeling his muscles flexing under your touch. Asking him for things you had never had the guts to ask before. Bend you over the pool table. 

For a moment, you wondered if he could read your mind. You averted your gaze, reminding yourself of how distant he was. Even sex couldn’t fix things up. 

You heard a low whistle as the white ball hit the grouped balls with a sharp stroke. The men’s loud chatter brought you back to reality, in which Charlie was waiting for you to shoot. 

“Woah,” you forced a smile, although you hadn’t seen anything. “Bet I can do better.”

“Yeah?” Charlie grinned back, looking at you like he could eat you on the spot. "I can help if ya need.”

You imagined his hands on his waist, and suddenly you wanted to stop and go home. For real this time. Too uncomfortable to admit it, you willed yourself to get a grip on yourself and blamed your sheepishness. If you ended this quickly, you could go back to Johnny’s table.

“I should be fine.”

Bending again, you mustered all your concentration and tried hard to ignore Johnny’s hot gaze on you, as well as Charlie’s.

From his spot, your man probably had a very straight, public view of your bra. 

“C’mon,” you muttered to yourself, right before getting one ball into the far corner pocket with a smooth, hard stroke. 

“Look at that!" Charlie exclaimed, brushing a hand against your lower back as he slipped to the other side. “That was good.”

His enthusiasm almost made you smile.

“Uh-huh,” was all you said, locking eyes with Johnny again.

Nerves crawled through your veins as you felt Charlie’s hand again, this time poking your side playfully. 

“Hey, don’t go all sad on me. Ya can still beat me.”

No, but Johnny might.

Under the heat of his stare, you tried not to shrivel. You didn’t even know if you wanted to kiss him or make a run for it. That attitude–giggling with other men–was something you had never done before. Clearly, he hated that. And you, it made your heart pick up pace. Was it how it was between you now? Making each other jealous to get some attention?

Sitting uneasy at the table, Johnny didn’t think he owned you or anything. He just couldn’t stand the idea of someone treating you with less respect than you deserved. Getting physical wasn’t the solution–he was well aware, as you’d already warned him about it once–but he wanted to show you he had your back no matter what. Those young guys didn’t even give a fuck about getting to know you properly. How would they know you loved flowers more than anything else?

“What’s up?” Charlie asked, so close to your ear you smelled the booze on his tongue. 

You slightly shifted backward, pretended to be focused on the game. “Nothin’.”

Your hand sweated against the cue as you saw Johnny pushing his chair back and striding over to you from the corner of your eye. It was only when he stood at the other end of the table that you saw those dark, suspicious eyes. They glanced at you, and back at the man standing proudly.

“I suggest ya take your hand off her now,” Johnny feigned nonchalance, resting both hands on the table.

You didn’t miss the second glance at your lips. Beside you, Charlie replied, but you were barely listening. Your mind was still stuck on the idea of touching Johnny and hearing him say that he didn’t like when guys got too close to you. That you were the only one. Deep down, you knew it was closer to insecurity than lust.

Even your name had never sounded so sensual coming from his lips. It snapped you out of whatever dreaming haze you had been in, finally making you move away. 

“I guess we both lost,” you tried to lighten the mood, shooting Charlie a quick look. 

It was useless. His attention was tethered to Johnny as he moved to get closer. Their mouths moved, but you could no longer hear what they were saying over the roaring of your ears. Something about your right to be playing, and Johnny’s response about doing whatever the fuck you wanted to do. You didn’t dwell on the semantics. Charlie had clearly had a drink or two already, and the flush in his cheek only made you assume the worst. He would get physical, and it would be over for Johnny.

“If she can’t be left on her own, then maybe you’ve got somethin’ to worry ‘bout,” Charlie pointed out, glaring at Johnny like he wasn’t afraid of throwing a punch first. 

“What?” an offended gasp left your mouth, confused by his sudden aggressivity. 

You’d never understand men. The sight of him turning from a sweetheart with a bright smile to an evil jerk calling you a whore was jarring. 

“Not sure I get it,” Johnny replied, calm as ever. “What are ya callin’ her exactly?”

“Dunno,” Charlie didn’t lower his gaze as he retorted instantly. “The bitch’s been flirtin’ with me, and I’m in the wrong?”

You froze on the spot, knowing if you talked, an embarrassing sound would come out. Or maybe you would slap him.

The lights cast the area in dim light, and yet it was bright enough to see the flicker of red behind Johnny’s gaze. Time for you to step in.

“Listen to me,” Johnny was somehow nose-to-nose with the younger guy. “She’s under my protection. Right? She can do whatever she wanna do, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let a shithead like ya touch her the way ya did.”

“Yeah? She didn’t seem to complain ‘bout my hands earlier.”

You cringed at the words they were exchanging, although none of them truly gave a damn about the men listening in.

Before you could even blink, Johnny had backed him up against the wall, pressing so hard the guy gasped in a breath.

A curse left your lips as you rushed forward, trying to pull him away. “No, no, no. Let him go.”

“Say one more word about her, ‘n I’ll cut your dick out ‘n feed it to the dogs,” Johnny said, pretending not to hear or feel you. “Next time I see ya anywhere close to her, I’ll kill ya. Understood?”

You were glad Charlie kept silent, swallowing harshly as he gave Johnny a death glare. You hadn’t noticed Benny until now, waiting for a sign to step into the fight. He gave you a quick look, and you tried to reassure him with a quick smile. Like Yep! He’s going to kill him but it's all good. 

“Fuckin’ wanker,” Johnny inhaled sharply as he let go of him, stepping backward.

You only figured Charlie didn’t fire back right away because he was being pulled away by two bulky men. He probably wouldn’t even remember after some sleep. 

Putting a cigarette between his lips, Johnny yanked the door of the bar open before body slamming his way into the small crowd gathered before the bikes. You were trying to follow closely, getting frustrated at all the fucking people on your way, stomping over feet and puddles. 

“Johnny!” you yelled as he made it to his car, his arm stiff as board on his side, his fist and his jaw clenched. “Hey!”

You’d seen him mad as hell once or twice, but never like that. He usually threatened guys calmly, like the boss he was. Losing his composure in front of the men–it had never happened. Dense fog swirled in the air, obscuring your view, so you nearly glued your body to his to have a good look at his expression. You were glad he hadn’t chosen his bike tonight. You hated it when he rode in a bad mood. 

The night was calm, the men having already dispersed or made their way back inside. Tire noises and sirens were steady in the background, but even louder than that was the way he said, “What?”. Like you were getting riled up out of nowhere.

The air settled around you, as though everyone had left to let you discuss. A pit of guilt burned in your stomach, but you couldn’t help but feel mad. 

“What the fuck just happened?”

Johnny huffed. “Ya wanted me to let him grope ya?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “Lighten up. He was… really respectful at first. If I’d wanted to, I’d have left.”

“Where to?”

“We were in a bar, Johnny. Not a stadium. I’d have figured my way out. And you knew this guy just wanted to fight anyways. That’s all he was lookin’ for.”

His lack of response pissed you off. Johnny blew the smoke away from your face, and you weren’t sure if he kept silent because he was still maddened or because he didn’t want to have this conversation with you.

“I’m not the dummy you think I am,” you added, spurred on by his eyes trained on you. “I appreciate you standin’ up for me, but–”

“But what?” he cut you off, a bit of smoke mixing with your air.

“But I don’t want to get your attention only when you’re jealous.”

Johnny glanced over at the bar’s entrance, where a couple was making out against a bike. “Bullshit.”

“Do you even love me anymore?”

Thick tension rolled off him, sucking all the air until you were left breathless, putting a shaking hand over your heart. It wouldn’t slow down. Not until he told you the truth. 

“Do I love ya?” Johnny kept his gaze on you, reading your face like you were high or something. “I could have killed a guy for ya in there, ‘n you’re askin’ me if I love ya?”

“Well, it’s not been very obvious lately,” you hissed as you remembered how he had barely greeted you the night before. “You haven’t kissed me in three days, Johnny. You… you could barely keep your hands off me at the beginnin’–”

“Jesus,” he mumbled, stamping out his cigarette to grab your face between his palms. “Look at me. I’m sorry ‘bout that, alright?”

Your face scrunched up, but you managed to suppress the tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” you asked. “I thought we were havin’ something beautiful, and now, shit, we barely talk. You barely touch me.”

Johnny swallowed, finally coming to the realization that the situation was worse than he’d imagined. 

“I’m sorry. Ya hear me? I’m sorry I’ve been leavin’ ya out. The club’s been draining me lately.”

Your eyes softened, a hand coming to rest upon his cradling on your cheek. “Talk to me, then. I was startin’ to think you were tired of me.”

Johnny frowned. “Fuck, no. I need ya.”

Your heart squeezed as the steady breeze made you shiver. “I miss you so much it breaks my heart.”

“I’m here,” he kissed a corner of your lips. “I promise I’m here.”

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. 

“Say it again,” you breathed. “I can’t stand stayin’ away from you. Not talkin’ to you all the time.”

A thumb ran across your lips with the perfect roughness. “I promise I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya want me to take a few days off?”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m not sure we can afford this.”

“We can. I’ll rent somethin’ cute and we’ll celebrate our anniversary. Just the two of us. What d’ya think?”

A small but sincere smile pulled at your lips. God, you loved him. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

The next second, he was kissing you until you couldn’t breathe anything but him. His palms skimmed up the backs of your thighs as you stood on your tiptoes. Without warning, he pulled back to look at you, that spark in his gaze mirroring yours. 

“C’mon. I’m not fuckin’ you here.”

Relief and a spike of heat ran through your veins during the ride home. His warm hand rested on your thigh, squeezing it gently until he parked in front of the garage door. The silence only fuelled you, playing with your patience. 

He quite literally glued himself to your back while you tried to unlock the front door, cursing at yourself for your trembling hands. 

And finally, finally, he apologized with slow strokes of his cock and kisses on your breasts. Your clothes had been thrown aside haphazardly, abandoned in the heat of the moment. You had thought he would make you come like this, but he instructed you to roll over and lay on your stomach, and who were you to refuse? Those weeks apart, even when you had been in the same house and bed, had left you both pent up, wanting and missing each other more than anything else in the world. You didn’t even know how you had managed to stay silent this whole time. 

“Shit. I love you,” you moaned, eyes screwed shut as he kissed up your spine, his hips flexing in time to make sure he was fucking you as deep as he could.

Exhaustion hit you like a train, and it felt so heavenly lying there as he whispered that you meant the world to him.

“So pretty,” Johnny mumbled, his words muffled as he nipped at the sensitive skin between your shoulder blades, “Got me so hard just from lookin’ at ya, sweets.”

You fisted the sheets and dug your nose in the pillow when you came, and Johnny quickly followed. He stilled on top of you, his chain sitting on your back and shining in the cold light pouring through the window. 

“Gimme one minute and I’ll fuck ya again, right?” he breathed in your ear, making you grin against the pillow. 

Johnny’s sister was slightly taller than him. You had expected her to be short, the exact opposite of him. But she’d been polite at first—too polite, nearly cold—and her hair was the same color. She’d worn a black shirt that looked masculine, with long, polished nails. Just like her brother, she had warmed up to you after some time, and you had seen the glint of disappointment in her eyes when you left her house, as Johnny was still chatting with her husband.

“Thank you for dinner again,” you’d given her a sincere hug, smiling as she rubbed your arm affectionately.

With a gentle goodbye to your baby bump as well, the Davis woman had told you to come back soon.

You wished you’d sounded a bit more enthusiastic when answering, but the four-hour drive had been exhausting, and you’d been close to throwing up about seven or eight times since that very morning. Maybe when the baby’s born. Or you can come down anytime, too. You weren’t sure you’d have the strength to do all of that again. Promises were made and you'd waved goodbye to her through the car window, taking a mental picture of the place and the moment. A tall woman next to a slightly shorter man, new faces in your family.

“You think you can pull over soon?” 

Johnny had been driving for two hours, and you had been dozing off since then, waking every time he hit a bump on the road. Two more hours, and you’d be home. With a little luck, he’d even be kind enough to prepare one of the odd snacks you'd been craving lately. If you shut your eyes tight enough, you could practically smell the chocolate dripping onto fruit, peanuts, and some other disgusting ingredient that would have him staring at you in horror. He couldn’t refuse you anything, though.

“What’s wrong?” he sent you a quick glance, focused on the dark road ahead. 

“Been havin’ those cramps since this morning,” you admitted, shifting in your seat so your knee rested against the passenger door, the extra weight dragging your body down.

Your swollen ankles hurt. Places you didn’t even know existed hurt. It was exhausting. More than usual.

To be honest, you’d been tightlipped about the pain that had started about two hours back, which felt a lot like contractions. You'd told yourself it might just be the baby kicking very, very hard, excited to meet those strangers. But there was something unusual to it—some kind of instinct you didn’t really like.

“What d’you mean cramps?” Johnny asked, that confused frown drawn on his forehead.

“Well, cramps,” you repeated, pushing a hand on the side of your belly. “The baby’s been kickin’ a lot today. Way more than yesterday.”

You'd liked how small and discreet your baby bump had been until your sixth month. Then, almost overnight, it had grown to that final form, the finality of your evolution and transformation into a fat, heavy, being. You hated that part of pregnancy more than any other, although Johnny had made it very clear that he'd never loved you so much. He usually wasn’t big on compliments so it rang true, and he told you how beautiful you were ten times a day now. Eleven times when you wore a dress that accentuated every shape and the bump that held the baby you’d been waiting for years. How could he not, when you were carrying his child?

“You should’ve told me," he said.

That deep frown still adorned his features as he really looked at you this time, eyeing your belly as though the baby was about to pop out right there. It might as well, seeing how much it was moving and crushing your insides.

“I’m fine,” you tried to hide a wince as sweat gathered on your neck. “I’m due in two weeks.”

Through your high-pitched voice, you tried to convince yourself you were good enough to spend the next hours in that seat. The pain would go away if you ignored them hard enough, and the baby would know, by some natural miracle, that you weren’t expecting it to come here.  

But it got worse. So as soon as you caught sight of a flickering neon light in the distance, you brought a fist to your mouth, moaning as another kick jolted through your body. You wouldn’t make it. You had to walk somehow and let the fresh air brush over your shiny forehead. Like you'd seen Johnny do after a long night of drinking, back when you were strangers in love. A brisk gust of air was the solution, like a slap in the face.

Pain shot up again, harder this time, and your resolution began to crumble. In your brain, two words popped out. It’s time. It’s time. It’s time. Shaking your head at yourself, you inhaled deeply. It’d go away. Your friend Judith had had contractions for hours before it even began. It would be ridiculous. You’d know.

“Pulloverpulloverpullover.”

You counted up to five and gripped the door handle as Johnny took a sharp turn, the tires squeaking in the process.

“Oh God, don’t send us to the ditch,” you mumbled, so dazed you could barely make out the neon light again.

But it was there, right in front of you, blinding you both. You squinted in protest as deep breaths filled your lungs.

Concern engulfed Johnny’s face beyond anything you’d imagined as he parked next to the gas station, insignificant in the dark. And obviously empty. Above, the moon hung low and heavy.

“You stay here,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “I’ll go knock there just in case.”

“Wait. Help me get out. I need to stand.”

With a quick nod, Johnny climbed out of the car and went to open your door. Immediately, one of his hands went to your hip, the other under your armpit. You could see he wasn’t sure how to process it. He helped you stand and clasped your face between his sweaty hands, like he was trying not to show you how close he was to panicking. 

“Hang in there."

You gave a weak nod, leaning against the door as you blew out controlled breaths. It wasn’t like you could run off anyway. You wouldn't even make it two steps with such pain.

Having a baby in the middle of nowhere was ridiculous. You'd planned the delivery months ago, and the bags you'd prepared for that awaited day sat on the kitchen floor, next to Johnny's dirty boots. Those plans waited for you. The way you’d braid your hair and the way you’d breathe to make it as peaceful as possible. Johnny would hold your hand and whisper sweet words of encouragement in your ear as expert hands took care of you. That was how your baby would come into this world—not in a place that smelled like gas, with the hum of truck engines in the background.

And yet, another wave of pain hit and you cursed, releasing a long moan of pain as soon as you assumed Johnny was out of earshot, the cold metal of the car pressed against your forehead as you sucked in a shaky breath.

His frantic knocks echoed through the empty station, although there was no movement inside. He shouted for help, for anyone, for anything.

Two weeks left. Two hours left. It couldn’t be now. 

With a hand splayed over your belly, you started pacing against the car, keeping the other hand over the windows to balance you. Breathing didn’t seem to help. Nothing did. And no one would help. You’d have to have this baby in a fucking parking lot, only because you’d been too stubborn to tell him. 

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," you muttered to yourself, hoping you could telepathically tell the baby to be patient for a little longer.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Johnny suddenly yelled, banging his fist against the glass door. 

Even if there had been someone inside, there was no way they would come out with a Vandal shouting curses at their door.

He walked back to you with a harsh sniffle, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He looked as wrecked as you did. Two survivors of a crash that hadn't happened yet.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, opening the back door as you watched him silently, tears brimming your eyes. 

Though you know he was mad at the situation and not at you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of guilt crushing you. Telling him before leaving could have prevented this. What if you lost the baby and no one came? You'd have to blame it on yourself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I thought it’d pass.”

Johnny slid closer, pushing the damp strands of hair away from your face, his thumbs resting on your cheeks.

“Listen to me,” he tried to hold your hazy gaze. “It could have happened at home or the fuckin’ table. Don’t apologize.” 

You shook your head slowly. “We’re so far from home, and there’s not one goddamn car in sight.”

“It’s gonna be fine, yeah? I'm gonna drive 'til we find a house, and—”

“I’m not showin’ my bits to the first person we meet!” you yelled suddenly, so fucking overwhelmed by the panic in your veins and the contractions that came too regularly to be considered normal. 

The words cut through the silence, leaving nothing but the hum of the old neon sign and the distant rumble of thunder. In normal circumstances, you’d have burst out laughing at your own words and his face. But the thought of some random farmer helping you—touching you—like you were some goddamn cow made you want to scream. You hadn’t waited nine fucking months just to end up giving birth in some barn.

“Focus on me,” Johnny gripped your cheeks harder, forcing your gaze on him as your knees buckled. “I’m not gonna let ya suffer like this. And you’re not havin’ this baby here, ya hear me?”

“I won’t make it,” your shook your head as you clung desperately to his forearm, the worn leather of his jacket rough under your fingers. “I can’t wait, Johnny. The pain's too fuckin' much."

The fear in his eyes made your stomach twist. He looked around like something might magically appear, sliding your hand into his calloused palm.

“You need to look,” you said through a groan, bright red from the effort. 

Now was the time to put the embarrassment aside and be practical about this. Something your husband hadn’t realized yet. 

“What?” 

“I’ll lay down on the backseat. I need you to have a look, and tell me if you can see the head," you said as firmly as you could, pretty sure you were squeezing the life out of his forearms. "You shouldn't, but I wanna make sure we've got some time before us.”

Johnny swallowed hard, paling in just a second. “Nah... I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” you shouted. “If you see it, then… then we’ll have to figure somethin' out. It shouldn’t be―”

Right there, in front of the gas station, at eight o’clock sharp, wetness started trickling between your legs, soaking part of your legs and the shoes he’d offered you for your birthday. What should have happened two weeks later was happening now. The occasional car driving by was too far to stop, and even if someone did—what the hell could they do? That settled it. Whatever happened now, your child wouldn’t open their eyes in a white room that smelled of antiseptic.

Panting, you looked down at your feet—at least the bit you could see—and back up to Johnny's face, your eyes as wide as his. You didn’t need to say anything. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Johnny ran both hands down his face. 

“I need you to look.”

Through the unwelcome tears, you bared your teeth and willed yourself to be strong. 

Johnny stared at you for a while, his eyes drifting between yours. “Okay. Okay, I’ll uh, yeah. Okay, lay down.”

He helped you onto the back seat, facing him, and you braced yourself against the worn leather, your heart slamming against your ribs.

His hands trembled as he folded back your dress and removed your panties.

Another hard swallow. His jaw clenched.

“Fuckin’ hell, there’s the head.”

His words made you release a cry close to horror, your chest heaving as the truth settled between you. He looked up at you and saw it—the fear clawing at you just as fiercely as the contractions.

“No, no, no. I can’t do this here.”

“Listen to me,” his voice dropped lower, steadier. “I got you. I swear to fuckin’ God, honey, I got you.”

“I can’t," your voice cracked, your head hitting the seat as your nails dug into the leather. “I should’ve been at the hospital.”

Johnny’s hand found your hip, rubbing slow circles, breathless but determined. “That means we gotta do it, right?"

Your lack of response meant yes.

"We got no choice. The head’s right there.”

“I can’t.”

What if the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if something went wrong?”

One of his hands gripped your knee as the other hovered, unsure but ready. His words sank in. You had no choice. You had to have that baby there. The two reckless parents made it, the local newspaper would write.

A moment of silence passed between you. You thought about how to do this properly, remembering what items would be useful, praying that it would be alright. And Johnny seemed to be praying for that same thing, blaming himself just as much. 

“Okay,” you finally sobbed out. “You need to—you need to get the blanket from the trunk. Two blankets. Your knife. And—and the bottle of whiskey."

Johnny nodded so fast it was almost frantic. “Okay, yeah."

He scrambled out of the car, sprinting to the back. You let out a strangled cry as another contraction ripped through you, your whole body tensing. He was back in seconds, dropping the supplies beside him, more certain than before. More certain than you were. 

“The blanket,” you indicated and he moved quickly, helping you lift your hips just enough to slide it underneath.

You didn’t even have time to think of the possibilities—your own death, or what would happen if he lost the both of you. Now carried by a weak sense of determination, you blew out a shaky breath and parted your knees again. After all, you’d vowed your life to him years ago, knowing he'd sacrifice himself for you. You could do the same.

“Clean the knife.”

Johnny did as instructed, twisting the cap off with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor. He poured some over his knife, watching the liquid spill over the blade and onto his fingers.

“Keep it in your pocket, the blade up. Don’t touch it.”

He’d never listened so intently before. Again, he placed a hand on your kneecap, peeking between your legs. You didn’t want to see his expression, so you shut your eyes for a second and whispered to yourself. You’d have plenty of time to feel embarrassed the next couple of days. 

“Okay. I’m doin’ this. I’m doin’ this.”

“Breathe,” Johnny looked up at you, gliding his other trembling hand to yours. “You’re alright. You’ll be alright, the both of ya.”

“Our baby."

Johnny nodded, the apple in his throat bobbing with a tight swallow. “Our baby.”

Another contraction began, built and peaked, and you screamed out in pain again. Johnny placed his palms beneath your thighs and helped you through it, feeling your muscles tighten as you lifted. 

“You gotta push, honey. I don’t know how much time we got.”

“I know! God, I know.”

Beads of sweat stood on your brow as another pain arrived, and with it the sight of the baby's scalp.

“Fuckin’ hell—the kid’s here. Honey, the baby’s here.”

Your elbow nearly gave in. But with more faith than ever, you pushed again and another ragged screamed filled the air.

The baby’s head slipped through, turning to the side as it was supposed to be. You were so fucking thankful for that maternity book your sister had offered you. You weren’t sure what you’d have done without knowing all the gruesome details. 

“You—you gotta check the cord," you croaked out. "Make sure it’s not—"

Johnny’s fingers moved carefully, his breath coming sharp. 

“It’s not wrapped. You’re good, honey. You’re doin’ good.”

Exhaling in relief, you pushed with everything you had, a guttural sound tearing from your throat as it slammed into you again. Your hair was dripping wet, hanging in limp clumps around your shoulders.

“Fuck, the shoulders. There’s the shoulders.”

You could barely hear him and his soothing words of encouragement. Your world narrowed to this single moment, to your baby who needed out. Stopping only worsened the lingering pain, so you screamed one last time and prayed to hear the tiny cry, squeezing the life out of his hand. 

In a second, or maybe a minute, everything stilled. The baby was out.

And nothing was heard in the middle of nowhere.

Only the distant thunder and a car speeding past on the road.

Not a tiny cry or a tiny sound. 

Absolute silence.

Lightheaded and woozy, you lifted your head with an effort. Something was wrong.

Johnny was running his finger into the baby's mouth to clear it, the tiny thing so fragile in his hands. Too small, maybe. Maybe too early.

Your heart started pounding even harder.

“There,” Johnny muttered. “That’s better, ain’t it.”

“Johnny?”

“She’s perfect. She’s here, and she’s so perfect.”

Johnny choked on so many sentiments he pinched his reddened eyes for a second. When they met yours again, consumed by an earth-stomping joy, you burst into tears again. 

“A girl.”

“A girl. Yeah,” he nodded, staring right back at you.

And then her tiny cry reached your ears, and your trembling hand flew to your mouth. 

“She’s breathin’ alright?”

“She is. She’s got so much hair,” he chuckled breathlessly, sliding a soft finger on her tiny head. 

She did. Though your vision was blurry and you could barely keep yourself up, you knew she was the prettiest girl in the world. Yours.

Johnny asked for your guidance as he cut the cord with his knife, apologizing to your daughter a few times as though she’d remember. And when it was over, your abdomen contracted, the last wave of labor taking its course.

You fell back against the seat as Johnny wrapped her in the second blanket, rubbing her back to keep her warm despite the thick June air.

“Barely fits in my hand,” he murmured, in awe. 

The baby let out a tiny, startled wail, which made him swear under his breath, tightening his grip like he was scared she’d slip right through his fingers.

With glossy eyes, he managed to rest her on your chest. She was so small you had to check—bloody, wet, but whole.

Johnny was there, his eyes on you as the sight hit him like a truck.

It was real. He was a father now.

The memories of a failed pregnancy and the fears of this one were in the past. His girls were here, safe.

Near exhaustion, you felt bad for not being able to hold her better, for not getting a good enough look at her. Your first memories of her would just be the sight of that little head on your chest, and five fingers peeking out from the blanket. 

The shivers increased. You told yourself you’d gone through such a frightening ordeal, you could go through anything now. 

“You gotta push on my stomach. One last time.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched tight again. In his eyes, emotions flickered like distant lightning; exhaustion, fear, and a quiet, aching tenderness.

“Jesus, I thought we were over.”

You could barely manage a weak push, but it was enough. The last piece of labor passed, and you were free, delivered completely from the life you’d been supporting for nine long months. And you were so tired it felt like all of this was a dream.

“You’re good,” he murmured again. “Fuck, you’ve done it.”

“Hmmm.”

Careful not to hurt you, Johnny moved closer, his eyes flicking between his baby and your sweat-dampened face. He kissed the top of your head so softly you had to smile. 

“I’ve never loved anythin’ more than you and her,” he said through the sudden silence, watching as your hands relaxed against the baby’s back. 

You were shuddering, your exposed limbs damp, the blanket beneath you soaked. The only thing on your mind was getting to a hospital to get both of you checked out. Maybe even Johnny too, judging by his bloodied shirt and the messy strands of hair that had long lost their gel. Yet, you’d never felt so fucking peaceful and loved. 

“I love you, too,” you calmed with deep breaths, touching her tiny fingers. “And I bet she loves you already. For what you’ve done."

She clasped onto your pinky, and it was all you needed to cry again, this time with happy chuckles and a fading pain. 

Nothing could take this from you now. Nothing could keep you from happiness—not with this little princess in your arms. You knew, without a doubt, that the Vandal you’d married would spend his life giving you the best he could.

He rested his hand over yours, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the baby’s back. And he squeezed gently, a thousand thank yous in his eyes. For loving him. For giving him the most perfect little girl. 

You shut your eyes again as he arranged the seat and the blanket, asking if you were sitting alright. 

“I love ya,” he said against your forehead, leaving another kiss that made your head feel a little less cold. 

Johnny drove to the hospital while you held your baby in your arms, unable to tear your gaze off of her. So delicate and so soft. He talked to you to keep you awake and grounded, but you could barely say anything. In no time—just a short ride from where you’d been—he jerked the car into park, barely bothering to kill the engine before throwing the door open, looking for a nurse or anyone who could help. He’d never looked so lost.

The young nurse he’d caught cast you a concerned look as he stood there, fixated on your face.

She asked you questions you didn’t have answers for. Couldn’t believe you’d done it there. Then, she took your baby in her arms and a shiver ran down your spine at the absence of her warmth. That was the first moment you realized you actually loved her. You didn’t have to think about it. You just did.

But then you supposed it had been the same with Johnny.

“You okay?”

You tore your gaze off the middle console, looking back at him. His jacket was off, and he wouldn’t stop swallowing harshly, his chest heaving in deep breaths. 

No word came out, but the look you gave him was enough. Johnny nodded slowly, carefully, and then he gathered you into his arms like when the baby had slipped into his hands.

"You’re shakin’ like a leaf."

With long, steady strides, he carried you into the hospital, past the bright white floors and the blinding lights. A small scar from his last shave lingered beneath his chin, and a rough patch remained where he’d missed a spot. You brushed a soft thumb over it—maybe dazed, but still in love.