by Nina Levine
I place my hand on her thigh and we sit in silence for a long while. It’s been five days since Max’s death and we’ve spent a fair bit of time sitting in silence. Birdie appears to be as lost as I am; instead of talking like she usually does, she’s turned inward.
Finally, she takes hold of my hand and says, “I’m scared for you.”
I frown at the fear in her voice. “Why?”
She brings her legs up to sit cross-legged. “Your brother was just murdered outside your clubhouse. And while I’ve learned to live with what club life involves, this has me freaked out.”
Fuck.
It hadn’t occurred to me that Birdie would internalise Max’s death in this way.
“Angel, you don’t need to worry about this—”
“You always say that, but I can’t not worry, and I just needed to say it out loud this time. I can’t keep it on the inside anymore. It feels too heavy and it makes it hard to breathe, especially when I think about you getting…” She chokes up and her eyes fill with tears. Gripping me harder, she continues, “I can’t lose you. It’s been hard enough losing Max, but if I lost you, I don’t know how I’d go on.”
I pull her into my lap as her tears fall. Smoothing her hair, I say, “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. I fucking promise you that.” Tipping her chin to bring her eyes to mine, I add, “Max’s death wasn’t part of a situation that you needed a heads up on. It wasn’t even really to do with club shit. We don’t have anything going on right now that should give you cause for concern. I need you to know that and believe that, because I need you to focus on our baby and to stay as calm as you can.”
She wipes her eyes and nods. “Okay.”
“You don’t sound like you believe me.”
“I do believe you because you’ve never lied to me before. It’s just going to take me some time to sort through all my thoughts.”
Birdie’s quiet strength helps get me through club shit. It has since the day she moved to Melbourne. She may worry too much about me, but she doesn’t often express those worries. She doesn’t hesitate to let me know all the things she frets over when it comes to IVF and infertility, but when it comes to the club and me, she locks that shit down tight and stands fiercely by my side. I appreciate the hell out of that because it gives me the space to take care of everything I need to.
“Keep talking to me about those thoughts,” I say. “I don’t want you struggling with this on your own.”
Her lips press to mine before she says softly, “I’ve missed this.” At my confused expression, she elaborates, “Us connecting like this. Sometimes you feel so out of reach to me.”
“I feel that, too.” I smooth her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear as I contemplate what I’m about to say to her. “Max was coming to talk to me about you on the day he was killed.”
She stills. Her eyes bore into mine as she says, “What about?”
“He told me you don’t feel like I listen to you anymore, that I switch off about things that are important to you.”
Her eyes don’t let mine go. “I did say that to him.”
“I hate what IVF has done to us, angel. There are days where I feel like an ocean sits between us.”
Tears fill those beautiful eyes of hers again. “Yes,” she whispers. It’s barely a breath but the anguish it carries twists my heart inside out.
“It’s not that I’m not listening or that I’m switching off or that I’m refusing to hear what you say; it’s that I don’t know how to take it all in. I don’t know how to watch you lose yourself to it anymore, because it fucking feels like you’ve already lost so much.” I wipe the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’m going to try harder.”
“I am, too. I hate the moods I put you through and I’m sorry I do it.”
“Don’t apologise for something you can’t control.”
She smiles through her tears. “I love you for saying that, but it’s not all true. I could try harder to bite my tongue.”
“Baby, I can handle your moods.” I place my hand to her heart. “This is what I can’t handle. When this breaks, it fucking shatters me, and that’s when I lose my way.”
Her lips press to mine and after she kisses me, she says, “I thought I’d pushed you too much, that you were getting close to done.”
“Fuck, no. I will never be done, Birdie. Fucking never. I know we’ve taken some hits, but I will always get back up and fight for you.”
At that, she wraps her arms around me and clings to me. When she finally lets me go, she says, “I will never be done, either.”
Thank fuck.
As far as I’m concerned, this marriage is for life. For fucking eternity. And although it sometimes feels like we’re unravelling, I will do everything in my power to ensure we don’t. Birdie is my world; without her, I have nothing.
“Okay, angel, we need to get going for this blood test or we’re gonna be late.” Birdie has regular blood tests so the doctor can monitor her pregnancy. After two miscarriages, the doctor wants to make sure Birdie’s hormone levels are doing what they’re supposed to.
Birdie bites her lip like she’s not sure about something. “Tell me if this sounds wrong after Max just died, but I thought we could maybe go look at baby furniture like you wanted to.”
“Fuck I love you. It sounds like just what we need.”
“I think so, too.”
Making plans for our baby is exactly what Max would have wanted us to do.
“There’s nothing to report here,” Ransom says during our daily check-in call while Birdie and I are shopping for a cot. He’s running everything while I take some time off.
“No sign of Silver Hell?” After Max was killed and I retaliated by killing one of Silver Hell’s members, we expected shit to go down. Bull came to me and advised he didn’t sanction his member’s actions that day and that he didn’t plan to take this any further. However, I don’t trust him or his club, so I ordered our club to keep an eye on all Silver Hell moves.
“Nothing of interest. They’re still quiet.”
“Good.” Birdie’s eyes find mine, all lit up, and she waves me over. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
After we end the call, I make my way to Birdie. “You like this one?”
She runs her hands over a white sleigh cot that looks fit for royalty. “I love this one. It’s too expensive, though. Maybe you could take a crash course in woodwork and learn how to make one.”
I slide my arm around her waist. “Or maybe we could blow our fucking budget for once.”
Her eyes widen. “Where’s my husband and what did you do to him?”
“Life’s too short, angel, to always make practical choices.” Fuck do I know that now.
Her eyes soften and she places her hand to my chest. “I agree.”
“Is this the cot you want?”
“Yes, but do you like it?”
“I do.” Any cot will do. The point of bringing Birdie to look at them was simply to get her to take this next step towards believing our baby will be born.
Excitement slowly fills her face. “This really is happening, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and after I build it, you’re gonna find ways to thank me.”
“I don’t doubt you’ll insist on that, but I was referring to our baby. We’re really going to bring a child into this world, aren’t we?”
I place my hand over her belly and nod. “Yeah, baby, we are. And you are going to make the best mother out there.”
She covers my hand with hers and looks down at them. When she gives me her eyes again, tears shimmer in them. “I’ve imagined being a mum every single day since we got back together. I’d stopped believing it would happen after I lost my second tube. Thank you for giving me hope again.”
Birdie has wanted kids for as long as I’ve known her. I have too, but she fiercely wants a family and to be a mother. She doesn’t know it, but I’ve seen the magazine cut outs and print outs from the internet she’s
saved over the years. The ones about mothering that sit in folders in her meditation space that’s taken over a part of our wardrobe. Tripping over that damn meditation cushion irritated me when she first put it there, but once I realised just how fucking much she needs that space, I stopped giving her hell her over it.
“We’re going to have our family, Birdie. I don’t care what I need to do to make that happen, it’s happening.”
She kisses me and says softly, “I know.” Two little words, but the emotion is deafening and I feel it as much as she does.
“Okay, let’s hand over all our money and get this cot home. I’m past ready for your lips as my reward for being the best husband in the world.”
She shakes her head at me, amused. “I wish Max was here; he would have built this cot for me without any expectations.”
Her mention of Max spears my heart, but I love that she brought him up. “My brother may have been the nicer one of the two of us, but he was still a male, angel. He would have been on my side over this.”
She rolls her eyes, still smiling, though, and says, “You’re right. Okay, start making this happen so we can get to the good bit of today.”
I don’t need further encouragement. Birdie is more relaxed over her pregnancy than I’ve seen her in a long time. The blood test she had earlier came back all good, and we’ve talked a lot today about setting up the nursery. We’ve also both acknowledged our relationship needs some attention and talked about how we’ll make that happen. Max’s death has drawn us together again, and while I hate how it happened, I’ll do anything to keep it this way.
26
Winter
* * *
“I met with Torres today and we’ve settled on the new price,” I say to King over the phone as I enter my home late on a Monday night two and a half weeks after Max’s death. I wanted to be home in time for dinner tonight, but I got caught at the clubhouse going over stuff with Ransom. Now, it’s almost 10:00 p.m. and I’m annoyed that I’ve missed time with my wife tonight. She’s likely asleep already; the pregnancy has been kicking her ass this last week.
“Good. Does he have a date for the next shipment?” King surprised the fuck out of me when he relented and agreed to me handling all negotiations with Torres from now on. To say that Torres was happy about it, too, is an understatement.
“Yeah, it’ll arrive in three weeks.”
“Keep me updated.” He pauses. “How are you and Birdie?”
For all his ruthless ways, King cares deeply about his brothers and their loved ones, and he hasn’t let me down over Max’s death. He’s checked in on me and Birdie regularly, offering to help me in any way I need. While he’s got a lot going on in Sydney with the club and his family, he stayed in Melbourne for a week after Max died to help Ransom run things here, something I’ll always be grateful for.
“We’re doing good. She’s excited to see Lily next week.” Birdie’s heading to Sydney for a few days next week to spend time with her mum, and also with Lily. It’s her mother’s birthday, and while I can’t leave Melbourne right now, I made sure she booked time to go. She needs this time with her mum and Lily.
King and I finish our call and I slip my phone in my pocket as I head into the bedroom to see if Birdie’s asleep. Halfway there, she meets me in the hallway, carrying cot sheets.
“Hey, you,” she greets me, bringing her lips to mine. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. Is everything okay?”
I pull her back in for another kiss, needing a lot fucking longer with her than the moment she gave. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too.” She grips my waist, frowning. “You seem off. Is it Max?”
“Yeah.” He’s been on my mind all day. Fuck knows why. Nothing happened to trigger it, but that’s the thing I’ve learned about grief over the years; it grabs you when you least expect it. “I’m okay, angel, just tired and missing him.”
“I feel the same. I was actually sitting in bed watching TV feeling sad as I remembered stuff the three of us had done over the years when I decided I needed to get out of bed and do something to take my mind off the sadness for a while.” She holds the sheets up. “So here I am, playing in the nursery. You wanna come see what I’ve done?”
I smile. “Fuck yes. Show me.”
I follow her in and laugh when I see the mess she’s created in here. “You’ve been busy.” I fucking love that she’s been busy. I also love the things I see scattered across the nursery floor that I didn’t realise Birdie had bought. Sheets, blankets, toys, and frames to put on the wall.
“Do you like the colours? And prints? I got a little excited the other day while I was shopping with Andrea, and bought all this stuff, but then wondered if you’d like it, too. If you don’t, we can—”
I put my finger to her lips. “I love it all.”
Her brows pull together. “Are you just saying that?”
“No, and not to sound like I don’t give a fuck, but decorating isn’t my thing. I’ll help you do whatever you need me to do, but as far as colours and shit go, I’m good with whatever you choose.”
“Okay, but we should discuss the walls. I want you to at least have a say in that. What colour paint do you think? Like, I’m all about yellow, but if you hate it, maybe we can find a green we both like. But then again, green can be a funny colour, so I’m not sold on it.”
“The only colour that’s out for me is black, so if you want yellow, let’s do yellow.”
She pulls a face. “Black? Seriously, who would paint their baby’s room black? I would never suggest that.”
“Just covering all my bases here, angel. Who the fuck knows what you’re likely to come out with while all those hormones are raging inside you.”
She smacks me. “You are the worst, Winter Morrison.”
I arch my brows. “And here I was thinking you loved me.”
“Only sometimes.”
I pull her to me. “I am hard as fuck for you right now.”
Her eyes twinkle again; her hands move to my pants. “Really?”
“Fucking really.”
“I would drop to my knees and suck your dick, but this is my daughter’s bedroom and I don’t think it’s appropriate.”
“Don’t you mean it’s your son’s bedroom?”
She grins. She loves this new game we play. “Either way, you want my lips around your cock, you’re gonna have to carry me out of here.”
I don’t hesitate. I lift her and carry her over my shoulder. When I deposit her on our dining table, she frowns. “The table?”
Bringing my mouth to her ear, I say, “Remember that first IVF cycle when you were jerking me off in that bathroom? You told me you wanted me to spread you out on our dining table and eat you. I never got around to doing that.”
Her fingers curl around my neck. “You should definitely do that.”
“Lie back, baby, and spread your legs for me.”
The smile on her face as she does what I say is everything a man needs to be happy.
I slide her dress up and her panties down.
I sit and hook her legs over my shoulders while gripping her ass and pulling her to my face.
I press my mouth to her pussy.
Fuck. Me.
I love this woman.
She arches her back as I lick and suck, working her towards her first orgasm of the night.
We’ve had sex daily over the last two weeks, sometimes twice daily. My favourite way to start the day is like this with my face buried in her. Birdie’s favourite way to end the day is with my cock buried in her. The fact she’s usually the one looking for sex a second time makes my whole fucking day.
“Fuck,” she cries out while gripping the side of the table.
I push two fingers inside her and fuck her while keeping my mouth on her clit.
“Oh my God,” she chants over and over as her pussy clenches and she comes.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I say as I stand and pull her off the tabl
e. Spinning her around, I bend her over and undo my jeans.
Birdie angles her face to look at me and reaches for my dick. She guides it to her pussy and I slam inside her.
Fuck.
I grip her hips and pound into her, hard like we both want it.
She’s so fucking wet I want to spend hours inside her. And I will, because we’re just getting started.
I orgasm after her and once she recovers, I growl, “I want your ass in the shower and after I clean you, I want your lips around my dick.”
I intend to devote hours to her tonight.
“I love you,” Birdie says hours later as we crawl into bed after our second shower together. I wore her out tonight. I fucked her like I used to fuck her before IVF and pregnancy and miscarriages and grief got in the way.
“I love you, too, angel.” I bring my hand to her belly and then my mouth. This has become the way we end each night and my favourite part of the day.
She threads her fingers through my hair as I kiss her stomach. “I can’t wait to see our child in your arms. You’ll be an amazing father.”
I pull away from her belly and look down at it. Speaking to my child, I say, “I’m actually gonna screw shit up all over the place, little one, but thankfully we’ll have your mother to guide us when I do.” I turn to find Birdie’s eyes as I add, “Your mummy is the best woman in the world and we’re lucky to have her.”
I mean every word out of my mouth. These past two and a half weeks have been some of the hardest weeks of my life. I wouldn’t have gotten through them without Birdie. She hasn’t had to say or do anything to help me; all she’s had to do is simply be here. And knowing I have her helps me know I’ll get through every other minute of my life without my brother.
Birdie’s hands come to my face and she pulls me to her for a kiss. When she’s finished with my lips, and we’re settled with her snuggled against me, head on my chest, she says, “You know how you we used to talk about having two kids?”
I trace a pattern over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
