Marcella, his old lady, punched his arm—and not a love tap. “Watch your mouth, caveman.”
Eight rolled his eyes, but he made sure to do it so Marcella couldn’t see.
Those two had a wild relationship. They fought a lot, but not in a way that foretold trouble between them. It was like they enjoyed going at it. Also, Eight having any old lady had knocked the whole club over, but already having a kid with her was probably the most shocking thing that had happened without bloodshed in Zach’s memory of the Bulls.
Just then, the ward doors swung open on their automatic hinges, and Dex came through, holding a tiny bundle swaddled in a white blanket with pink and blue stripes.
The new father was wide-eyed and pale, but his grin spanned his whole face. Dex was generally quiet and on the grumpy side. The only other time Zach had seen him look this purely happy was this past April, when Maverick had put Kelsey’s hand in his at the end of the aisle.
As the Bulls converged around him and his brand-new daughter, the ward doors swung open again, and Mav came out. He had a similar pale, wide-eyed, happy look. His first grandchild.
By virtue of being near the entrance of the waiting room, Zach now had a front-row seat to meet the baby. Dex turned the blanket back and revealed a tiny, perfect, sleeping face.
Zach fucking loved little kids. Something inside his chest swelled full and heavy around babies, especially tiny new ones. Someday he wanted to have a bunch. Like four, at least. Jay gave him shit about it, said he was a chick about it, but whatever. And why was it a chick thing to love kids, anyway?
It wasn’t. He hadn’t known a single man in their family not to go all goo-goo-ga-ga every time a baby was born, or a new father to basically levitate with happiness upon first holding his child. His father, in fact, notoriously hard-edged and short-tempered, was all the way in their lives, and always had been, changing diapers, kissing boo-boos, lying prone on the floor and making motor noises while they all played cars.
Zach felt a familiar, heavy hand on his shoulder and turned to smile at his father. “Look how pretty.”
“She’s a looker, yeah.” Pop turned his attention to Dex, who hadn’t looked anywhere but at his daughter yet. “She got a name?”
Still focused on the baby, Dex said, “Matilda Jennifer. We’re calling her Tildy.”
“Oh, that’s so pretty! I love old-fashioned names like that,” said Emily, one of Becker’s daughters.
“Me too,” said her twin, Annie. They were typical, or maybe it was stereotypical, twins, still best friends who did everything together even now, after they’d just graduated high school. They still dressed alike, were heading off to the same college and the same dorm room, would probably find a pair of identical twins to marry someday.
“Can we hold her?” the twins asked in unison.
Dex snugged his daughter a little closer in response. “Not yet.” He let out an awkward chuckle. “Not ready to let her go yet.”
“How’s Kelsey, love?” Grammo asked.
Somehow, Dex’s smile got bigger. He turned to Grammo, and Zach saw the way his eyes shone. “She’s tired, but she’s perfect. God, Mo. What she just did—I’m in awe.”
“Good,” Grammo said and cupped Dex’s cheek. “Don’t forget it.”
Mav had come up to stand just behind Dex’s shoulder. He’d been smiling down at Tildy, as transfixed as Dex. Now he put an arm around Dex’s shoulders. “You ready to head back in?”
Dex nodded. He let Mav turn him around and lead him and Tildy back to Kelsey.
Zach’s father still stood at his side, his hand on Zach’s shoulder, his fingers clenched into the muscle there. They stood at the edge of the waiting room and watched Mav and Dex disappear behind the automatic doors.
“You okay, Pop?” Zach said when his father didn’t seem inclined to move. He tried to put a teasing tone into the question, something lighthearted, and counteract the strange weight that seemed to hang over them. Zach had seen lots of new babies; the Bulls family was huge and showed no signs of slowing its roll. But this one hit different for some reason.
Maybe because Kelsey had just given birth to the next generation. That was it, wasn’t it? No longer were she and Zach, Jay, and the others the ‘club kids.’ Now they were having club kids of their own.
That felt strangely significant. A milestone he hadn’t seen coming. No doubt he’d feel it even more when it was him standing in the middle of a waiting room grinning stupidly down at his own kid, but he’dexpectto get slammed with significance then. This one came out of nowhere.
His father’s tough hand clenched even harder, then released. He hooked that hand over Zach’s neck and turned him so they were face to face. Dad looked ... angry, but it couldn’t be that. Just intense, then. Emotional.
“I love you, Zachary. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Pop. Of course I do. Never felt any other way.”
“Good. I’m proud of you. You know that, too.”
“I do.” He felt that, too—he also felt like he had to earn that pride, but that feeling came mostly from himself. Or maybe pride, like respect, always had to be earned.