Page 86 of Nanny for the Bikers

I lean in close, my own tears falling freely as I take in the miracle before me. The baby’s tiny fist curls around my finger, his grip strong and sure.

“He is,” I agree, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. “And so are you, Jamie. I’m so proud of you.”

The nurse approaches with a warm smile, ready to take the baby for his first check-up. Jamie reluctantly releases her hold, watching as her son is gently placed in the bassinet. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, knowing how difficult it is to let go, even for a moment.

“He’ll be back before you know it,” I promise, my voice soft. “And in the meantime, you should rest. You’ve just done something incredible.”

Jamie nods, her eyelids already growing heavy as the exhaustion of labor catches up with her. “Will you stay?” she asks, her words slurring slightly. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” I reply without hesitation, settling into the chair beside her bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As Jamie drifts off, I let my own eyes close for a moment, the events of the day washing over me. It’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago, we were returning from the cabin, our hearts full of laughter and love. And now, here we are, witnessing the beginning of a brand new life.

My thoughts turn to Teller, Clay, and Kip, waiting anxiously outside. I know they must be desperate for news, their concern for Jamie and the baby palpable even from a distance. I make a mental note to update them soon, to share in the joy of this incredible moment.

The nurse brings him back, giving him raving reviews, and Jamie quickly takes him.

“Do you have a name?” I ask.

Jamie nods, a small smile on her face. “Tank and I picked it out before he died. Thomas.”

Tears fill my eyes as I gaze down at the tiny, perfect face of Jamie’s son, nestled in her arms. The little boy’s features are so delicate, his skin impossibly smooth and soft. I reach out a tentative finger, gently tracing the curve of his cheek, marveling at the sheer miracle of his existence.

“I love it.”

Jamie looks up at me, her own eyes brimming with emotion. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” she whispers, her voice thick with exhaustion and joy.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. In this moment, everything else fades away - the stress of the past fewhours, the chaos of the hospital, even the lingering uncertainty of my own future. All that matters is the incredible love radiating from Jamie and the tiny life she’s brought into the world.

“Thank you for being here,” Jamie murmurs, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I shake my head, a watery smile spreading across my face. “You did all the hard work, mama. I just cheered you on from the sidelines.”

Jamie laughs softly, the sound mingling with the quiet coos of her newborn son. “Well, you were one hell of a cheerleader.”

45

AYLA

Kip and I decide to stop back at the townhouse, leaving Piper, Clay, Teller, Jamie, and little Thomas at the hospital while we get some fresh clothes for everyone. Jamie didn’t want to be alone and Clay and Teller happily said they would stay with her.

Besides, Clay didn’t seem like he wanted to let go of Thomas either way.

When we get to the townhouse, Kip doesn’t bother shutting off the engine. “You run in real quick, and I’ll wait out here.”

I nod. “I’ll be quick.”

As I approach the front door, my mind races with thoughts of Jamie and the tiny, perfect baby she’s just brought into the world.

I freeze when I turn the corner and realize I’m not alone.

There, standing on the porch like she owns the place, is a woman I’ve never seen before. She’s stunning, with an air of confidence that’s both intimidating and alluring. Her presence isso commanding, so striking, that for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

My heart pounds in my chest as I size her up, trying to gauge her intentions. She exudes an effortless poise, her posture straight and her gaze unwavering. I can’t help but feel a twinge of inadequacy in her presence, my worn jeans and messy bun suddenly seeming wholly insufficient.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to speak. “Can I help you?” I ask, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

The woman turns to face me, a flicker of surprise crossing her features, as if she hadn’t expected to find anyone here. “I need to see Clay, Kip, or Teller,” she replies, her tone casual yet firm, leaving no room for argument.

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