Page 50 of Steal

I notice Piston’s head shoot up from his little family, his eyes on me for the five minutes I spend checking the placenta.

“It’s intact,” I confirm. “Nat, you have tearing so I need to stitch you.” She hums back, too engrossed in her daughter, not that I can blame her, I was the same.

Smiling at the awed look on her face as she gently guides her finger over her daughter’s lips, I grab the suture kit Medic brought, and stitch her up, something I was trained to do. Once I ensure Nat is alright, I spend ten minutes checking examining her daughter while Nat leans on her husband. I weigh and measure her little girl, and check all her limbs, before performing an APGAR exam. I record my findings on a piece of paper, before I grab my phone and call her OB to schedule a home visit.

Twenty minutes later, I smile as I watch Natalie look at the perfect little girl in her arms, her emotions clear as day on her face.

I can't believe I just delivered my first baby....

“Holly Addie Mathews…” Nat whispers, “after her great aunt and an amazing man who tried to save her momma.” I smile as my tears fall.

When I heard Holly passed, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. She was the only person, other than Steal's mother, who was nice and welcoming to me.

I knew she had Parkinson’s disease, but damn, was she strong.

I wipe my tears as Natalie looks at a passed-out Medic and asks, “Is he okay? I mean, I thought he was medically trained.”

Acid snorts as he looks at his niece and says, “He is, but he’s never helped someone give birth. That, my darling sister-in-law, is a whole different ballgame.”

I snort. “Men are such wimps.” I look at Medic and say, “I checked him over; he should wake soon.” I look back at Nat.“Your OB will be here within the next hour to check on you and little Holly. I’ve got to get going, okay?”

She nods and whispers, “Thank you.”

I smile and walk over to her. Gently, I kiss her forehead and then stroke her little girl’s head, before mumbling, "Anything for you,” meaning every word.

Friends like Natalie are hard to come by and something you hold close when you have it.

With a smile at Piston, I turn, ready to leave, hoping Steal’s forgotten how I got here after all that, but no such luck. Instead, he stands in my way while everyone in the room tries to hide their laughter like I can’t see them out of the corner of my eye.

Jackasses.

Steal smirks. “See, this has worked out well in my favor because now, you can’t scream.”

I narrow my eyes at him and step back a little before lifting my fist, ready to take him on instead, but suddenly, he moves quickly and throws me over his shoulder.

I gasp in shock as he storms out of the room. I bite my lip so I don’t frighten little Holly, but once we hit the common room and I know that sweet baby is out of shouting range, I shout, “Put me down, you big stupid ass!” as I hit his back with my fists. All the brothers start laughing, not one stepping in to help.

Again, jackasses.

Steal slaps my ass hard, and I growl before I hit him harder. He enters a room I haven’t been in for four years.

He slams the door before putting me down, and I scowl at him as I quickly move my hair out of my face and shout,“Are you kidding me, Colt!” His legal name slips out, something I didn’t mean to happen, which makes him happy, as evidenced by the smirk he throws at me. I growl again, slamming my foot down like Moira does when she throws a tantrum, and I look around the room.

My anger loosens a little at seeing the new furniture, and I frown and ask without thinking, “Is that a new bed?”

When he doesn’t answer me, I turn back toward him and freeze, seeing a gun in his hand.

You have got to be kidding me!

He tilts his head. “I flipped the old bed when I found your letter, a letter I read every. Single. Day.”

He punctuates the last three words, and a feeling overcomes me, a feeling from the pit of my stomach—love, but also guilt, that he continues to read my words of heartbreak.

Steal walks over to me, but I don’t move. If he shoots me, he shoots me, but he won’t get Moira; Tanner will.

Steal’s not on the birth certificate, and I wrote a will.

Instead of holding the gun to my head like he did four years ago, he turns the gun handle toward me, grabs my trembling hand, then places the heavy metal in it. After ensuring I have a grip on it, he steps back, and my eyes widen as he holds his arms out.

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