Lasting Love

I woke with a start, heart pounding, lungs dragging in air like I’d surfaced from deep underwater.

For a split second, I didn’t know where I was.

Then I felt it — the gentle rise and fall of a tiny body nestled between my breasts. The warmth of Jax’s arms, strong and steady, cocooning both me and our baby.

A shaky breath left me as everything settled. My boys. Still here. Still breathing.

I let my fingers brush against the soft, downy hair of our son’s head, and something deep inside me unclenched. The chaos of the last few days felt distant in this moment — muffled under the weight of new life and quiet love.

Then came the knock.

Soft but insistent. A little jarring in this fragile, sacred space.

The door creaked open an inch, and Claire’s head popped in, her expression somewhere between amused and apologetic.

“Emma, Jaxson... your visitors have been waiting, but they’re getting... er restless,” she said delicately. “In all honesty, one of the young ladies made a rather horrifying threat toward you, Jaxson. Which I won’t repeat.”

My lips twitch into a smirk I can’t stop.

“Let me guess,” I murmur, already picturing T’s fiery green eyes and zero tolerance for being made to wait. “Was she about this tall, plaits, with a resting bitch face and a mouth that could burn wallpaper off a wall?”

Claire clears her throat, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I wouldn’t want to speculate.”

Jax chuckles low against my back, the sound vibrating through both me and the baby.

“How long was I out?” I ask, voice gravelly, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones.

“Only about an hour, Em,” Jax says softly. “I wanted you to rest. You were... wrecked.”

I nod slowly, emotion suddenly thick in my throat. The truth is, I was. I am. Wrecked. But I also feel full — full of love, fear, joy, pain — all tangled up together like the knot in my chest that never quite goes away anymore.

“Oh,” I breathe, quieter than before, the weight of it all returning.

I glance down at our baby again, his tiny chest rising and falling peacefully, then back to Jax — eyes tired but glowing with something that looks a lot like pride.

“You’d better let them in,” I whisper.

Because love like this... It’s meant to be shared.

Claire nods and quietly slips from the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jax shifts beside me, his movements careful, adoring, as he lifts Macaulay from where he’d been sleeping peacefully against my chest. The second his warmth leaves my skin, our son begins to fuss, his tiny face scrunching, hands curling into tight little fists as he lets out a soft, uncertain whimper.

“Shhh, bud,” Jax soothes, his voice a low rumble, already moving to lay him gently across my knees.

I instinctively reach for him, my arms aching in a way that has nothing to do with muscles. I need that contact, that closeness — not just because I’m his mum, but because I’m still trying to convince myself this isn’t all a dream, or worse, a cruel joke.

Jax doesn’t miss a beat. He hops off the bed, plumping the pillows behind me with quiet urgency so I can lean back comfortably. His love is in the details, the acts of service — in the way he fusses without saying a word, like he knows exactly what I need before I do.

Still, I pout at the loss of him beside me. I want his warmth, his heartbeat near mine.

He leans in and kisses my lips with a soft chuckle, eyes twinkling. “That pout’s criminal,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Yeah, well… maybe I’m feeling a bit needy,” I mumble.

I glance down at myself, suddenly self-conscious — my hair a mess, my body aching, my skin pale. “How do I look?” I ask grimly, not brave enough to look in a mirror, not sure I’d recognise the woman staring back if I did.

Jax doesn’t even hesitate.

“Like a goddess.”

His voice is low and steady, no room for argument. He reaches down, grabs his discarded shirt from the floor, and gently pulls it over my head, the fabric soft and comforting, smelling of him — like safety and home.

Then, with a sigh, he grabs a clean shirt from my bag and tugs it over his own chest, covering the sculpted body I used to tease him for knowing he had. He catches my smirk.

“What?” he asks with a grin.

“Nothing,” I say, snuggling Macaulay close again as his little cries fade into soft breaths against my heart. “Just thinking about the DILF vibes you’re giving off, Jaxson Mayweather.”

And then — another knock at the door.

A beat of silence.

A breath.

And everything changes again.

This time, there’s no polite knock, no sheepish head poked round the door.

Instead, the room is breached with all the subtlety of a hurricane. A sudden rush of noise, laughter, and light — our family spilling into the space like they own it, because in some ways, they do. Each one of them is weighed down with balloons, gift bags, and enough grinning, overexcited energy to fuel a city.

And somehow… it’s perfect.

The guys are first, zeroing in on Jax with booming voices and slaps on the back, hugging him like they’ve just won a trophy — and maybe in their eyes, they have. He accepts it all with a broad, almost disbelieving grin, one hand running through his hair as the other tries to fend them off with mock irritation. But the truth is written all over his face — this moment is everything to him.

The girls aren’t far behind, descending on Jax with congratulations and kisses to the cheek, brushing his shoulder, squeezing his arm — because they know what this means to him too.

And then, through it all, his eyes find mine.

Time slows.

His smile, breathtaking and full of something deeper than pride — something sacred — is aimed at me like a lifeline. His eyes shimmer with tears he doesn’t bother to hide, and in them I see it all: the love, the disbelief, the weight of every second that led to this one. And I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips in return, just for him. It’s everything. He’s everything.

And then — all eyes shift to me. Or more precisely, to the bundle nestled against my chest.

As if sensing the spotlight, Macaulay lets out a soft, startled whine — a sound so delicate and pure it stills the room for a heartbeat. Everyone freezes, faces softening as they lean in closer, curious, loving, like he’s something rare and sacred.

I gasp quietly at the sound, my smile widening instinctively as I cradle him closer. The bond already growing between us feels like it’s stitched into my very skin.

I look to Jax.

His expression shifts instantly, concern tightening his jaw at our son’s small cry — protective instincts flaring like wildfire.

But I meet his eyes and offer a soft, reassuring smile.

He sees it, understands, and visibly relaxes — his shoulders lowering, the fear retreating behind that steady, unwavering love I see in him every single time he looks at us.

This is our chaos.

This is our calm.

This is our family.

It’s no surprise that T and Jess are the first to invade my personal space — like magnets to a flame.

T reaches me first, kissing my cheek before pulling me into the gentlest of hugs, mindful of the baby on my chest. Her eyes are glassy, and I know it’s not just joy — it’s everything. Relief, happiness, pride, love. Jess is right behind her, brushing a tear from her cheek before planting a kiss to my forehead.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jess whispers, and somehow those five little words are enough to make my chest cave in with emotion.

Behind them, the boys hold back a little — awkward smiles, softened eyes. There’s respect in the distance they keep. Like they know we’re balancing between the sacred and the shattered right now. They each offer quiet congratulations, murmured words, and shy grins, like they’re afraid to tip the moment too far in any direction.

Jax breaks from them first, threading his way back over to me. He climbs onto the bed like it’s second nature, sliding in beside me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders like an anchor. He kisses the top of my head, warm and lingering, and in that small gesture, I feel steadied — grounded.

Then: a flash.

T’s camera.

I blink, startled.

She lowers her phone sheepishly but triumphant. “First family photo,” she says, misty-eyed but smug.

“Candid, no less,” I mutter with a chuckle, instinctively reaching to brush down my hair — a hopeless effort. “I can only hope Macaulay forgives the state of me in a few years.”

“You look like a warrior,” T says simply.

And in that moment, I believe her.

“Come on then,” she grins, clapping her hands together like an impatient child. “I’ve been waiting hours. Let me get my hands on him!”

I laugh as Jax carefully lifts Macaulay from my arms — already cradling him with such confidence it makes my heart ache. I watch the moment shift subtly in him — the tenderness in the way he moves, the unspoken instruction in his voice as he turns to T.

“Sit down properly,” he orders, only half joking. “And support his head. He’s tiny.”

T rolls her eyes but follows instructions, her face softening to something almost contentment as the weight of Macaulay settles into her arms.

“Oh, Em…” she breathes. “He’s perfect.”

Jess settles beside her, leaning in close and letting her fingers graze over his curled hand. “Congratulations, chick. You did it. He’s here.”

A beat passes.

Jess looks up, curious now — eyes bright and wide. “So how was it?”

I exhale, a little laugh escaping that’s equal parts humour and exhaustion.

“It was the most painful thing I’ve ever been through, Jess — I won’t lie. I thought I was gonna split in two. But…” I glance up, my grin spreading despite the ache in my chest. “The second he was in my arms, all of it disappeared. Just gone. Like he rewired my whole body the second he touched it. I still feel sore, a little uncomfortable, sure… but he’s so worth it. Every single second.”

Jess’s eyes shimmer with emotion, and T leans her cheek against Macaulay’s head, letting out a quiet sigh of agreement.

Then, right on cue.

“Sounds awful,” Nate mutters, his face scrunching like a kicked-in paper bag. “But… uh… will everything be, y’know... okay? Down there?” He nods vaguely toward the bottom of the bed like my vagina is a crime scene.

There’s a beat. Then—

“Nate, shut the fuck up!” Uncle Tel booms from the corner, his glare sharp enough to shave concrete. “What sort of dumbass question is that?”

Laughter ripples through the room, barely muffled before Jax cuts in with a growl of his own. “You wanna end up in a hospital bed next to Em? Think before you speak, you fucking dick.”

Even Levi snorts, rubbing a hand down his face as if he’s embarrassed to be associated with Nate.

I can’t help myself — I burst out laughing, the whole thing too ridiculous not to enjoy.

“I can assure you, Nate,” I say, smirking as I lean slightly toward him, “that no one needs to be worrying about anything down there for the foreseeable future. That door is closed. Locked. Possibly welded shut.”

Jax’s head snaps toward me so fast you’d think I’d just declared I was never going to put out ever again. His eyes narrow, expression flickering somewhere between offended and panicked.

I raise a brow and smirk at him, tauntingly.

He leans in close, voice low and raspy with intent. “Don’t test me, Baby. You might be sore now, but I’ll have you begging for me before that six-week mark hits.”

A dramatic groan sounds behind us — probably Levi or Phil — followed by a chorus of fake gagging and muttered protests.

“Jesus Christ,” Nate mutters, covering his ears. “Can we not? I’m trying to forget I even brought it up.”

Uncle Tel shakes his head with a long-suffering sigh. “This family’s got no damn filter.”

I look around the room, full of love. Full of people who show up, even with their flaws. Full of laughter and most of all, full of the fierce little boy I’d brought into the world.

“Everything’s okay though, Em? You and the baby — both all right?” Chris asks, his voice quieter now, like he’s asking for reassurance he doesn’t want to need.

“They’re both perfect,” Jax replies before I can, his voice solid and sure as he helps T gently pass Macaulay into Jess’s waiting arms.

I smile softly at Chris and nod, watching the tension visibly ease from his shoulders as he returns my smile with a flicker of relief behind his eyes.

Levi moves to perch on the arm of Jess’s chair, peering down at our son with a tenderness that tugs at something deep in my chest. He leans in, whispering something quiet and silly, and I hear Jess laugh softly in return, her fingers tracing gently over Macaulay’s impossibly tiny hand.

Jax settles back beside me, close enough that I feel his warmth instantly. His arm brushes mine and stays there — anchoring me. Even now, with everything, he still doesn’t look away from Macaulay for more than a breath at a time, like he’s afraid to miss a single blink or breath.

“So,” Uncle Tel says suddenly, rubbing his hands together like he’s about to crack open a safe. “The official name and weight? I’ve got a couple quid riding on a solid seven-pounder.”

I glance at Jax, giving him the silent go-ahead — the same wordless language we’ve spoken since we first met.

“His name is Macaulay Terry Mayweather,” Jax announces, voice thick with emotion he doesn’t try to hide. “And he was a little chunk — nine pounds, seven ounces.”

The room erupts into surprised laughter and mock groans.

“Sorry, Uncle Tel,” I say, biting back my grin, “looks like you’ve lost a few quid.”

But Tel isn’t laughing. He’s frozen for a second, blinking like he didn’t hear us right. “You named him after me?” he says, voice unsteady. “Me?”

He steps forward, the bravado slipping. “Fuck the money. Pass me the kid.”

Jax lifts Macaulay gently from Jess’s arms and places him into Tel’s waiting hands. Despite his size, Tel cradles him with care that betrays the size of his calloused hands — hands that have fought and built and protected this family for decades.

He gazes down at the tiny bundle in disbelief, his expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before. Tears brim in his eyes, and he doesn’t even try to blink them away.

“Kid…” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion, “you dunno how lucky you are. You’ve got two amazing parents, a family that would go to the ends of the earth for you… and the best name a man could ever ask for.”

He presses a kiss to Macaulay’s forehead. “Welcome to the family, little guy. You’ve got big shoes to fill — but knowing your bloodline, you’ll fill ’em twice over.”

Everyone cheers and claps from around the room, and I feel a lump rise in my throat. Every word Uncle Tel just said… it’s real. Our boy will never know what it’s like to feel unloved, unwanted, or alone. That fact wraps around my heart like armour.

Uncle Tel strolls Macaulay proudly around the room like he’s presenting a royal heir, introducing him one by one to his new kingdom. The boys grin, the girls coo, and everyone melts — exactly as expected. And through it all, I stay tucked in Jax’s arms, the rhythm of his breathing behind me like a lullaby.

One by one, the people we love hold our son — kissing his downy head, whispering promises I’ll never get to hear. And I don’t need to. I already know what they’re saying: we’ve got you, kid. No matter what.

Only Mike and Lee hover awkwardly near the edges, not quite sure what to do with themselves, and I clock it just as Phil clumsily tries to snuggle Macaulay. I feel Jax stiffen beside me, his jaw ticking as he watches with hawk-like precision. I place my hand gently on his thigh — not to stop him exactly, but to remind him that this is okay. That our baby is safe.

Phil looks more terrified of Jax than he does of holding a newborn, but he manages it. Sort of. Macaulay scrunches his nose and lets out a soft grunt — not quite a cry — and Phil nearly drops him out of sheer panic. Levi rescues the situation, stepping in to reclaim the baby with practiced ease.

“Okay, Phil,” Levi laughs, “maybe stick to balloons next time.”

The room erupts again, and even Jax cracks a smile — though he doesn’t relax until Macaulay’s safely back in familiar hands. I squeeze his thigh lightly and rest my head back against his chest.

There’s so much noise, so much love in the room, and yet all I want to do is sleep. My eyes burn with exhaustion. I’m warm, held, content… but I can feel the yawn building at the back of my throat.

I try to swallow it, force my face into a smile, and keep soaking in this moment. But I feel it — the slow pull of gravity, the crash that always follows the high.

T catches my eye from across the room. One brow arches knowingly and her smile softens. Of course she sees right through me — she always has. She opens her mouth, probably to suggest that I get some rest, when there’s a knock at the door again.

My heart gives a tiny jolt. The knock feels different this time — sharper, somehow. A beat louder.

Just as the air in the room settles again, the door creaks open slowly. My heart skips in anticipation — silently hoping for that one missing face, the one I’ve been holding the sleep off for.

And there he is.

Toby walks in, arms stretched wide as he lugs the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever seen, its fuzzy feet dragging behind him. The sheer size of it makes everyone laugh, breaking the emotional fog that’s lingered like smoke.

He tosses it in Nate’s direction, who nearly topples under its weight, and without skipping a beat, heads straight for me and Jax. His expression is warm, eyes tired but alive, brimming with unspoken words.

Toby gives me a gentle half-hug, mindful of Jax’s ever-present arm around me. His cheek brushes mine as he presses a soft kiss there, before extending a hand to Jax.

I tense for a moment. It’s like watching a peace treaty being signed in real time.

Jax stares for a beat too long, then reluctantly reaches out. Their handshake is brief — sturdy, but not entirely warm. Still, it’s a start. I hold onto that.

“Congratulations to you both. He’s finally here then,” Tobs says softly, scanning the room until his eyes land on Macaulay in Levi’s arms.

Toby makes his way across, and Levi stands, cradling Macaulay with care before carefully passing him over.

I feel Jax go stiff beside me, a wave of protectiveness rolling off him like heat. My fingers instinctively find his thigh, giving it a reassuring stroke.

Relax, I silently urge him. It’s Tobs. If anyone has earned this moment, it’s him.

Because despite everything, despite the tension between them, Toby has only ever had my best interests at heart. He’s walked into flames for me. He’s seen me shattered and never once looked away. And I know — deep in my bones — that love extends to my son.

Mac stirs in Toby’s arms, his little body wriggling with sleepy grumbles. The room quiets, everyone instinctively leaning in. Then, like he knows he has centre stage, our little boy opens his eyes.

Just like that, everyone melts.

Soft gasps and coos fill the air.

“Wow, Jax… he’s your double,” Chris breathes, wonder in his voice as he leans closer.

Jax shifts beside me, a rare smile flickering across his face. The kind of smile that speaks to legacy, pride, and something even deeper — awe.

“He is, isn’t he,” I say, unable to stop the swell in my chest. My voice is thick with emotion. “Same nose, same brow… even that little frown.”

Jax chuckles. “He’s already judging people, just like his mama.”

I elbow him playfully, my heart full. The moment is perfect — layered with history, tension, love, and the first steps of healing.

And as Toby stares down at Macaulay, something in his expression shifts — approval, maybe. Or a vow. Whatever it is, I feel it settle deep in my chest like truth.

As if the sound of my voice reminds him, I’m not holding him, Macaulay’s tiny fists ball up, his adorable face crumples like paper, and then — he lets out his first proper scream. Not a whimper. Not a fuss. A full-blown protest.

The noise cuts through the room like a siren. A few startled looks flick our way.

Toby stiffens instantly, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden shift, his arms locked rigidly as Mac flails.

Jax is up in a second, already crossing the space with urgency in his every step. “Hey, little guy,” he soothes, taking Mac gently from Toby. “You want your mummy, huh?”

The second Macaulay feels the warmth of Jax’s chest, the cries lose their sharpness, fading into broken little whimpers — still not content, but no longer distressed. Like he knows he’s getting closer to where he wants to be.

I can’t help but smile as Jax gently places our boy back into my arms. The second he’s against me, his head tucks instinctively beneath my chin. He makes this tiny noise, something between a sigh and a squeak, and starts rooting around with purpose.

I spot Tel’s phone lifted, the quiet click of the camera shutter capturing the moment. I hold back from giving Mac what he wants, waiting just a second longer, not wanting to immortalise this moment in photo form with a nipple involved.

Jax follows our son’s squirming, watching him nuzzle against the fabric of his shirt now stretched over my chest. The penny drops. That protective streak kicks in like a reflex.

“Alright, everyone — out,” he snaps, his voice firm but not cruel. Just… commanding.

I blink. “Jax—”

“They’ve seen enough,” he cuts me off, already positioning himself like a wall in front of me, shielding me and the baby from every angle as I adjust.

Groans of protest sound from around the room, but no one really argues. Maybe it’s the tone. Maybe it’s the glare. Either way, I’ve never seen people scatter so fast. T’s chuckling. Nate mutters something under his breath. And Tel, bless him, just nods and herds them out like a bouncer on a curfew.

I don’t wait any longer. I lift Jax’s T-shirt and guide my hungry little boy to the breast. He latches instantly — with zero finesse but all the determination in the world — and I exhale a little laugh as the pain subsides, and he settles.

Jax stays planted in front of me, arms folded, shoulders wide like a guard dog. His eyes scan the now-empty room.

“You gonna throw everyone out every time our baby wants milk?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Fuck yes,” Jax mutters as he drops back onto the bed with a heavy sigh of satisfaction.

I give him a pointed what the hell look, my eyebrow arching in that way that always gets his attention.

“Jax,” I say slowly, “we’re gonna have a very hungry baby if I’m not allowed to feed him in front of anyone.”

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his jaw already tightening.

“As if I’d let our boy go hungry,” he fires back. “I just… I don’t want anyone else perving on you.”

His words make me chuckle despite myself, the sound vibrating against Macaulay, who flinches in response, his little body giving a startled jerk. I immediately soothe him with a soft stroke along his back.

“Badass,” I say, still grinning, “I look like a sack of shit right now. I’m massive. I’m saggy. I’m leaky. I’ve got stretch marks in places I didn’t know could stretch. Trust me—no one is remotely interested in my udders.”

Jax lets out a low growl of protest.

I roll my eyes. “You, however, you caused all this. This”—I gesture vaguely at my milk-soaked shirt and exhausted body— “this is on you.”

He leans in, unbothered, his mouth brushing my temple, then Mac’s downy head. His arms wrap around us like a warm cocoon.

“You can be discreet, I know that” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “I just hate the idea of anyone seeing you like this. Not because you don’t look amazing—fuck, Em, you look like magic—but because it’s ours. This version of you... this is just for me and him.”

His words hit me like a wave.

“I mean it,” he whispers, now cupping my side gently. “Look what you’ve done. You carried our son. You brought him into the world. You’re feeding him, comforting him… You’ve given me everything I never thought I’d have. You gave me you. And now… him.”

I lean into him as he presses a kiss to the crown of my head.

“You’re incredible, Em. I know I’ve said it before, but I can’t wait to officially make you mine.”

I turn slightly, looking up at him through tired, misty eyes, heart pounding at his words. That look is back—his eyes glassy but full of fire.

“I love you, Jax,” I say, voice low and honest. “And I can’t wait either.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and presses his forehead to mine.

“I love you too, Ems. Both of you.”

We both gaze down at the little bundle nestled between us, his tiny chest rising and falling in soft, steady breaths. Jax strokes Macaulay’s cheek with the back of his knuckle, so gentle it makes my heart ache. Our son is no longer feeding—just staring up at us with wide, curious blue eyes, so full of life and innocence it’s almost too much to take in.

We sit in quiet awe, wrapped in the kind of silence that only love can create.

Jax breaks it softly, barely above a whisper. “Em… why don’t you shut your eyes for thirty minutes? I’ll change his nappy, get him dressed. You’ve done enough. Rest, baby.”

I hesitate, torn between the deep need to rest and the fear of missing even a second of this new, fragile magic. But before I can form an excuse, a yawn betrays me—long and involuntary. Jax raises an eyebrow knowingly.

“Fine,” I sigh, eyes already drooping. “But you wake me if he so much as squeaks, yeah? And only thirty minutes, Jax. I mean it. None of that ‘you looked too cute’ bullshit.”

He chuckles, that soft raspy sound that always warms my chest. “Scout’s honour,” he says, smirking, already cradling Macaulay against his chest with practiced ease.

I watch him carry our baby over to the incubator, every movement reverent, like he’s handling glass instead of our son. He talks to him softly, soothing him through the nappy change, his huge hands so careful and precise. I try to stay awake, try to fight the sting in my eyes, but the last thing I see is Jax wrapping Mac up in his little outfit, like he was born to do it.

When I wake, true to his word, exactly thirty minutes have passed.

The soft rustle of fabric and the low hum of Jax’s voice pulls me from the haze. I blink against the afternoon light and see him sitting by the bed, Macaulay curled in his arms, fast asleep. Jax looks up, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but warm and content.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispers with a small smile. “Claire came in, checked little man out with the dr while you were out. She said we can leave whenever you feel ready.”

I stretch slightly, ignoring the tug in my lower back and the dull ache everywhere else.

“You let me sleep,” I murmur accusingly, voice still thick with sleep.

“You needed it,” he shrugs, eyes never leaving our son. “He and I handled things just fine.”

And by the look of the peaceful baby in his arms and the love practically radiating off Jax, I believe him.

My tummy flutters with anticipation. This is it. My own little family. Me and Jax—finally taking our perfect baby boy home. The thought alone makes my chest swell with love… and a healthy dose of fear.

I glance down at Macaulay, fast asleep in his daddy’s arms, blissfully unaware of the big journey ahead. My heart aches just looking at him.

Jax looks up, catching my eye with that soft, steady concern of his. “Are you ready to go home, baby? If you’re still in pain or anything, we can stay. It was just a suggestion.”

I smile, but it’s a nervous one. “I can’t wait to get my two boys’ home,” I admit, “but I’m just a bit… scared.”

His brow furrows instantly and he crosses the room, free hand coming to rest lightly on my waist. “Why are you scared? We’re in this together, Em. And we’ve got the others, yeah? We’re five minutes from the hospital. If anything feels off, we’re back in a heartbeat. But I’m more worried about you being in pain.”

I reach up and cup his jaw, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. “Jax, I’m great. I honestly couldn’t be any better.”

His expression softens, that rare, breathtaking grin spreading slowly across his face—the one that still makes my knees weak.

“Then let’s go home,” he says with conviction, already pulling out his phone and tapping quickly, no doubt alerting the squad.

I move to get out of bed, slowly and carefully, determined not to show him how much I wince. My body aches and burns in ways I didn’t even know were possible. My lady parts feel like they’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants—but none of that matters. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat for the little miracle swaddled in his arms.

A warm bath, some pain meds, and Jax’s arms around me… that’s all I need.

We’re going home. Together.

“Badass, you better let the others know we’re leaving,” I mumble, mostly thinking out loud as I take in the room one last time.

“All sorted, babe. They’ve already left.” His voice is calm and full of that quiet confidence that always steadies me.

I glance around the room, eyes scanning over the mountain of balloons, gifts, bags, and the absurdly oversized teddy Nate had been lumped with earlier. “Jax… look at all this stuff we’ve got to take. How are we going to fit it all in?”

He doesn’t even blink. “That’s all sorted too. You just worry about you and our baby.”

God, I love him. He takes care of everything—of me. Of us. I don’t even have to ask. He just knows.

I smile up at him, the emotion catching in my throat. What would I do without him?

With effort I cross the room slowly, careful to keep my face neutral. There’s still a dull ache between my legs—burning, stinging—but if Jax so much as suspects I’m in pain, I know he’ll scoop me up and carry me back to the hospital bed, refusing to let us leave.

And I want to leave.

So, I grit my teeth and grab some fresh pants and one of those glamorous maternity pads, slipping them on before easing into a pair of soft pyjama bottoms. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and pause. My hair’s a mess, my face is pale and tired… but there’s a softness in my expression I don’t recognise. A calmness.

I run the brush through my hair, pack away the leftover bits, and zip up my bag, placing it gently by the door.

When I turn, my heart lurches.

There’s Jax, standing beside Macaulay’s incubator, his big hands gently adjusting the blanket around our sleeping son. Mac’s in a little stripy sleepsuit with a matching hat—his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. His face is so peaceful, his features so delicate… and so unmistakably Jax’s. My heart aches at the sight.

A proper mini-me.

Jax senses me watching and walks over, slipping behind me like he’s done it a thousand times. His arm wraps around my waist, strong and steady, grounding me. He presses a kiss to my temple, then rests his chin gently on my head.

We stay like that for a moment—silent, still.

Just us and our boy.

“I can’t believe he’s ours,” I whisper.

Jax tightens his hold ever so slightly, and I feel him nod against my hair. “Me neither.”

“Thank you, Emma. For choosing me, for standing by me and supporting me. Thank you for giving me a chance to be a dad. I honestly can’t tell you in words how in love with you I am. You complete me—and in the last few days, you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever known. Mac is just the icing on the cake. I can’t wait for us to get home and start our next chapter together as a family. You blow me away.”

His words crash over me like a tidal wave—gentle but powerful, each one soaking into the cracks of my tired soul. I turn in his arms and meet his gaze, and it’s all there. Everything I feel reflected back at me—honesty, devotion, that fierce, grounding love only Jax knows how to give.

I reach up, gently cupping his face, guiding him to me. Our lips meet, slow and reverent. A kiss that isn’t rushed or hungry but full of meaning. I kiss him like I’m trying to tell him everything I can’t put into words. All my gratitude. My awe. My endless, aching love for him.

Jax lets out a low growl as I begin to pull away, and it makes me laugh softly against his mouth. That sound. That grip. That pull he has on me—it’ll never get old. He draws me back in without a word, returning the kiss with more heat now. More passion. His lips say everything his body can’t in this moment.

I moan—quiet, involuntary—and it snaps me back to reality.

Not here. Not now.

Not after everything my body’s just done.

Reluctantly, I press a gentle hand to his chest, trying to pull away again. He groans in protest, catching my hand and pressing it flat against his heartbeat. His chest is rising and falling a little faster now.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, baby?” he says, voice rough with feeling.

Instead of replying, I guide his hand up, holding it over my heart. “Yes, Badass,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. “I truly do.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and his strength, I feel it. I feel like I can breathe again. Like the world has settled.

This—this—is home.

I nuzzle into him, soaking in the comfort of his scent, the way his heartbeat grounds me. And then I smile, softly but with certainty.

“Jax,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

As we leave Claire gives me a fond look, not bothering to hide the emotion in her eyes. “Take it easy, Emma. And congratulations again. He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you—for everything,” I say sincerely, my voice catching just a little.

With one last nod from Claire, we step out of the room—Jax at my side, his hand hovering protectively behind my back, just in case.

The walk down the hospital corridor feels strange. Surreal, even. Like I’m stepping out of one life and into another. My body aches, but there’s pride in every step I take. Pride in what I’ve survived. Pride in who I am now. A mother.

Jax smiles softly, that knowing, slightly amused tilt to his lips that says he’s watching every nuance of me with laser focus. Protective. Loving. Obsessed, if I’m honest—not that I mind one bit.

He adjusts Macaulay’s seat in his arms, careful not to jostle him as we reach the car. I can feel Jax’s eyes drift to me every few steps, like he’s waiting for me to wince or slow down. I don’t give him the satisfaction. My legs feel heavy, like I’ve run a marathon, but I keep pace, proud of every slow step.

"How is it only 4?” I mutter, more to myself than to him seeing the huge clock at the hospital entrance. “Feels like a lifetime’s passed.”

He stops walking, just for a second, and I do too. The car’s only a few feet away, but he looks at me like there’s something he needs to say.

“Well, in a way,” he says, voice low and careful, “a lifetime has passed. The moment he was born... everything changed. I don’t think time will ever feel the same again.”

The weight of his words hits me harder than I expect. I look up at him—my Jax, my Badass—and I see it clearly now. The softness behind his strong exterior. The fear and awe tangled in with the pride. We’re both scared. We’re both trying to be strong—for each other, for Macaulay.

I reach out and touch his arm gently, grounding us both. “It has changed. And it’s terrifying, Jax. But also... kind of perfect.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against my temple, and for a moment I close my eyes, breathing him in. That familiar scent that’s comforted me through hell and back.

“Come on, Milfy,” he whispers, “let’s get you both home.”

I follow Jax as he slowly leads us to the car, every step deliberate, every movement gentle—like he’s afraid I might break. I watch him crouch down and carefully strap Macaulay's car seat in, checking the buckle twice, his hands lingering on our son’s blanket as if he can’t quite believe this moment is real.

Then he’s at my side, opening my door like the gentleman he’s always been for me. I lower myself slowly into the seat, biting my lip to keep from gasping out loud. The hard leather hits tender places and I wince, silently praying Jax didn’t hear. Thankfully, he’s already round the other side.

I shift as close to Mac as I can and gaze down at him. He’s completely oblivious, tucked up in his little car seat, his chest rising and falling with that perfect newborn rhythm. His face is so peaceful, so trusting. He’s everything. I could stare at him forever.

Jax starts the engine, and I settle back, grateful that home isn’t far. My body aches, exhaustion creeping in behind the adrenaline, but my heart is full.

It takes me a minute to realise we’ve driven straight past our house.

Confusion flickers, quickly turning into unease. “Jax... where are we going?” I ask, a small knot forming in my stomach. My voice comes out soft, uncertain.

He doesn’t reply. Just keeps driving, jaw set, eyes focused on the road. My unease sharpens into something heavier disappointment, maybe even panic. I don’t want to detour. I want to go home. To bathe. To rest. To breathe.

I try again, more insistent this time. “Jax...”

Still nothing—just that damn grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, to my confusion, he signals and turns into the driveway of the house next door to Uncle Tel’s.

My heart sinks.

“Jax, wrong house,” I say, irritation creeping in as I look around. “What’s wrong with you? Can we not do this later?” My voice cracks at the end, the dam of emotion beginning to splinter. I feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes, hot and unwanted.

I don’t get it. I don’t want to get it. I just want to go home. I’m sore. I’m tired. I’ve just given birth. My body feels like it’s been to war and all I want is my own bed and a hot bath.

“I just want to go home,” I snap, not even trying to mask the emotion in my voice now.

Jax turns to me sharply, his brow furrowing, eyes flashing with a mix of surprise and hurt. It softens almost instantly, morphing into concern as he really sees me.

“Em,” he says, voice low and steady. “You are home.”

“Em, are you okay?” Jax asks gently, his voice so soft it breaks me even more.

I can’t even speak. The tears are already free-falling, hot and relentless down my cheeks. I feel completely wrecked—emotionally threadbare, like one wrong word might unravel me entirely. I know I’m acting irrational, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stop.

Without another word, Jax is out of the car, moving around to my side. He opens the door and kneels down beside me so we’re eye to eye. His hand reaches for mine as his other gently tugs me toward him.

“Em...” he says again, not asking anything now—just being there. Solid. Unshakable. Mine.

I collapse into him, pressing my face into the warm curve of his neck, soaking in his scent and the safety he always brings. I breathe him in like oxygen, steadying myself against his calm. My body is still healing, but it’s my heart that feels bruised in this moment. I’ve been holding it all together so tightly—and now it’s spilling out in front of him.

After a moment, I pull back slightly, eyes puffy, nose probably red. I meet his worried gaze, guilt tugging at my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just... I just wanted to go home.”

His expression softens even more. His hand cups my cheek. “Don’t be sorry for feeling sad, baby,” he says. “But... we are home.”

I blink at him, confused. What?

He gestures toward the house in front of us with a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. I follow his gaze, squinting through the leftover tears—and that’s when I notice them. Everyone. Our family. Standing on or near the front steps. Watching quietly, concern etched into every familiar face. All of them here.

And then Jax reaches into his pocket.

“Welcome to our new home, Em,” he says softly, pressing a bunch of keys into my hand. “I bought this house for us—for me, you, and Mac. It’s yours. Ours.”

I stare at the keys, blinking like an idiot.

My brain refuses to catch up. The words echo in my head but bounce off the walls instead of landing somewhere solid. A house. Our house. A home for us and our son. He did this for us.

I look up at him again, stunned into silence, my throat thick with emotion, heart lodged somewhere behind my ribs. He’s still watching me, waiting for it to sink in, to mean something.

There are so many things I want to say, but the only one that stumbles out of my mouth is the most Emma thing possible.

“Jax… this place better have a bath.”