Page 151 of Jagger's Remorse
He and Hammer stop in the doorway, taking in the scene with expressions ranging from amused to terrified.
"Jesus Christ," Hammer mutters. "It looks like a biker bar exploded in here."
"Language," Mel scolds. "There's a baby present. Sort of."
"The baby can't hear—" Hammer starts.
"Actually," I interrupt, "she can. She's been responding to loud noises for weeks now. Especially gunfire. Kid's gonna come out ready for a firefight."
"That's my girl," Jagger says, crossing to kiss me. His hand finds my belly automatically, the way it has every day since we found out. "How's she doing?"
"Kicking the shit out of my ribs, like always." I place his hand where I can feel movement. "There. Feel that?"
"Strong already."
"Of course she is. Look at her parents."
"About that," Squirrel says, clearing his throat. "The boys wanted to contribute something for the kid."
They file in, and I notice a couple of the guys disappear.
Before long, Hammer and Poncho come back carrying something large covered in a tarp.
"If this is a motorcycle, I swear to God?—"
"It's not a motorcycle," Hammer assures me, whipping off the tarp. "It's a crib."
But not just any crib.
This is a work of art, handcrafted from dark wood that's been polished until it gleams. Carved into the headboard and footboard are intricate motorcycles, so detailed I can make out individual engine parts.
The rails have the Iron Veins emblem worked into the design.
"Holy shit, Hammer," I breathe. "You made this?"
He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "Yeah, well. Figure the kid deserves something nice. Something that'll last."
"It's bulletproof too," Poncho adds helpfully. "Reinforced panels. Just in case."
"You bulletproofed a crib."
"The world's dangerous," he shrugs. "Better safe than sorry."
"And it converts to a toddler bed," Baylee adds, "For when she's older."
I stand carefully, one hand on my back, and move to examine the crib properly.
Every joint is perfect, every detail thoughtful.
This must have taken him months.
"It's perfect," I tell Hammer, and surprise him by pulling him into a hug. "Thank you."
"Yeah, well," he mumbles into my shoulder. "Kid needs to sleep somewhere. Can't have a princess in some store-bought shit."
"Speaking of the princess," Jagger announces, helping me back to my chair. "Should we tell them?"
"You already told them it's a girl when you were drunk, apparently."
