The Rampage MC #2: Beard and Emily

Chapter 11 (Beard): They'll Be Fine

Considering the number of texts you exchange in a day, very few of them actually change your life.

But I was looking down at one text that was going to change everything about my life. I read it five times, trying to come to terms with all that it implied.

I was also working on not being pissed off about it. That it was a text and not a motherfucking phone call. Emily had chosen to text me, not call.

At hospital with contractions. Looks like twins will arrive today. You can come if you want or I can call you afterwards if you're busy.

I didn't even take the time to respond. Yelling to Chain that the babies were on the way, I just hauled ass out to my bike and raced for the hospital. A receptionist directed me to Labor and Delivery, and I ran up the stairs to the third floor instead of waiting for the elevator. When I got to the nurse's station, I asked for Emily's room.

"Oh, are you the grandfather?"

Seriousfuckingly?

"No, I'm the father," I ground out, trying not to flex and ask her if this looked like any grandfather's body she'd ever seen. Better get used to it.

Her eyes widened in surprise, as did the nurse's next to her. I thought I heard Well, hel-loooo Daddy from a nurse farther down the station, but I couldn't be sure.

"My mistake! Sorry!" the nurse in front of me chirped, trying not to laugh and not in the least bit sorry. "She's in room 311. Just down the hall and take your first left."

Seconds later, I walked into Emily's room and saw her hooked up to monitors, her mother and father on either side of the bed. I walked right over and stood next to fucking Fabio.

I might have bumped the weasel.

But it was an accident.

And I'll deny it was on purpose to my dying day.

"Emily," I said, taking her hand. "What's going on? Are you and the babies OK?"

She was at thirty-three weeks, and I knew that was early, but not surprisingly early with twins. I'd been doing a lot of reading in the last week since I'd had dinner at her house.

I'd tried to call her every day, but I'd just get a simple text back with motherfucking exclamation marks: Everything's good! Babies are doing well!

Which drove me up a wall, so I'd always text back: Good to hear. But I'd also like to know how you're doing. Can I get you anything?

Then, the ever-polite woman would answer: I'm fine! I don't need anything, but thank you so much for asking!

Until today's text where she told me the twins were going to be born today, and she'd call me later if I was too busy to attend the birth of my children.

Calm down, Beard.

That she let me hold on to her hand a moment told me she wasn't as cool as she looked. Sliding her hand out from mine, she fluttered it in the air. "You didn't have to come, Beard," she said. "I know you're busy."

I closed my eyes for a minute to make sure I didn't lose my shit.

When I opened them, her eyes were on me, and she looked nervous, as if she knew she'd gone too far in her assumptions. "I will never be too busy for my children or for you, Emily. You three are my top priority."

"After your little gang of criminals," Fabio said.

I turned to him and even though he held his ground, I knew what my eyes and my face were communicating by the way he swallowed.