The Longest Hour

Waiting rooms have their own kind of torture.

Minutes stretch into hours.

Every clock tick sounds louder than the last.

The bikers filled the maternity waiting area.

Nobody spoke much.

One man paced.

Another stared at the floor.

A third sat clutching Liam's letter.

Even the security guards had relaxed.

The tension from earlier was gone.

Now there was only worry.

I sat behind the nurses' station finishing paperwork, but my eyes kept drifting toward them.

People often judged men like these before hearing a single word.

Leather jackets.

Tattoos.

Harsh faces.

But for nearly an hour, all I saw were frightened uncles waiting for a child.

At 3:31 AM, the operating room doors opened.

Everyone stood at once.

The surgeon removed her mask.

For a terrifying second, nobody moved.

Then she smiled.

"The mother is stable."

Relief swept through the room.

Several men visibly sagged with exhaustion.

Then the doctor added:

"And you have a healthy baby boy."

The waiting room erupted.

Cheers.

Laughter.

Tears.

One biker actually dropped into a chair and covered his face while crying openly.

Jax didn't move.

He simply closed his eyes.

And whispered,

"Thank you."

But there was still one question.

"Can we see her?"

The doctor smiled.

"She asked for you specifically."