The Iron Prez's Heir

I told Slate Kingston to choose between me and his club. He chose the club. I chose myself, and I walked out pregnant and alone. Seven years later, my son has leukemia, and the only match on the registry is the man I left. I flew back to the Iron Spades compound with legal papers and a broken heart, and Slate said yes before he even read them. Then he did the math. He didn't yell. He didn't storm. He went very quiet, and I realized that was worse. He gave me everything — his DNA, his days, his insurance — and asked for nothing. Not the son. Not me. Just the chance to show up. When the club's enemies threatened our son, Slate put his patch on the line. And when it was over, he made me say what I've known for seven years: I never stopped loving him. This time, I'm not leaving.