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"𝐈'𝐌 telling you this is going to work." Johnny said, shoving one of Ava's old mixtapes into his Walkman. He pressed play, then slipped the headphones carefully over Stella's growing baby bump.

"What did you choose?" Stella asked, curious.

"Poison," Johnny answered proudly, his arm sliding around her shoulders as his other hand rested possessively over her stomach.

The blonde tilted his head, his rough edges softening as Stella laid her hand over his. But as Talk Dirty to Me blasted faintly through the headphones, the baby stayed completely still. No kicks. No reaction. Strange, considering both parents—and Stella's mom—were diehard rock fans.

"Why isn't the baby kicking?" Stella asked, a crease of worry in her brow.

"Hey, don't worry, princess," Johnny said quickly, brushing her concern away. "It's probably too soon. Kid's just playin' hard to get."

Stella slipped the headphones off her stomach. "Maybe we can try talking to it instead?"

Johnny frowned. "Talking? Like... what are we even supposed to say?"

"Whatever you want," Stella said gently, sliding the headphones onto her own ears but leaving them silent. She wanted to hear him, raw and unfiltered. "Go on. Just between you and the baby."

Johnny hesitated, then lowered his hand back onto her bump. He let out a breath, his voice dropping low.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm your dad." The words came rough at first, but softened the longer he spoke. "Never thought I'd get a second shot at this. With your brother, Robby... when he was born, I was a screw-up. My mom had just died, and I didn't know how to deal with anything. I wasn't there for him the way I should've been. But he forgave me, and we're fixing things now."

He glanced at Stella, then back at her belly. His thumb brushed against her skin, almost reverent.

"This time, I'm not screwing it up. I'll be there for you. For your mom. For Robby. Always. I want you to know how much you're loved already. By me, by your mom, by everyone waiting to meet you."

Johnny leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her bump. Right then, the baby kicked.

Stella's eyes lit up. "Johnny—it kicked!" She grinned. "It's gonna love you more than me."

Johnny smirked, shaking his head. "No chance. You're the one it's gonna love most, princess. And I don't even care if that's true."

Stella cupped his cheek, smiling. "Who wouldn't love you?"

Johnny chuckled. "Whatever it is, boy or girl, it's gonna have your attitude. God help me."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Stella laughed, kissing him sweetly. "Anyway—my appointment's at one. They'll ask if we want to know the gender. You still good with finding out?"

"Yeah. I wanna know." Johnny smirked. "Besides, Lori's right—it's a girl."

"I'm siding with Carter. Gonna regret this, but I think it's a boy," Stella teased as she pushed up to head into the kitchen.

Johnny leaned back on the couch, watching her with a look he'd never let anyone else see—soft, unguarded, completely hers. "You think of any names yet?"

"Not really," Stella admitted, pouring herself some juice. "What about you?"

Johnny shrugged. "Nothing good yet."

She handed him her glass with a smile. "Don't worry, hon. We've got time."

Johnny caught her hand before she could pull away, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. We got all the time in the world."

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The couple sat in the doctor's office, waiting to be called back. Johnny sat stiff in the chair, trying hard to mask the nerves rattling in his chest. For Stella's sake, he wanted to look solid, unshakable—but inside, he felt like a first-time dad all over again.

Stella noticed the way his knee bounced, the way he clenched and unclenched his fists. She reached over and slipped her hands into his.

"Honey, you alright?" she asked softly.

Johnny gave a half-shrug. "Yeah, I'm alright." A beat, then he exhaled. "I'm sorry, princess. I know I said I'd be strong. I just... don't wanna screw this up."

"Hey." Stella tilted her head until he looked at her. "You're the most amazing man I know. You've made some mistakes, sure—we all have. That doesn't define you. What matters is now. You've got a future. A few years from now, all that mess in the valley? It'll be a blip on the radar. I promise."

Johnny leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. His tough exterior cracked just enough for a couple of tears to slip free. He set his hand over her baby bump, grounding himself, then kissed her softly. Then the door opened.

"Stella?" Jackie smiled warmly. "We're ready for you, sweetie."

The appointment moved quickly—weight, vitals, urine, bloodwork—all strong. Then Dr. Montgomery entered, her presence calm and steady, her smile softening the room.

"Hi, guys." She sat down across from them.

"Hi, Dr. Montgomery." Stella returned warmly.

"Hey, doc," Johnny muttered with a quick nod, trying to play it cool.

Dr. Montgomery's eyes lingered on Johnny for a moment—she could see right through him. "It's normal to feel nervous, Johnny," she said gently. "Every good parent does. Nerves just mean you care."

Johnny cleared his throat, looking away, but his grip on Stella's hand tightened. "Yeah, well... I just don't wanna blow it."

Dr. Montgomery gave him a kind smile. "You won't. You're here. You're showing up. That's what matters most."

Johnny's jaw flexed, but something in his eyes softened. He didn't say anything, just gave her a small nod.

"Alright, let's check on your baby," Dr. Montgomery said, prepping the sonogram. She spread the gel over Stella's belly, and Johnny leaned close, his hand laced with Stella's as the screen flickered to life.

"The heartbeat is excellent," she said after a moment, her tone warm and reassuring. "Overall, you've got a very healthy baby. Would you like to know the gender?"

Stella looked at Johnny. He gave a quick, certain nod.

"Yes, please," Stella said, smiling through nerves.

Dr. Montgomery studied the screen carefully, then looked back at them with a bright smile. "Congratulations—you're having a beautiful baby girl."

Stella's eyes instantly brimmed with tears. "Oh, Johnny..."

Johnny's face broke into a wide grin. "Knew it was a girl." He kissed Stella's forehead, his voice low but certain. "She's gonna be a spitfire. Just like her mom."

"She's perfect. And you two are going to be wonderful parents. I'll see you next month." Dr. Montgomery

"Thanks, doc," Johnny and Stella said together.

Johnny didn't take his eyes off Stella—or the small bump beneath his hand. In his head, he could already see it: holding his little girl for the first time, her tiny hand gripping his finger. He didn't know much about raising a daughter, but he knew two things for sure—he was never letting her go, and no one was ever gonna hurt her.

For the first time in his life, Johnny Lawrence felt like he finally got something right.

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Stella sat curled up on the couch, a soft smile tugging at her lips as the flickering light of old video footage played across the television. On the screen, Ava moved with effortless elegance. Whether she was laughing with neighbors, hanging laundry in the sunshine, or reading aloud with August on her lap, she carried herself with the kind of natural beauty that turned heads—angelic features paired with the quiet, dignified grace of Princess Diana.

Even in grainy home video, Ava glowed.

"Hey, Stella." Robby's voice carried from the hallway as he padded into the living room. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, hey, hon." Stella quickly turned the volume down, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Just... looking through a few of my mom's things. Some poems she wrote for August and I, photos. And I found these old home movies I didn't realize we still had."

Robby's gaze shifted to the screen, catching Ava smiling into the camera before speaking in a gentle, lilting tone. His lips tugged upward. "She certainly was beautiful. I can see why everyone around here loved her so much."

Stella's throat tightened as she turned toward him, her own presence carrying that same quiet poise. People had always said she reminded them of Ava, but ever since her pregnancy, something about Stella had deepened—her patience, her softness, her steady strength. That Princess Diana-like grace that her mother had been known for now shone more clearly in Stella herself, as though motherhood was bringing it out of her day by day.

"Yeah. She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen," Stella said softly. She paused, lowering the volume further. "August and I—we got to say goodbye, and we found some kind of balance. But it doesn't change the fact that she's not here. The happiest moments will always carry a little sadness."

Robby's expression softened. "I wish I could say I understand, but I can only empathize. I'm sorry you and August had to go through that. From everything I've heard... she sounds like she was amazing. And she was beautiful."

"She was." Stella's smile wavered, though she kept her composure, just like Ava would have. "She used to make quilts for all the neighbors when they had babies. It was her way of making sure everyone felt loved. I wish I could've carried on that tradition, but..." she lifted her hands with a helpless shrug. "She was left-handed. I never could quite get the hang of sewing like her. I can manage a button, but not a quilt."

"I'm sure those neighbors appreciated that," Robby said with a quiet smile.

"Yeah." Stella nodded, her eyes glistening. Then, with that calm strength she carried, she shifted the focus. "Alright. Enough about me. Tell me—how are things with you and Tory?"

Robby hesitated, and the shift in his mood was immediate. His shoulders sagged. "It didn't work out, Stella."

"Oh, sweetheart..." Stella's heart ached as she wrapped him in a motherly embrace, her tenderness almost regal. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"Cobra Kai happened." His voice was heavy with resignation. "I tried. I really tried to be better. Tried to pull her out with me. But it's got its hooks in her. And I couldn't make her see it."

Stella exhaled slowly, running a hand through her brunette hair. "I wish I knew the right words. But all I can say is... one day, those kids will see the truth. I just pray it isn't too late when they do."

"You and me both." Robby gave her a small smile. Then, after a pause, he added quietly, "You know... I'm glad my dad found you. You've made him a better man. Thank you for that, Stella."

Her eyes softened, her smile tender, that Diana-like grace shining as she placed a hand on his cheek. "Oh, Robby. Of course."

As the moment settled, Robby cleared his throat. "Oh—before I forget. Your uncle Clay and August invited me to go to Fort Worth with them. We'll probably be back late. If it's too late, I can crash at Abilene's—"

Stella gave him a look, half stern, half loving. "First of all, have fun, be safe, and eat something good for me. Second, this is your house too. You don't ever need to ask permission to come home late. All I ask is that you give your father a call and let him know you're safe."

"I can do that." Robby smiled, lighter now.

"Good. Now go get ready." Stella waved him toward his room with playful seriousness. "And make sure you wear those Wranglers uncle Clay gave you!"

Robby laughed as he disappeared down the hall, leaving Stella alone again with the flickering screen. She turned her gaze back to her mother's image frozen mid-laugh, her smile faltering as her chest tightened.

I miss you, Mom.

The ache never truly faded. But as Stella sat there, one hand unconsciously resting on her growing bump, she realized something: Ava's beauty and grace lived on in her. And now, with her daughter on the way, that legacy would continue.

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It was 10:45 p.m. Stella sat curled up on the couch, draped in her favorite Miss Elaine nightgown—the pale satin one Johnny secretly loved the most—watching Autumn in New York. Richard Gere's voice floated through the quiet living room, soft against the glow of the screen.

The sound of footsteps padded down the hall, and a moment later Johnny appeared. His hair was mussed, pajama pants hanging loose on his hips, and his favorite faded Led Zeppelin tee clung to his shoulders. In one hand he carried a Coors Banquet, in the other a cold strawberry lemon Poppi for Stella.

"Figured you'd want this," he muttered, handing it over as he dropped down beside her. His arm immediately went around her shoulders, pulling her close, like it was second nature.

"Thanks, honey." Stella smiled, pressing the can to her lips before resting her head against him.

Johnny took a pull from his beer, eyes flicking to the screen before landing back on her. "I still can't believe we're having a girl. She's gonna be beautiful. Feisty, but beautiful. Just like her mom. Hell, I remember the first time we met—you mouthed off to me."

Stella let out a laugh, warm and musical. "To be fair, you called us immigrants." She arched a brow at him. "You were an asshole."

"Fair enough," Johnny admitted with a crooked grin, chuckling as he kissed the top of her head.

On the screen, Wynona Ryder's voice filled the room, but Stella wasn't paying attention. She placed her hand gently on her baby bump, her face softening. Johnny followed without hesitation, pressing his rough palm against her belly.

A sudden, sharp kick made them both jolt.

"Oh my God!" Stella gasped, her eyes wide, shining with tears. "Did you feel that?"

Johnny's brows shot up, but then he laughed, low and awed. "Damn right I did. Kid's got some power. Alright, so maybe she doesn't like Zeppelin like us—guess she's into all this girly crap you watch." He smirked, but his hand stayed firmly against her, almost reverent. "That's alright, princess. I love her anyway."

Stella rolled her eyes, grinning. "Honey, just because she kicked during Autumn in New York doesn't mean she doesn't like classic rock. But..." She hesitated, her lips curving into a hopeful smile. "I was listening to Marie Osmond today and it gave me an idea for her name."

Johnny angled toward her, suspicious but intrigued. "Yeah? Let's hear it."

"Montana," Stella said softly. "Montana Blue Lawrence."

Johnny blinked, then snorted. "Montana? Sounds like a cowgirl's name. You want our kid riding horses and ropin' cattle or something?"

"If you don't like it, we can change it," Stella said quickly, though her eyes held onto the glow of the name.

Johnny leaned back, thinking. The name rolled around in his head, rough but striking. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "Nah. It's beautiful. I like Montana Blue." His voice dropped, almost tender. "Sounds badass, actually."

Relief flooded Stella's features as she smiled. "Me too, hon. Me too."

Johnny kissed her then, tasting the sweetness of her Poppi on her lips, his hand still pressed against the life kicking inside her. For a man who thought he'd lost his chance at family, nothing had ever felt more right.

When he finally pulled back, his grin tilted wicked, and without asking he tugged Stella gently into his lap. She gave a half-squeal, half-laugh, swatting at his shoulder before settling against him, the satin of her nightgown slipping cool under his hands.

"Damn, princess," he murmured, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Stella rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. "Last time you looked at me like that, we ended up with a baby."

"Best damn accident of my life," Johnny shot back, nipping lightly at her jaw before shifting his gaze toward the television. Richard Gere was still brooding on-screen, Wynona Ryder looking tragic as hell. Johnny squinted, baffled.

"What the hell's even goin' on here?" he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Guy looks like he's about to cry every five seconds. Is this supposed to be romantic, or is he just constipated?"

Stella laughed, smacking his chest. "Johnny, hush. Charlotte—Wynona's character—she's dying of a heart condition. And Will—Richard Gere—he's trying to find any doctor he can to save her. He knows he doesn't have much time with her."

Johnny's smirk softened a little, but not enough to let go of his teasing. "So let me get this straight. Dude finally scores a woman like that, and she's got one foot out the door? Figures. Hollywood loves a sob story."

"Johnny!" Stella gasped, though she was laughing all the same.

"What?" He threw up his free hand, still keeping the other firmly around her waist. "If you ask me, he's wasting his time crying when he could be..." His voice dropped, suggestive, as he leaned in closer. "...doing this."

He kissed her again, slow and hungry, until she broke away breathless. "Johnny Lawrence, you're impossible. I'm trying to watch this."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, lips trailing across her cheek toward her neck. "And I'm trying to watch you."

She swatted at him again, but her giggles gave her away.

On-screen, Gere and Ryder exchanged a heavy, dramatic kiss, but Johnny groaned at the sight. "See? That guy's got nothin' on me. Look at him—so stiff he probably had to practice that in a mirror."

Stella bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "You're awful."

"Awfully right." He smirked, leaning back with her snug against his chest. His hand wandered back to her baby bump, thumb brushing reverently over the fabric of her gown. "Face it, princess. You've got the best seat in the house."

Stella tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes shining. "I do," she whispered.

Johnny's grin softened, his thumb still circling over where their daughter kicked. The movie droned on, Richard Gere's voice low and desperate in the background, but in that moment it was just them—Johnny's swagger never quite covering how much he adored her.

Stella tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes shining. "I do," she whispered.

Something in Johnny's chest pulled tight. He kissed her once, then again, easing her down against the couch cushions with a gentleness that almost contradicted the hunger in his eyes. Every shift of his body was careful, protective.

"Robby's not home tonight," he murmured, lips brushing hers between words, his voice rough and low. "It's just you and me, princess."

Stella's breath caught, her hand sliding up to his jaw, stroking the scruff there. She kissed him back, slow and lingering, until the muffled sobs of Wynona Ryder tugged faintly from the television. With a soft laugh, she reached over, grabbed the remote, and clicked the movie off.

The sudden silence made everything sharper—the sound of their breathing, the heat of his body hovering over hers, the way his hand spread wide and protective over her bump.

Johnny smirked against her mouth. "Finally. Thought I was gonna have to compete with Richard freakin' Gere all night."

"You're impossible," Stella whispered, laughing, her fingers curling into his shirt.

"Yeah, but I'm yours," he said, tugging the fabric over his head and tossing it aside. His mouth found hers again, hungry and sure, while his hands moved with surprising patience—sliding over satin, tracing the familiar curves of her body, careful not to press too hard.

Her nightgown slipped under his touch, pooling higher as his palm skimmed the soft skin of her thigh. Stella shivered, arching into him, her breath catching when his lips trailed down her throat, over her collarbone, then back to her mouth like he couldn't stand to be away too long.

"Johnny..." she whispered, her voice breaking around his name.

"I got you," he rasped, his forehead pressed to hers as he shifted, bracing himself so his weight wouldn't crush her. His hand lingered at her belly, reverent even as his other slipped lower, coaxing sighs from her lips. He kissed her again, swallowing every sound she made, every shiver that ran through her.

When she tugged at the waistband of his pajama pants, Johnny chuckled low, cocky as ever. "Damn, princess. Eager tonight."

"You started it," Stella teased, though her blush betrayed her.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna finish it," he promised, his voice dark with heat but softened by the way he kissed her, unhurried, savoring.

Clothes shifted, satin sliding against skin, the room warming with the friction of their movements. Johnny's touch stayed steady, sure, every caress reminding her she was his world. When he finally entered her, he moved with a care that almost undid her, each thrust slow at first, then deeper, every motion measured so he never lost that protective hold around her.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails grazing lightly as her head tipped back against the couch cushion. Johnny's mouth found the hollow of her throat, then her lips, murmuring against them between kisses.

"You feel so damn good," he groaned, his voice cracking with honesty. "You drive me insane, Stella."

Their rhythm built, slow but intense, like a tide that kept pulling them under together. Stella gasped his name, her body arching into his, and Johnny held her tighter, one hand locked over her bump, grounding himself in the reminder of what they'd made.

When the moment finally broke, it was together—Stella trembling beneath him, Johnny burying his face against her neck, his voice rough and raw as he whispered it like a vow.

"I love you. Always."

The world outside was quiet, the movie forgotten, the lamp casting them in a soft glow. Johnny didn't move right away, just stayed there with her, kissing her slow, his swagger stripped back until all that remained was the man who had finally found his home—in her arms, in the family they were building, in this moment that was theirs alone.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the lamp and the slowing rhythm of their breaths. Johnny kissed her a final time, gentle now, before easing back just enough to study her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she looked so beautiful it made his chest ache.

"Princess," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, "you're gonna be the death of me."

Stella laughed softly, the sound sleepy, warm. "You say that every time."

"'Cause it's true," Johnny said, smirking as he shifted to grab his discarded tee. He tugged it back over his head, then helped ease her arms through her nightgown again, fingers surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the satin down. "God, you're gorgeous."

She gave him a look—half playful, half exhausted. "You're biased."

"Damn right I am." He kissed her forehead, then stood, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other cradling her back. Before she could protest, he scooped her up from the couch, holding her easily against his chest.

"Johnny!" Stella squealed, gripping his shoulders. "You can't just—"

"Relax," he cut in with a grin, adjusting his hold so his palm stayed broad and steady against her bump. "I got you. And our little kicker."

Her laughter softened into something tender as she tucked her head against his shoulder, letting him carry her down the hall. The house was hushed, the floorboards creaking under his bare feet, but Johnny didn't rush. He moved with the kind of patience no one but Stella ever saw in him.

When he reached their bedroom, he nudged the door open with his hip and set her gently down on the bed. He pulled the covers up around her, then sat beside her, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone.

"See?" he said, cocky smirk tugging at his lips. "Told you I'm not just some punk from the Valley. I can take care of my girl."

Stella's eyes softened, heavy with sleep. "You take care of us better than you know."

That hit him harder than he expected. Johnny leaned down, kissed her once more, then settled beside her, pulling her against him until she was nestled safely in his arms. His hand found her belly again, instinctive and protective, like he couldn't sleep without the contact.

"Goodnight, princess," he whispered against her hair. "Love you."

And as her breathing slowed, Johnny stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, holding his whole world in his arms.

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The house was quiet, the kind of deep quiet that wrapped around them like a blanket. Stella was already drifting, her breaths slow and even, her face peaceful against his chest. Johnny's arm stayed draped over her, palm resting on her belly.

A sudden, sharp kick pressed against his hand. His eyes widened, then softened. "Whoa—hey there, Montana." He chuckled low, shaking his head in wonder. "You hear that, princess?" he whispered, though Stella was fast asleep. "She's sayin' goodnight. Kid's already got attitude. Just like her mom."

Another gentle kick answered him, and for a moment Johnny swore he felt his heart break open in his chest. He bent down, kissed Stella's hair, then pressed a reverent kiss to her bump. "Love you too, sweetheart," he whispered. "Daddy's right here."

Johnny shifted slightly so he could just look at Stella, letting the quiet settle around him. She was radiant in the soft glow of the lamp, the kind of beauty that made his chest ache. He had always known it—always seen it in the way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she loved—but right now it felt almost sacred. Regal, hauntingly beautiful, like Aphrodite herself had kissed her forehead before she was even born, marking her with a light no one could dim.

Her hands relaxed over her chest, her lips parted slightly in sleep, and Johnny's eyes softened. "You are incredible," he murmured, low and raw, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Inside and out. Always have been. Always will be."

He stayed like that, tracing her jaw with his thumb, letting the warmth of her body settle against him. Montana stirred slightly, and he felt another gentle kick. He laughed softly. "Yeah, I know. Daddy's still here." His voice cracked just a little, full of awe and love.

The night stretched around him, and for once Johnny didn't need to move, didn't need to tease or charm. He just watched her sleep, memorizing her, holding the quiet reverence of a man who had found the one thing he would fight for forever. Eventually, with Stella warm in his arms and Montana resting inside her, Johnny allowed himself to drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.