It's the least I can do.
49
Olivia
Even though I need the money, and even though Harrison is going to kick my ass for it, I call out on Monday.
"You too?" Diane groans. "There's something going around. Keep your germs to yourself." She hangs up as if I'm sending her a stomach bug through the phone lines.
Just like that, I've got the day to myself. Except I'm not sure it's healthy to lie on the living room floor any longer. Every so often, I catch a whiff of him, his scent still fresh on the carpet. Then I start crying again.
So maybe it's time to get up.
I really should take a shower, but my skin and clothes still smell like him, and I'm not quite ready to let that go. It's cool and gray out, so I dig through my bedroom until I find one of the many hoodies I've stolen from him. Except I never gave this one back. It's one of the River Reapers hoodies, with the MC's Sludge Specter embroidered on it. I tug it on over my tank top and leggings, the material soft and warm against my skin.
Just like he was last night.
I take a shaky breath. Olivia, I tell myself, get your shit together. I've never let myself get all wrung out over a guy. But then again, I've never met a guy like Cliff. Still, the truth remains: I don't do relationships for a reason. Maybe someday I'll be ready, but Cliff and I are miles away from the same page.
It's for the best.
Really.
I swallow hard. No more crying. I'm afraid to look in the mirror, but I do anyway. There's mascara smudged in tracks down my cheeks. The dark circles under my eyes aren't from makeup. If someone from work saw me, they'd definitely believe I'm sick. I feel sick—sick to my soul.
My phone chimes with a text. I glance around my bedroom, but it's nowhere in sight. Grumbling, I tear apart my room again. It's such a mess, I might just toss it all and start fresh at Lucy's.
I find the phone under one of my old textbooks. "What the fuck, Olivia," I mutter, waking it up.
Mark: Need you to work tonight, Prospect.
I scowl. Before I became a Prospect, he at least asked. I send him back a "K" and toss the phone onto my bed. Then I grab the Michael Kors convertible backpack that Lucy's parents bought me for my high school graduation. Before today, it lived in the back of my closet—it was always too small for textbooks. Today it's finally coming in handy.
I slide a paperback inside, along with some cash, my driver's license, and house keys. Then I grab the keys to the Street Glide. I push myself toward the front door, then leave the apartment and my phone behind.
I ride over to Big Y, where I wander the aisles for Gatorade and salty snacks. Then I head over to the deli, my arms full. I step into line behind a blonde with a longer bob. I touch my dark curls. Maybe it's time for something different. I straightened it the other day like I was in high school again. It didn't feel like me, though.
The woman turns, and my breath catches in my throat. It's Cami. Shit.
"Hey," she says with a smile.
She's so bright, so sunny. It makes me nauseous. Has Greg already begun dulling her shine? I clutch my purchases to my chest, debating whether to drop it all and bolt.
"Day off?" She eyes my wild hair and hoodie, but doesn't comment on it. Her gaze is warm and kind.
How the hell did he land someone like you? I want to ask. Instead, I swallow. "I thought your family owned a deli."
She laughs. "Caught me. I love their Kalamata olives." She points inside the case. "My family keeps it strictly Italian in their place."
"I won't tell if you won't." I look down pointedly at the chips.
She laughs again, an uplifting peal. Again I wonder how the hell she ended up with Greg.
"I never got your name," she says. "I'm Cami." She starts to hold out her hand, then remembers mine are full. A lovely blush splashes across her cheeks.
Bile races up my throat. I cannot let him ruin her. I can't.
"Cami," I say, dumping my items on the counter. "I'm Olivia." I watch her, searching for any sign that she recognizes my name.
She only smiles back, pleasant and sweet as ever.
I take a deep breath. "I need to talk to you."
A line appears between her eyes, but otherwise she's unruffled.
"Can we go outside?" I push my items toward the deli clerk.
"Sure." She steps away from the counter.
"We'll be back in five," I tell the guy behind the counter. "I want a turkey and American cheese sandwich when I get back. Don't be a dick about the mayo."
I leave him blinking.
I step into the cool gray afternoon. "Shouldn't you be at work?" I ask her.
"Caught me again." She glances around as if the parking lot of full of spies. "I'm playing hooky."
We have too much in common, Cami and me.
Except she's cute where I'm crude, soft where I'm stoic. Maybe Greg hasn't hurt her because she's everything a straight man with a pulse could possibly want. Cami is family material, the cornerstone of a wife, picket fence, and babies.
"Cami, I need to tell you something, and I need you to take me seriously," I say, fishing in my backpack for cigarettes. Damn. It's the one thing I forgot.
The line between her eyebrows deepens.
"I haven't been honest with you. I came to your house because my ex lives there."
"Oh," she says with a shrug. "Okay."
"Lives," I say, enunciating the S. "Greg is my ex. Your husband."
She draws back from me. "What the hell is this?"
"You need to listen. Your husband raped me when we were dating. I don't want him to hurt you, too." I bite my lip. There might've been a more tactful way to tell her. I don't know.
Cami's face moves through a variety of expressions. Her frown turns to shocked disbelief, lips parted, eyes narrowed. Then her upper lip curls, the line reappearing between her eyebrows. She shakes her head and backs away from me, looking for somewhere to sit. There aren't any benches, so she settles for leaning against the brick exterior of the grocery store. "What do you want?" she gasps.
"I don't want anything from you. I just want you to know the truth." I pause for a moment. "I don't work here. I'm a social worker." I fish in the backpack for pen and paper. All I find is a tube of lipstick and the paperback I tucked in earlier. I rip out a blank page and scrawl my cell on it. "I want you to call me if you ever need me. I'm also a Prospect for the River Reapers. They're my family, so they'd help you as a favor to me."
I hold out the paper and she takes it with a shaking hand.
"That's all. I'm sorry to bother you." I leave her outside and go back in. I really want that sandwich and, as long as it doesn't rain, I plan on spending my afternoon reading on the bridge.
I can't control Greg, and I'm not responsible for his actions, but knowing that Cami has my number restores some of my power.
He can try to hurt her.
He'll have to get through me first.
50
Cliff
I drag myself through my shift at the factory on Monday, then stop in at Lucy's real quick. I'm supposed to be at the strip club, but family first.
Besides, Mark texted me a heads up that he had Olivia come in tonight, and I'm not ready to see her. Not yet.
Lucy sits at her kitchen table. At least, it was a table. The thing is covered in her usual lesson planning paraphernalia, plus about a dozen parenting books and magazines. Smack in the center of it all is a snapshot from her latest ultrasound this morning.
I pluck the sonogram and squint at it. "Totally my niece. She's got my chin."
"How the hell can you tell?" She swats at me with a notebook. "And don't jinx her. No girl needs that chin."
"What do you mean?" I cup my chin, where a goatee's finally grown in. "It's a strong chin."
"Technically you're her cousin. The chances of her getting that chin are pretty slim."
"Damn, Luce." I pull up a seat at the table. "You're brutal when you're pregnant."
"Second
cousin," she says sweetly. She takes the sonogram from me and studies it. "I really can't tell what the hell she looks like."
"You didn't want one of those 3D ultrasounds?" I ask, sifting through the pile of magazines.
She slides me a wry look. "Those cost money."
I avoid her gaze. "Why not call Benjamin? I'm sure he'd love to have one done."
She swats me with the notebook again, this time harder.
I hold up my hands. "What? You have to tell him."
"I know that," she grumbles. "How about you? Did you talk to Olivia?"
I thumb through a magazine, then peer at an article about DIY baby food like it's the most fascinating thing I've ever read.
"I can't hear you," Lucy chides.
"I did." I put the magazine down and lift my eyes to hers.
"And?"
"And I let her go."
"You what?!" Her voice is so shrill, it nearly pierces my eardrums. "That's not the pep talk I gave you."
"Yeah, well." I spread my hands. "It's what had to be done. Just like you calling Benjamin."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm going to."
"No time like the present." I grin, then duck out of the way before she can hit me. Likely with a rolled up magazine.
"Well, since you're here. Moral support and all." She sighs and sifts through all the shit on the table. "Can you call my phone? Oh, never mind. It's over on the counter."
I start to get up to grab it for her, but she pushes her chair back and stands, exposing her very round, very pregnant belly. "Damn, Luce. Where'd that thing come from?"
I wince. No walking that back now. I expect her to beat me over the head with one of her hefty parenting books, but she nods.
"I know, right? All this time, I had this little belly, and then pop! Mom says that's how she was with me. She called it the Seventh Month Pop. Must run in the family," Lucy says, retrieving her phone.
"Just wait 'til I get knocked up," I joke.
Leaning against the counter, she rolls her eyes at me. "Okay," she says, taking a deep breath. "Here goes." She taps on her phone, then brings it to her ear. "It's ringing," she whispers.
"That's what phones do."
She gives me the tiniest crack of a smile before biting her lip. Shaking her head, she pulls the phone from her ear, then hits the speaker button. "Sorry," she mouths.
I don't really know how me hearing Benjamin's side of the conversation is more supportive, but I give her a thumbs up anyway.
The ringing stops as he answers. "Lucy?" His voice is both crisp and warm, the kind of baritone you hear in commercials.
"Ben," she says, as if they're old friends who haven't spoken in years. "Hey."
"Lucy," he says again. "Wow. I . . . did not expect to hear from you."
Flicking a glance at me, she laughs nervously. "I was not planning on making this call."
I wince and shake my head at her. "Easy," I mouth.
She throws up her hands and pulls a bewildered face while mouthing "I don't know what I'm doing."
"So," Ben says, drawing out the word. "What's up?"
I get up and join her at the counter, taking her free hand in mine. I give her a nod.
She blows out a slow breath. "Ben, I don't know how to tell you this. I should've called you a long time ago."
Silence on his end.
She surges forward. "I'm pregnant."
The silence deepens.
Her eyes rocket to mine, widening as panic sets in. "Ben?"
He draws a breath. "So, you're seeing someone else?"
"No," she says quickly. "I haven't been seeing anyone. I'm seven months, Ben."
He gasps.
"It's yours," she says, as if that wasn't already clear. Her hand squeezes mine, her knuckles going white.
For just a moment, I wonder if this is the kind of thing Olivia should be handling, instead of me. I'm way out of my element here. Then again, Olivia isn't much better at this than I am. We're both blunt, her more so than me.
Ben's silence stretches. Lucy and I stare at her phone, but the seconds keep ticking. The call hasn't been dropped.
"You still there?" she asks, a hesitant near-whisper.
"Yeah," he replies, with more than a hint of bitterness. "You're telling me this now? When did you find out?"
She clears her throat. "January."
"January." He laughs, but it's derisive. "You've known this whole time?"
"Yes." Her teeth dig into her lower lip. She glances at me again, tears pooling in her green eyes. "I wasn't sure what I wanted to do yet."
"Jesus." The TV commercial cool guy is gone. There's no more warmth to his voice.
My stomach clenches. I take the phone from her, holding it near her as I guide her back into a chair. Her hands shake in her lap.
"Didn't you think I might like a say, too?" he demands.
I grit my teeth to keep my mouth shut. This is Lucy's show, not mine.
"Look, I know this isn't ideal—"
"Ideal?" He laughs, the cruel sharpness cutting through my cousin. Her mouth drops open, then she presses her lips together. "I asked you to marry me. You didn't want a family! And now you're telling me you're pregnant?"
"I know," she says with a sigh. "It's not the way either of us wanted things."
"Then why didn't you just get an abortion?" he snaps.
Lucy flinches, her face going from white to red. "I didn't," she seethes, "so let's not even go there, okay?"
"So what, you want to get married now?" he fires back.
"No," she begins, but he talks over her again.
"Because that ain't happening. I proposed and you not only shot me down, but also cut me loose. Now I'm seeing someone else, someone who wants a future with me. I can't—" His voice drops. "I can't do this with you."
"Well, it's happening, buddy," she says, taking the words right out of my mouth.
Despite the situation, I grin. I give her an encouraging nod.
"I thought I'd give you a chance to get to know your daughter," she continues.
"As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a daughter. Is that clear?"
My free hand—the one that isn't holding her phone—clenches into a fist. "Hey asshole," I growl. "This is your responsibility, too."
"Not seeing anyone, huh?" Ben says. I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
Lucy sighs. "That's Cliff—my cousin."
"The one who went to prison for murder? Jesus Christ, Lucy. What's happened to you?"
She inhales, nostrils flaring. Her face changes, morphing from a viper ready to strike to a teacher whose patience is being tested. "Look, I know this is a lot to swallow, but does it really have to get ugly? Because you know I can just take you to court for child support. Then you'll never have the chance to get to know her."
"Do whatever you want." He hangs up.
I set her phone down with more control than I feel.
"That went well," she says.
I squeeze her shoulder. "Sorry, kid."
"For the record, he knows the truth about you. He's just hurt."
"Darling, you should know by now I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks. What I do care about is you. You okay?"
"I want booze." She pouts. "And, inexplicably, a cigarette. How the hell am I supposed to cope with my emotions like this?"
A lump appears in her belly, stretching her stomach before relaxing.
I blink. "Was that . . . ?"
"A foot, yes." She holds out her hand for mine. "Want to feel?"
I hesitate, caught somewhere between curious and a little freaked out. "Dude. There's a person in there." Our eyes meet and we laugh.
"Crazy, right?"
"Yeah." I give her my hand, and she places it on the left of her belly. A second later, I feel my second cousin slash niece kick. I laugh in wonder. "Holy shit, Luce."
"I keep thinking eventually this'll get old, but you know what? I'm awed every single time," she says.
"Fuck Ben and
his crisp Apple commercial voice," I say. "You're gonna be a great mom. But let me know if you want me to kick his ass."
"Let me think about it. My current hormone level says 'hell yeah,' but I think I prefer you outside of prison."
"Just say the word." I glance at the time on the microwave.
"You have to go." It isn't a question.
"I'm actually a little late," I admit.
"Go!" She shoos me. "Seriously, I'll be fine. I'm gonna eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's and read one of these books."
"Trade you. Olivia's working tonight."
"The two of you." She shakes her head. "Although, this thing would make a great club bouncer," she says, running a hand over her taut belly.
"It's beautiful." I kiss the top of her head. "You're beautiful. Ben's a dick. Text me if you need anything."
"Thanks," she says. She reaches for a book. "Now go. I've got a lot of reading to do."
I leave her to it.
51
Olivia
Music pulses through the strip club, shaking my bones. I just want to go home and collapse into bed, but I could really use the money. For a Monday night, the place is pretty packed.
Vaughn raps his hands on the bar, announcing his arrival.
"How's my favorite hacker?" I shout to him over the music and chatter.
"Let's be real, Olivia," he says with a lopsided grin. "I'm the only hacker you know."
I shrug, and my bra strap tugs uncomfortably on my neck. It's not even a bra. Technically, it's a sports bra, and it's at least two sizes too small.
It's laundry day.
"What can I get you?" I ask, dropping any pretense of banter. I'm tired. Cliff is going to walk in here any minute. I want to go home.
"I'll take a Salem Tourist." He folds his hands neatly.
"That's not even a thing." I put a hand on my hip.
He makes a big show of looking around, then he pulls out a stack of ones. "The customer's always right." His grin is crooked, his flop of brown hair hanging in his eyes. "Salem Tourist, please."
A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 23
