I fight back the sigh, because I don’t want to go through this with her again. “I will, I promise.”
When I finally get her off the phone, I WebMD my symptoms. One, because I’m too sick to my stomach to lift my head, and two, because I’d rather find out I’m dying in my own bed than in a doctor’s office. As I watch the little wheel spin on my cell phone, I close my eyes, intending to rest them for a few minutes.
When I jerk awake again, I realize the phone’s still in my hand. Swiping it open, I’m surprised to see it’s already three o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve never been this lazy in my life, and if that’s not a reason for me to find out what the hell’s going on, nothing is.
“Crap,” I breathe out, going back to the page I’d been at before I fell asleep.
Symptoms of pregnancy pops out at me, and I do a double-take. “No,” I shake my head, talking out loud. “No freakin’ way.”
But a seed takes root in my brain. I flip back to the home screen on my phone, looking for the app I have that keeps track of my cycle. It’s never been what one would call regular, but I still keep track to discuss options with my doctor. I scroll to the calendar option and count back the days.
“Oh my God.” The night Ryan and I had sex would have been the night. The damn thing has flowers on the date and everything, telling me that was the night to try for conception.
Immediately tears come to my eyes. I’m so emotional I can be my own Hallmark commercial at this point. “Okay, Whitney. Just go get a test,” I tell myself, pushing off the mattress and heaving out of the bed. For the first time I have energy, or adrenaline, I’m not sure which.
The room halfway spins, but I force myself to get up and trudge to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I groan. “Girl, you look like shit.”
Sighing, I reach onto the counter and grab my toothbrush, barely managing to brush as I feel my gag reflex in the back of my throat. There’s a can of dry shampoo to my left, so I pick it up and spray the greasy roots of my hair. No matter what, I still have a reputation. A cool sundress and flip flops is all I can manage on my body, but I do take the time to slap on some mascara, lipstick, and put my ever-present pearls on around my neck.
The ride to the local discount store (because I know they have self-checkout) is quick, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see not too many people there. I face forward, purpose in my stride, and cultivate the look on my face that tells others I don’t have time to talk.
Once I’m at the family planning aisle, I have absolutely no idea which pregnancy test to get. I grab a total of five. Just in case one or two are wrong, ya know? Five minutes and a self-checkout lane later I’m back in my car and driving toward my house.
* * *
I’ve peed on the stick and now I’m waiting to see if it’s going to turn. My life upside down, positive, I’m not sure which right now. Unconsciously I finger the pearls around my neck. My dad got these for me on my sixteenth birthday, and through every step of my life they’ve been there. When I’m happy, worried, scared, mad, whatever my emotional state, I rub them and feel a calm come over me. Those pearls have stopped my tears, been bathed in my sweat, and the two in front are starting to show signs of where I rub them so often. I’m waiting for that calm to come over me, like it normally does.
Except that’s not working now.
The alarm on my phone goes off. I’m shaking as I make my way over to the vanity. Literally shaking, my knees knock and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m excited about the possibility of being pregnant or scared this is a false alarm.
“Look at the damn thing.”
I’m getting pretty good at berating myself into doing something I’m not entirely sure I should do, I realize. Leaning over, I look at the words on the clear indicator and promptly burst into tears as I see the word pregnant. I cry harder than I’ve ever cried before.
Tears stream down my face, along with the mascara I put on before I left the house. And I’m back to clutching my pearls, but this time it’s different. This time, a prayer I’ve had for so long has been answered.
Then I promptly take the other four tests – crying harder as each one has the same positive result.
Renegade
“What the fuck is going on with you lately?”
I hear what Trevor’s saying to me, but I’m not listening and I sure as fuck ain’t up to sharing. How do you share with your best friend you fucked his sister? It was the best sex of your life and you’re having a really hard time getting over it. You find yourself wondering what she’s doing. Does she miss you? Does she crave you the way you crave her? You question all your damn life choices, and you’re wondering where in the fuck you went wrong.
That’s where I am right now, and I can’t share it with the man I’ve called my brother on numerous occasions. It’s not that I’m scared of how he’ll react. I know Trevor better than I know myself sometimes. He’ll be pissed, but in the end, he’ll be excited and ask if Whitney and I think we could make it work. I would be all fuckin’ for it, but her, she’ll smile softly, in the way she has, and shake her head no. Say she thinks of me as a little brother and nowhere near able to carry on a relationship with her.
It was painfully obvious the day she kicked me out. While I do understand what was going on was all about her, I can’t lie. That shit hurt. It was like having your life’s dream right in front of you, so close you can touch it, and then having it snatched away. The only difference? I did touch it. It was mine for the night, and then it was gone. The worst kind of tease, and to be honest, I’m not sure how I feel. I’m kind of pissed at her, I’m kind of pissed at me. It wasn’t like I thought we would immediately fall into some sort of relationship or that one night with my magic cock would make her open her goddamn eyes. No, nothing like that, but I fucking thought she’d at least take my phone call.
Spoiler alert. She hasn’t. Last count on my cell phone shows fifty calls dialed to her. Not one has been answered. Talk about a letdown.
“Got a ton of shit on my mind, Tank. Just a ton of shit on my mind,” I sigh as I jockey our truck into a gravel driveway.
Today we’re working with the Moonshine Task Force, delivering summons and warrants. When we finish, we’ll transfer to our squad car and close out our shift with the local PD, unless we get called out again for the task force.
“Shit, man,” Trevor groans as we pull further down the driveway. “He’s sitting on his damn front porch.”
I can see as easily as Trevor does, and I have to admit even though the man we’re serving a summons to is seventy, if he’s not a day, I’m nervous, too. Merle Strather has lived in the house we’re pulling up to since he was born. Passed down from his grandparents, to his parents, and now to him. There’s three generations here under this roof, and every single one of them either knows or is learning the moonshine business straight from the keen-eyed man sitting on the front porch. Besides Merle, his son Jefferson, grandson Brooks, and granddaughter Leighton live here. I’m hoping like hell he’s the only one here today, because I don’t want to fight the whole fuckin’ family.
I beat on my chest, making sure I remembered to put my vest on this morning, I unconsciously check my side arm, and do my best to put a welcoming smile on my face as Trevor and I exit our truck.
“Merle,” I wave out, pushing my sunglasses further up onto my forehead. “Nice day, ain’t it? You mind if we come up there?”
His green eyes look at the two of us, showing a ton of experience. He knows what’s coming, he’s been down this road before. He spits out a stream of tobacco, barely missing my boots, but I don’t jump back. You don’t wanna show any weakness to the person you’re serving.
“I ain’t comin’ down to meet you, so if you got somethin’ to say, you probably should head up the porch,” he indicates the steps with the tilt of his head.
Gazing at Tank, I see he’s got his hands resting on his hips too, a move that looks relaxed to many bystanders, but it puts our guns with
in reach. In this job, you never know when you may have to use them. We head up the steps, each taking them slowly.
“Your turn, dude,” I speak softly, handing him the summons. We’ve been out all day, and we’ve been alternating. This one is his.
“Merle,” he starts talking. “I’m gonna need you to take this. We found another still over on your property off Highway 5. You’re required to make a court appearance.”
“Damn boy, there was a time when y’all would have found that and not done a thing about it,” he looks up at Trevor, disgust in his eyes.
“There’s laws now, Merle. Ryan and I have to uphold them.”
“This is bullshit,” he shakes his head. “I can’t make it on Social Security. Everybody in this country knows we don’t make enough to live. I have to supplement somehow, Trevor. Your momma and daddy ain’t far behind me. If it was your daddy, would you be servin’ him?”
“I have to uphold the law, sir,” he answers as diplomatically as he can.
“I ain’t taking it,” he shakes his head. “You can’t take a way of life from us.”
“Take the damn piece of paper, Merle.”
I can tell Trevor’s getting pissed. We still have a few stops to make, and neither one of us wants to argue with him. For a split second, I take my eyes off the two of them, until I hear Trevor’s pained voice shout.
“Son of a bitch, Merle, why’d you do that?”
He’s holding his hand up as blood drips from his palm. In Merle’s hand is a knife.
“Nothing against you Trevor, but I ain’t taking that piece of paper.”
“Fuck me,” I mumble, grabbing the knife as quickly as I can, before I drop it on the porch and kick it out of the way. “Give me your hands, Merle. I’m gonna have to take you in for this,” I’m calling in the codes to dispatch, requesting an ambulance because Trevor’s bleeding everywhere. “Put some pressure on it man until I get him situated.”
I look down to Merle. “All you had to do was take the damn piece of paper. Now you’re going to have to go in. Give me your hands,” I tell him again, handcuffing him in front. He’s so skinny and damned frail looking, I’m not sure if he can even put his hands behind his back without popping something out of socket. He doesn’t put up a fight, thank God. “Stay there until the squad car gets here.”
Moving over to Trevor, I rip off a piece of my t-shirt so we can use it to apply pressure to the wound. Wrapping it tightly around his hand, I side-eye Merle. I search out the knife again and then reach over, grabbing it. “Damn, you used an old, rusted knife?”
“It’s all I had,” he answers, a defiant look on his face.
“You’re at the very least going to need a tetanus, if not stitches.”
Grabbing my phone out of my pants pocket, I send a quick text to our commander, Holden, to let him know we’ll need to hit the local clinic after an EMT takes a look at what we’ve got. I don’t think it’s serious enough he needs to be transported to the nearest emergency room, which is an hour away in Birmingham, but I definitely think we need a doctor. Just as I’m finishing up, I hear sirens. Glancing to the main road, I see the ambulance and the squad car have made it at the same time.
“Shiiiiitttt,” I hear Trevor sigh.
“What?” I glance over to the ambulance that’s parked behind the squad car, and as soon as I see the burgundy hair color of the EMT getting out, I chuckle, flashing him a shit-eating grin. “Maybe she’ll kiss it and make it better.”
“Fuck you, Kepler.”
The little ball of dynamite heads towards us, carrying her first response bag. “Which one of you two is hurt?”
I hitch my finger behind me. “Tank got one to the palm of the hand. Here’s the knife,” I show her the rusted blade.
She whistles through her teeth before she grins up at Trevor. “Looks like you’ll be taking care of business with your other hand for a while, Tank.”
I swear to you, his face flashes red as deep as her hair. “Can you just bandage me up so he can take me to the clinic, Blaze? Please.”
Something’s happened between the two of them, anyone within a mile radius can see it. Have been able to for a while, but whatever it is, it’s in his vault and he’s not sharing. Not even with his best friend. Kind of like my night with Whitney’s in mine.
I give them some time while I deal with the officers who just arrived to take Merle downtown.
* * *
“Son-of-a-fucking-bitch,” Trevor winces as I escort him up the stairs of the local walk-in clinic.
We’re a small town, we don’t have an emergency room. Everyone goes to Docs Miller’s for everything. If she or her husband can’t take care of it, they’ll send you to Birmingham, but first, we go here. He’s got his hand wrapped, blood staining the white gauze Blaze taped over it before we left the scene.
“I know it hurts,” I tell him, trying to keep the injury above his heart to slow the bleeding.
“Who would have thought that old codger had a damn knife?”
“I sure didn’t. We won’t discriminate like that again,” I tell him as I walk him into the waiting room.
Betty, the receptionist, sees us walk in. “Holden called and told me you two were on your way. Let’s go ahead and get you back so you don’t bleed everywhere.”
Holden is the commander of the Moonshine Task Force. We’re a highly trained elite group, comprised of mostly ex-military, that combat the production and use of illegal moonshine in the state. We fight a never-ending battle, because for every legal still, there’s an illegal one that has the potential to kill the drinkers of the moonshine. Not everyone believes in running a clean operation or paying their taxes. Like everything else that’s been approved by the government, it has to be up to code and you have to give Uncle Sam his cut. When you don’t, we’re called in. Unfortunately, sometimes it’s not the safest job in the world.
She escorts us back to a room where the male Doc Miller meets us. “What have we got here?” he asks as Trevor sits down on the examination table. I finally let go of his wrapped hand, walk over to the sink, and wash my own hands.
“Old geezer got me with a knife,” Trevor grumbles.
Doc Miller laughs. “This I gotta hear.”
I sit back in the empty chair in the room and hope like hell that this doesn’t take forever, or require a trip to Birmingham.
CHAPTER SIX
Whitney
“What brings you here today?” the female Doc Miller asks me. I purposely requested her when I called for an emergency appointment. The receptionist went to high school with me and knew by the shock in my voice I needed to see someone today, although I didn’t tell her about my positive pregnancy tests. I’m just lucky the clinic is open until seven at night.
I try to fight back the tears that are threatening. “I thought I was depressed,” I whisper as I think back to the thoughts that were so clear hours ago. Back when I’d tried to convince myself it was seasonal.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she asks, opening up the chart in front of her.
“I’m tired all the time, some days I don’t want to get out of bed. You and I both know that’s not like me. Running my own business is all I ever wanted to do. Now that Whitney’s Weddings has taken off, I’m busier than ever but some days it’s a struggle. I’m crying very easily, like at the drop of a hat, I feel nauseated some mornings, and sometimes it’s a struggle to eat. I just feel off,” I tell her, listing my symptoms. “And this afternoon I took five positive pregnancy tests,” I swallow against the lump in my throat. “But they can’t be right because I can’t have kids.”
Her eyes are wide as I tell her about the five positive pregnancy tests. She lets out a breath and gives me a small smile. “Okay, then let’s get the basic info first. When was your last period?” she asks.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the app, giving her the date. “It’s never been regular, and I’ve never been able to get pregnant before. Maybe I’m going through earl
y menopause?” I’m grasping at straws because thinking I’m pregnant and then finding out that I’m not will obliterate me.
“We can test for that. It’s simple and just a blood test. We’ll do the lab in-office that way we’ll know quicker. At least we’ll have a starting point. How’s that sound?” she asks.
“Great,” I tell her. I honestly just want answers. I’m sick of being so tired, and I need to know an official answer before I get my hopes up too far.
I sit there through getting pricked with the needle, having the blood withdrawn, and wait while the results come back. The whole time a million things are playing over and over again in my brain. I’m exhausted and drifting off when the door opens and Doc Miller comes in, papers in her hand.
“Whitney, let me ask you a question.”
I’m trying very hard to give her my full attention, to not drift off in the middle of this doctor’s appointment. That’s all I need. “Sure.”
“Who told you that you couldn’t have children?” She asks carefully, almost as if she’s trying to gauge my reaction.
I run my hand through my blonde hair thinking back to all the things that had gone on. All the months that we’d tried. Every month a negative pregnancy test. “Stephen and I tried for four out of the five years that we were married. I could never get pregnant.”
“Did you ever get tested?” She asks carefully.
Shame burns my face as I try valiantly to push back the tears threatening to spill over. My voice is strangled, my breath gusting faster as I explain. “We were going to, but he told me there wasn’t a reason to because it was all my fault. And if I was any kind of woman, I’d be giving her man an heir to carry on the family name. I was so upset that we never went to the appointment. You have to understand about him…” I go back to my old MO of trying to make excuses for the man that I was once married to.
“Don’t excuse him, Whitney. I see men like him every day.”
Renegade (Moonshine Task Force Book 1) Page 4
