by Brook Wilder
After taking a moment to wind down, the two of them towelled off and retreated to the bedroom to lie in each other’s arms. Della was worried about the future, but she knew that she wanted to spend it with Prescott. And maybe she’d also be spending it with their child.
As if he was thinking the exact same thing, Prescott’s hand moved over Della’s stomach. She put her hand over his and leaned into him, certain that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The cold gel hit Della’s enormous belly while she and Prescott gazed at the screen in front of the doctor. She was more than used to these check-ups by now. With less than a month of her pregnancy to go, she was just praying for the last few weeks to go right.
It hadn’t been certain, at first, if their one passionate night was going to lead to a child. But then Della’s period was late, and she bought a pregnancy test that confirmed what they had already been suspecting.
Now she was here with Prescott, watching the shadowy image of their daughter come to life. Della still found it hard to believe that she was going to be a mother. Even harder to grasp was that Prescott was going to be a father.
Their relationship had become bumpy over the past few months. He had been excited for the baby at first, looking forward to becoming a family man. But she could see him slipping away from her. His head was stuck in club business. He and Shaft were plotting together to break away from the club, create their own branch.
“Everything looks good,” the doctor said, bringing Della back to the present. “You guys have any questions for me?”
“Not at the moment,” Della said.
Prescott just shook his head.
The car ride home was quiet. Prescott’s mind was clearly elsewhere.
“Are you excited?” Della asked.
“Hm?”
“I asked if you were excited. You know, about being a father.”
“You know I am, babe. I was excited from day one.”
Della sighed. “I know what you and Shaft are planning, even if you won’t give me details. I’m afraid for our family, Prescott.”
“You don’t have any reason to be afraid,” he said, his voice tight. “I can protect my own. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
It was true that they’d had similar arguments in the past. Prescott had told Della that she’d known what she was getting into when she decided to stay with him. To him, the club was life. It was priority number one.
“You can’t blame me for worrying,” she said.
“Della, I promise you everything will be okay.”
His tone made it clear that he was not going to hear any more about the subject. Not right now, anyway.
They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Prescott helped Della out of the car, and they made their way to the front door. Della stepped inside first, and her foot fell on something that crinkled.
“What is that?” she asked, moving away so her belly wouldn’t obstruct her view.
An unmarked yellow envelope was on the floor just inside the entryway, possibly shoved under the front door while they were out. Prescott knelt down to pick it up. He inspected the envelope carefully before opening it and sliding the contents out into his hand. Della gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
They were pictures. All of them of her. Some of them were taken of her through the kitchen window. Others were taken from outside, showing her entering or leaving the house. Judging by the size of her stomach, they had been taken very recently.
Prescott felt like his worst nightmares were coming true. He watched Della make her way to the couch and sink onto it, her hands trembling. He knew what was coming.
“You promised,” she said. “You just promised me we’d be safe, Prescott. Now look at what’s happened.”
“This is exactly what they want,” Prescott retorted, slapping the stack of pictures against his hand. “They want you to be scared. They want to rattle me so I’ll mess up. You’re playing right into their hands!”
“So, what? I should just ignore it? Go about my day knowing there’s somebody watching me?”
Another argument. Prescott was pretty sure that was all they were doing now. Their relationship had devolved into a series of shouting matches.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said. “These pictures scare me, too, but I’m not going to back down. If they so much as breathe too close to you, I’m going to be there to keep you safe. My promise still stands.”
“I find that hard to believe at this moment, Prescott,” she said. “I know you’re strong and you know how to fight, but this is getting ridiculous.”
“It is getting ridiculous!” he shouted. “I need your support right now, Della! And all I’m getting is doubt. This isn’t what I wanted our relationship to be. This isn’t what we need!”
He paused and took a deep breath. There were tears in her eyes. She was still shaking. And he realized the fear in her expression was as much his fault as it was the pictures’. He went to the trashcan and tore the photographs into little pieces, dumping all the bits into the trash. Then he joined Della on the couch and put his arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled. Maybe I’m just as shaken as you are. But I know arguing isn’t going to solve our problems.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, too.”
“No more fighting tonight.”
Della nodded. “That’s fine by me.”
He leaned over and kissed her temple.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said. “Together.”
“That sounds really nice.”
“And I am excited for the baby. You have to know that.”
“I do.”
Prescott kissed her again, then kissed her stomach.
“Why don’t I make us some dinner?” he suggested. “We can try to have a nice evening together, put the yelling behind us.”
She nodded again. He could tell that she’d made a concerted effort to get control of her emotions, so she wasn’t crying or shaking anymore. But he knew she was still scared.
Prescott went into the kitchen and started cooking. He let the sizzle of the food distract him as he did his best to prepare a delicious meal, taking into account that Della was suffering from a lot of heartburn lately. He tried to keep the acidic ingredients out of the meal.
They sat down together to eat, and Della smiled for the first time in a while when she tasted what he’d prepared.
“Thank you for this,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Prescott chewed thoughtfully, watching her enjoy the meal.
“You know I’m here for you,” he said. “You don’t have to feel scared or alone. No matter what’s going on with the club, I’m here for you.”
She looked like she was about to cry again, but she nodded along with what he was saying.
The delicious dinner did a lot to calm both their nerves. After they were done eating, Prescott took Della’s hand.
“For dessert, I’m going to make love to my pregnant wife.”
She allowed him to lead her to the bedroom. He took his time showing her just how much he cared for her. Every touch had meaning. He was careful with her, treated her gently. Together they were able to forget about their problems for a few blessed moments.
Afterwards, when they were both spent and done, Prescott disentangled himself from Della.
“I have to go,” he said. “You should get some sleep. I’ll be back late.”
“Be safe,” she whispered. “Please.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “You, too. I’m going to lock everything before I go. Stay inside tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
He did as he said, checking every window to make sure it was locked, and turning off all the lights. Then he left the house, locked the door behind him, and got on his bike.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Prescott pulled over in front of the clubh
ouse, hopped off his bike and scanned the area around him. He made his way in through the back door, popping his head in first, and then stepped inside. “Shaft,” he said, his voice firm.
Shaft was slumped in a chair at the far corner, massaging his temples with two fingers. “Over here,” he said, getting up.
“We should get to the meeting room, they should be waiting for us there,” Prescott said with his voice lower than usual. He realized the magnitude and the importance of this meeting. There were members waiting for him in there, members who were on his side, members who thought Al’s plan was a mistake.
“You go ahead, I’ll meet you in there in a couple of minutes,” Shaft said, nodding towards the door.
“Weren’t we supposed to start the meeting off?” Prescott asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You start it off,” Shaft said, his head cocked to the side. “I’m waiting on the Varangians. We need to negotiate some stuff, here,” he continued. There was a pause. “We can’t let this happen, Prescott. We have to stop Al from doing whatever the hell he’s trying to do.”
“The men are waiting for us inside, I’ll go meet with them,” Prescott said, his eyes fixated on Shaft’s. “We need to contain the situation, or else everything goes to shit.”
Prescott stepped into the meeting room. A couple of men were seated at the table, eyeing him as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Alright,” he started, clearing his throat. “Today isn’t just a regular meeting, we need to figure shit out,” he said, gawking at the men sitting across from him.
“We need to stop this war with the Varangians from happening,” one of the men said.
“And how do you think we’re going to do that?” Prescott said, leaning back in his chair. There was a silence. The men looked at each other, and then to Prescott. He knew exactly what they wanted to say.
The door inched open and Shaft stepped inside. “Evening, men,” he said, taking the seat next to Prescott.
“Al needs to be removed,” one of the men said suddenly.
Prescott felt a fire boil up inside him. He was pleased with the men’s excitement. He knew he had them under his control with what he was going to say next. But he knew he needed to play it out slowly. These men needed to know the truth, but that didn’t mean acting on it immediately. “Shaft and I, we recently found out something, something big,” he started again, shifting in his seat. A part of him wanted to bask in this moment, to reveal that much and let all hell break loose. But he knew he had full control over the situation, so he had to play it right.
“It’s about who killed Charles,” Shaft said, his eyes darting from Prescott, to the men, and then to Prescott again. The men were exchanging looks, there was no telling if any of them saw this coming.
“It’s Al,” Prescott shot up, gawking at the men sitting across from him. He felt a fire shoot through him, like he was receiving the news of his father’s murder for the first time. It never really went away,. That feeling of hatred, of contempt. Prescott knew he was going to avenge his father, no matter what it took.
In an instant, three men shot up, their chairs falling over behind them. “What do you mean?” one of them asked, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Hey, everyone needs to calm down,” Shaft said, gesturing for him to sit back down. “Me and Prescott received this news through a source. Al and the entire executive board killed Charles off, they voted on it,” he continued, his voice even firmer than before. He and Prescott had agreed to let the men know of the gravity of the situation, because at that point, they couldn’t afford any of them going off and doing something stupid.
“You do realize what needs to be done, aye?” a deep voice said.
“We need to kill Al.”
“And the executive board.”
It was like lighting a ring of fire. Prescott knew this would happen, that the men would be enraged. He would do anything to have Al dead, but he also knew one thing; they were severely outnumbered. If they were going to plan Al’s murder, they had to do it right. “Men, calm down,” Prescott said, getting up, his hands balled up into fists. But the men wouldn’t stop their protest. They were talking amongst each other, yelling things about killing Al off and saving the club from impending disaster. “Hey! Shut the fuck up!” Prescott roared. A silence washed over them. The men looked at him, and, realizing the fire in his eyes, stopped speaking.
“Now, we need to plan this right,” he said, calmer this time.
“And how will we do that?” one of the men asked.
“The rest are a much larger number than we are,” Shaft said.
“They won’t believe us,” Prescott added. “We need to be smart about this, we need to slowly leak the information for them to discover,” he said.
The men nodded in agreement. They realized the gravity of the situation just as much as Prescott or Shaft did, and they knew that causing an uproar wasn’t the smartest tactic at this point. “We’re going to have to meet again as soon as possible, but until then, no one can know about this, and no one can make a huge fuss about it, either.” Prescott searched the men’s faces for a reaction. “This stays between us for now, and if anyone flies off the handle about it, shit’s gonna go down.” He got up, nodding at Shaft and the rest of the men, and then made his way for the door.
Prescott was followed by Shaft, who grabbed his arm and pulled him aside when the meeting was over. “Hey, take it easy, you know how all plans have to go haywire at the end,” he said, leaning in close to Prescott.
“This one can’t,” Prescott turned to him, his eyes wide. “This plan has to stay intact, and those men can’t fuck up. There are only so many of us, it shouldn’t be too hard to keep an eye on all of them.”
Shaft nodded. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Did you need anything else?” Prescott asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I want you to take good care of Della these days,” Shaft said, his voice winding down to a whisper. “Word’s going around that this scumbag is skulking around the clubhouse.”
Prescott stared at Shaft, his eyes wide. “What the fuck is he doing here?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Shaft said, placing a hand over Prescott’s shoulder. “I’m just warning ya, just so you could keep an eye out for this guy. He sounds like trouble.”
Prescott nodded. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. All he knew was that he was going to keep Della safe. He was going to keep his promise, no matter what.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hello?” Della said, her head cocked to the side.
“Hey,” Kate said. “How’ve you been?” she asked.
“Good, good,” Della replied, trying not to give into the awkwardness of the phone call. “I was wondering, would you like to come over for some coffee? It’s been a long time since we’ve last caught up,” she said.
There was a pause. “Sure,” Kate said. She was never the type to give one-word answers, especially with Della. “What time?” she asked.
“What kind of a question is that? You can come over anytime,” Della said, rolling her eyes.
“Alright,” Kate said. “I’ll see you in a few.”
A little under an hour later, Della’s doorbell rang. She tiptoed to the door, looking through the peephole as she always did, and opened the door, wrapping her arms around Kate as soon as she saw her standing there. “I’ve missed you,” Della said, her arms tight around her best friend. She buried her face in Kate’s shoulder, taking in her familiar smell. A part of her felt like Kate didn’t miss her as much as she did, but when she finally reciprocated her hug, clenching at Della’s blouse and stroking the back of her neck with her thumb, she finally felt secure.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Kate replied, sniffing. Her arms fell limp to her side, and she stepped in, inspecting her surroundings before she finally slumped down on the couch. “So, how’s everything?” she asked, her hands clasped in her lap.
Della could tell she was un
comfortable. She knew her best friend like the back of her hand. She felt conflicted, because part of her was so sick and tired of having to explain herself all the time, but another part of her held Kate on a pedestal, and she would do anything to repair the friendship and be close with her again. “Kate,” Della said suddenly. “I’m just going to be straight up with you about this. I want us to go back to the way we were, I don’t want you to be disapproving of me,” she said, leaning in closer to her.
