by Ivy Stone
“Actually, I think what you’re baking in there needs to be checked.” I stand up and point to the oven, hoping she’ll bend back over and show me some skin. “Is something burning?” I sniff the air, pretending to smell smoke.
Her eyes narrow and she smiles. “Did you really think I was going to fall for that?”
I laugh. “A man can dream, babe.”
I take her in from the messy bed hair hanging over her chest but not quite hiding her hard nipples against the fabric across her chest. To my shirt drowning her slight curves but sitting at the tops of her legs giving me a view that my dick believes, deserves a standing ovation.
She pulls at the bottom of the tee. “What is it?” she asks, her tone sweet and soft.
“Nothing. Just… watching you in my shirt. In my kitchen. Fucking ruining whatever the hell it is you’re trying to cook on the stove.” We both laugh as I gesture to the pan with what I’m assuming Ali had high hopes to be an omelet.
My voice becomes low. “It’s different.”
“You mean a woman’s never cooked you breakfast before?”
I shake my head and grab a glass of juice from the fridge. “Nope. I don’t usually partake in the sort of relationships that entail cooking breakfast the next day.”
She rolls her eyes. “Gee. Shocker.”
Ali moves past me but I grab her hip before she gets far and I move us back against my counter. I lean either side of her, not leaving an escape. Her breath hitches.
“Never wanted it. Not until you came along.”
Her lips part. She squirms, rubbing her thighs together. “I wouldn’t really say I came along into your life, Roam.”
I look past, Ali. My throat closes up with the hurt bound to come from me voicing out loud what I’m about to say. “No. You crashed in it. Consumed me. And now you’re everything.”
It’s the eyes.
Her steel-blue hues that if I looked at her right now, would be soft, full of love and regret all at the same time, because she loves me. That’s the most stupid most painful fucking part of this.
“Roam,” she whispers and it kills me. Fucking ruins me.
I don’t give her the chance to continue. I can’t take it. Not after the night we’ve just had.
“I know you’re not ready, Ali. I get it. You’re still healing.”
She lifts her hand to my chest. “You love me no matter what I do. You love all sides to me. Even the ones you should never have had to see.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she peers up at me. “Let me become the best version of me. So that I can love you no matter what, too.”
My heart? That thing that used to beat and keep me alive? Ripped-the-motherfucking-out.
I sniff, holding back the emotion I want to let loose. I want to scream for the injustice of it all. Don’t we deserve to be happy after everything the two of us have been through, together and apart?
I drop my arms and step back, letting her go. I love her. I understand her. But we both need time alone.
She disappears into the bedroom and comes back out still dressed in my shirt, but with cut-offs underneath and her black combat boots on her feet.
She walks to the door and as she pulls it open, she stops and glances back at me. “I’ll see you soon, Detective Roamyn Tate.”
I clench my jaw. “Yeah. You will.”
She walks away and I call out before it shuts. “And Ali?”
“Yeah?” she asks, her voice lighter.
“Be safe.”
A small smile lights up her angelic face. “I’ll always be safe, Roamyn. I’ve got you watching over me.”
The door clicks shut. Along with my heart.
Sad, sappy, shitty music does nothing for nursing a broken heart. But the bottle of whiskey I’ve nearly downed since Ali left this morning, has at least eased the ache in my chest to a dull throb every now and again.
“Roamyn. Open up.”
My ears perk up.
“Ali?” I slur and stumble to the door of my apartment. I get closer and the knocking becomes louder. I yank open the door, the bottle still in my other hand.
My brows knot together. “Sarah?”
Sarah, my old friends with benefits, stands at the door in her pajamas with her hands on her hips and her hair in a knot on the top of her head. “Roam, sweetie, you gotta turn down the music. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow followed by court. I need sleep and I can’t get any with that play—”
She must notice the near-empty bottle in my hand or the fact I look like shit. She screws her nose up. “You smell like a liquor store.”
“Yep. Probably ‘cause I’m drinking it.” I take another swig.
Sarah folds her arms across herself. “This is about her isn’t it?”
My shoulders hang loose and I scoff. “What do you mean, her? Nothing is about a her. I’m just enjoying a quiet drink.”
Sarah peers behind me. “Mmm… yeah. Sure sounds like it. This drinking can’t possibly be because the girl you’re madly in love with broke your heart?”
Pain twists in my stomach.
I salute her with my drink. “She didn’t break my heart, Sarah. She fucking demolished it.”
I gulp down whiskey and let it burn my throat. Better that than my heart.
Her expression slackens. “Oh, Roamyn. Come on, let’s go inside.” She grabs my hand and pulls me in.
“What about your early meeting tomorrow?” I ask as she shuffles around my kitchen.
She passes me a glass of water. “Don’t worry about it. Just drink this, you’ll need it judging by the length of time your depressing music has been playing and that nearly empty bottle of Jack you got there.”
I take a sip and wipe a hand over my mouth. “Thanks.”
Sarah glances around, tapping her hand on the counter.
“Got something to say, Sarah, just say it.”
Her face contorts. “Roamyn. We’ve been seeing each other for years and—”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it seeing,” I butt in and take another sip of the water. It sobers me up and I feel less woozy.
“Okay. Screwing. Friends with benefits—call it what you want. But in the entire time of our friendship you’ve been hung up on this woman, who from what I can see, only brings you pain. Why do it to yourself, Roam? Why hold on if after all of these years you still can’t make it work with her?”
I asked myself the same question once. Then I saw her again and remembered why.
I scowl. “You of all people should understand why.”
She stares down at her empty hands. “No. This is totally different.”
“How? You were using me to get over your ex. So how’s it different?”
“My fiancé didn’t break up with me, Roam. He died.” Her voice becomes weak. Tearful.
I rub my hands over my face. “Ah shit. I’m sorry, Sarah.”
She winces. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.”
“You wanna know why I hold on?” I reply, my gaze unfocused as Ali’s smiling face replays in my mind.
She nods. “If you wanna share.”
Despite not wanting it, my heart blazes with the warmth only love is capable of. “Ali’s the part of me I never knew was missing. I love her. I love her more than anything in this world. I love her more than my own happiness which is why I hold on. I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for her if I have to because she’s it for me. There is no one else.”
Sarah shifts awkwardly in her spot against the counter. “How can you be so sure?”
I smile and my body relaxes as the truth falls freely. “When you meet the person who’s it for you… you just know. It’s that simple. If you haven’t felt it, Sarah? You haven’t met him yet.”
She swallows hard. Her stare, pained, as my words weigh on her. She breaks eye contact and I run a hand through my hair. My head starts to throb with a headache coming on. My limbs become heavy, much like my mood and I trudge over to the couch, slouching into it. I grab the remote from beside
me and aim it at the stereo to lower the volume. The couch dips and Sarah sits down.
We listen to bad music. We talk into the early hours of the morning until Sarah hugs me goodbye, leaving me in a somber mood and an empty apartment to reflect on everything that had transpired in the last forty-eight hours.
My knees hit the tiled bathroom floor. Nausea rises up my throat as my hands brace the sides of the toilet. Black dots paint my vision while my insides expel the remaining contents of my stomach. My heads thumps to a regular rhythm while my body repels what’s happening inside of me. My chest stops heaving and the riot in my stomach settles, allowing me to catch my breath.
Three weeks. For three week’s I’ve been sick, morning, noon and night. It’s been eleven weeks since I last saw Roamyn and once my breasts started feeling lumpy and sore, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on. A scared phone call to Cassidy. A trip to the doctor. And five positive pregnancy tests later my suspicions were confirmed.
I’m pregnant.
A human being is growing inside of me and still weeks later it feels surreal. Exhaustion sucks all the energy left in me. My eyes roll shut as my head flops to the side, coming to rest on my arm. A light knock on the bathroom door startles me and I sit up straighter, stretching out my aching body.
Cassidy’s small concerned voice sounds from the other side. “Ali, you okay in there?”
I wipe my mouth and push up from the floor. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Splashing some water on my face at the basin, I then brush my teeth, catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes automatically drifting to my scars. Disgust ripples through a demon I can’t get rid of. Months of being clean and still the dirt won’t wash away. It’s stuck in pores, buried in my skin so deep that no matter how hard I scrub, how many times I tell myself I can do this—I have to do this—the filth remains like a constant reminder of every mistake I’ve ever made, and a past I’ll never be able to erase. I thought I was beating it. I am beating it. But every day the urge to relapse becomes stronger because I’m sick, twenty-four fucking hours a day. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I have no energy. This baby is slowly sucking the life out of me. I’m fighting it. I always will. I’d never go back. But each day the urge reminds me I can’t ever be cured. I just have to find a way to live with the fact I’ll be in recovery for the rest of my life.
I twist the handle on the bathroom door and Cassidy’s way too bright, fresh face for this time of the morning greets me. She’s stayed over the past few nights to look out for me. She’s the only one I’ve talked to about the pregnancy.
“You want me to come to the doctor with you?”
I wipe my clammy forehead and walk out. Cassidy follows me up the hallway of the loft that I no longer share with Lindsey since she’s moved in with Mason and Charlotte a few weeks ago. After the kidnapping, the two of them sorted everything out and now the three of them are one big happy family.
I smile, grateful. “No. I’ll be okay. But thanks.”
Opening the pantry in the kitchen I search for some plain crackers to hopefully settle my stomach for at least five minutes.
Cass’s worried voice seeps through the loft. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you because I really don’t mind. Maybe I should come along just in case you get sick again or—”
My head pounds harder as her voice gets louder. I spin around, my hands in the praying position. “Cass, I love you, but if you don’t stop fussing over me I’m going to go hormonal pregnant momma on your ass and I can’t guarantee it will be pretty.”
She raises her hands in a surrender. “Okay. Okay. I just worry. You’ve been so sick. You’re losing weight again. I thought morning sickness was supposed to only be in the morning?”
I pull the crackers from the cupboard and spin around. “Yeah, well, apparently baby T never got the memo.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Baby T?”
I shrug. “Well, it’s better than calling the baby an ‘it’ considering we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. Plus. It’s baby Tate. I just shortened it.” She continues staring at me and my eyes grow wide. “What? It’s cute.”
“Yes, it’s very cute. I’m just surprised to hear you mention anything Roamyn related. So… now that you’ve brought him up.” She pops the p and gives me a sweet smile full of mischief and I groan, waiting for what’s going to come from her next.
She leans forward, leaning her elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. “When are you going to break the news to your baby daddy?”
“Soon. I was thinking maybe this Saturday at Charlotte’s birthday party.”
“If he bothers to show up,” Cassidy mumbles.
I sigh. Roamyn’s absence at our gatherings causes my stomach to tighten. I needed time. It seems he did too.
My Roamyn coated thoughts dissipate when my stomach rumbles, reminding me of its emptiness. Putting another cracker in my mouth, I grab my keys from the counter and purse from the hall table beside the front door. “I’m going to be late to the doctor if I don’t go now, so can you lock the door when you leave?”
“Yeah, sure,” Cass calls out and I shut the door.
Nausea overtakes me along with my vision and I stand still thankfully, on a quiet sidewalk on my path home from the doctor. My body temperature rises to scorching hot. I can’t see straight. A mixture of my body betraying me and the city sun pelting down on me. I breathe deeply. Why is it so hard to breathe? I steady a hand on the fence beside me. God, it’s hot. I still can’t see. The iron bars of the fence I’m leaning on become a solid foundation to hold me up. I lean my weight on it, squeezing my eyes shut while I wait for the moment to pass. My head spins and thumps at the same time, but after a few seconds, the spinning stops. The heat cools a little and as I reopen my eyes, the blackness dims. Replacing it, the black wrought iron fencing which just kept me upright. The cloudy fog clears and as it does a man steps out from behind the fence. His tattooed, muscled arms come up to his face and his hands cup over his mouth as he lights up a cigarette. His black hair hangs loose at his shoulders, covering part of his face, but as he looks back up my already dry throat closes up. As if he senses me staring he flicks his gaze my way and I quickly turn but don’t get far.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” His smooth voice stops me in my tracks. Shit.
Smoke and leather wrap around me. I force a smile. Ace devours me with his green eyes and tattooed biker hotness that should be avoided at all costs, because if I’m fucked up, this guy should be locked up and have the key melted down so he can never escape.
My back stiffens as he embraces me in a hug. My cheek connects with his Misery’s Angels leather cut, which brings back memories of Lucio, Giuseppe, and Sweet Tarts.
He stands back, letting me go. My nerves ease. I met Ace about a year ago. And when I say I met him, what I mean is I met his bare ass as he drilled into one of the girls from work, in the alley beside Sweet Tarts. He was there with his president for business with Lucio and after that, he became a regular, visiting every other week. For business, of course. We sort of became friends.
“You’re the last person I expected to see standing out of the front of Angels’ property.”
Well damn, me too. It’s not like I planned it.
I glance up at the signage behind us. Bright red, scrolly letters spanning the width of the building light up with the words Black Rose. In the middle is a long stem black rose and beneath it is another word. Bar.
My neck kinks in its position. “Huh. Didn’t know this bar belonged to you guys.”
I haven’t really seen any of their businesses. After finding out they were in business with the Marino’s I made a conscious effort to stay away from them. Except for Ace. He was harder to avoid and showed up more often.
Ace takes a drag of his cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke in the other direction. “Sure does. Clubhouse is on the floors above.”
His gaze lingers on my chest then ba
ck up. “It’s been while, sugar.”
I roll my eyes at a man who has a degree in flirting. I’m sure of it. “Clearly not long enough, Ace.”
He chuckles. “Oh come on. Don’t be like that, Ali. What brings you to my bar anyway?”
I scrunch my nose up. “Your bar?”
Surely no one actually left him in charge of a place requiring human interaction that doesn’t involve torture? I know what he does for a living and it isn’t what you’d call glamorous.
He mulls over it. “Well, it’s the club’s bar. But I’m the manager, so I run the place.”
Nausea strikes hard.
“That’s really cool. Well, ah… I had an appointment nearby and I was just on my way home so—”
Dizziness sends me stuttering and warmth to my cheeks. My legs threaten to give way beneath me.
“Are you okay?” Ace reaches out to steady me.
I put a hand to my forehead to hold my head as if it will somehow clear the vertigo. “Yeah. I’m okay. I just need to get home.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
His hand falls on my lower back where it rests as we begin walking. “It’s all good, sugar. I got time. Lead the way.”
I don’t protest. The last thing I need is to pass out in the middle of the street with no one to help me. And despite Ace’s aura of danger, he can actually be a decent human being when the time calls for it.
I ease on the brakes, pulling up at yet another red light. The day couldn’t move any slower and it’s still morning. Mason sits beside me in the passenger seat of my truck, brooding in silence because we just spent three days on a lead that led to a dead end. A lead we had high hopes would give us some new information on Lucio Marino’s whereabouts. We had no such luck. The only good thing to come from today is the phone call Mason just received from Elias, who within a month or so, believes he should be back at work. The dude spent a few weeks in hospital after having emergency surgery to retrieve the bullet lodged in his back where Lucio had shot him. He’d been put off duty until he makes a full recovery and his determined ass is smashing through physiotherapy.
