by Joanna Wylde
She was right.
“I can do this, can’t I?” I whispered, looking between them. Jessica smiled and nodded.
“You’re the strongest, smartest person I know,” she said. “And even when things get hard, you keep fighting. That’s a lot more than you and I got from our mothers.”
Loni’s phone went off for what had to be the tenth time.
“You know, if I wanted to answer the fucking phone, I would’ve already,” she said, her voice soft, yet somehow deadly. As if to taunt her, the phone buzzed again. Abruptly, she picked it up and threw it across the room, shattering it against the wall.
What the hell?
Jess and I gaped. Loni stared back at us, then gave a little shrug.
“Just because I’m not threatening to skin Painter’s balls doesn’t mean I’m in my happy place. I’ll call Reese when I’m damned good and ready.”
“Loni, you sort of kick ass,” I whispered. She gave me a grim smile.
“I have my moments.”
A loud pounding noise filled the air—someone at the door.
“If he has even an ounce of sense, that’s Painter with two dozen roses and a ring,” Jess growled. Loni and I shared a glance.
“I’m not ready to get married,” I reminded her.
“It’s not about you saying yes, it’s about him offering.”
The pounding came again, so I dragged my rear out of the chair and walked over to the window. I don’t know who I was expecting—maybe Painter, or even Reese.
Instead I saw BB, a big lumbering bear of a prospect.
“What is it?” I asked, opening the door.
“We need all of you back out at the Armory,” he said. “Picnic tried to call but nobody answered.”
Loni came to stand behind me. “We’re busy.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Something’s going on and they want all the women out there where it’s safe. You have to come with me.”
“Oh shit,” Loni said, her face going pale. “Okay, girls, grab a change of clothes. I’ll drive.”
PAINTER
I rode to Ellensburg twenty minutes behind the pack, figuring it would be safer. They’d be more likely to attract police attention than a lone rider would. Not only that, if they arrived first they could scope out the situation with Marsh, warning me off if Gage couldn’t. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that—when I’d messaged him saying I was on my way he hadn’t given any indication that there was trouble, but he didn’t answer when I called, either. Just a texted acknowledgment. Could’ve been anyone sending it.
The three-hour ride gave me plenty of time to think about the situation with Melanie, though. I’d fucked it up. Fucked it up big-time and was almost certainly making it worse by going to Ellensburg instead of dealing with her right now. I couldn’t just leave Gage hanging, though . . . and much as Mel meant to me, talking to her now or talking to her tomorrow wasn’t a matter of life and death.
Gage might not have that luxury.
When I finally pulled into Ellensburg, I found a string of messages on my phone between me, Gage, and Picnic.
GAGE: Downtown at the Banner Bank Tavern. They have a beer garden on one of the side streets—closed to traffic. Marsh and his crew are drunk as fuck and he’s tweaking. Paranoid. Got six cops watching us. Worried that Marsh will blow it
PICNIC: Across the street. Don’t want to come over unless we need to. Think it might set Marsh off?
GAGE: Hang back for now. Painter you anywhere near yet?
PICNIC: He’s behind us, should be here soon.
GAGE: K
That last message was ten minutes ago, so things must still be under control . . . or else they’d fallen to utter shit and they were too busy fighting to message me. Either way, I needed to get my ass over there ASAP.
Ellensburg was a relatively small town, so it wasn’t that hard to find the bar. Took a while to get there because the streets were choked with what felt like a thousand hot rods. Had to leave my bike parked down the street, too—didn’t much like that. Although to be fair, the bike was probably the least of my worries today.
Walking toward the bar, I saw Pic and the others across the street, looking over a line of custom choppers. They stood out from the crowd, of course—a motorcycle club in full colors always did—but they were keeping as low-key as possible. Pic caught my eye, but we didn’t acknowledge each other. Then I reached the old Banner Bank building, all brick and cut stone from the town’s earliest days. The bar made the most of the historic atmosphere, done up to look like an old-time saloon. I passed all the way through and out the side door to the beer garden, a fenced-off area they’d set up on the street.
Loud music played and a few people were dancing in the center of the tables. A girl caught my eye, jumping up and down, waving at me.
Sadie.
Fucking great.
“Levi!” she shouted, running to meet me. Just past her I saw Talia hanging all over Gage. Marsh and the others were off to one side, taking up more than their fair share of tables. At least they were somewhat isolated . . . A quick glance showed me that a group of cops was gathered just outside the fenced area, watching the Nighthawks closely. More seemed to be inside, although they weren’t in uniform. They gave off that law enforcement vibe, though, and I saw the way they clocked me the instant I walked in.
Not only was Marsh drunk and tweaking, the fucker was doing it at a cop bar.
Christ.
“Good to see you,” I told Sadie, pulling her in for a hug. She tried to kiss me, but I managed to turn my head just enough that she’d miss my lips. Even if it wasn’t for Mel, I didn’t think I could touch her—not after seeing her barf like a fountain. “Gage said he’d be here, suggested I come over to join you guys.”
“Where have you been?” she asked, frowning. “You just disappeared that night.”
“Jail,” I said shortly. Might as well stick to the truth. “Violated the terms of my parole, so they locked me up to teach me a lesson.”
She reached up, rubbing a hand up and down my chest.
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Levi!” Gage shouted, waving me over. Thank fuck. I sauntered over to him, Sadie in tow. He welcomed me with a hug, taking the opportunity to whisper a warning. “Shit’s ugly. We gotta contain Marsh or he’s gonna blow everything.”
Pulling back, I surveyed the group, nodding to the Nighthawk Raiders’ president.
“Nice to see you again,” I said. “Looks like a good time.”
Marsh smiled at me, but I saw something dark behind his eyes. Talia slithered up, then plopped herself on his lap.
“Were you really in jail?” she asked me, reaching for Marsh’s drink, chugging it.
“Yup,” I said. “Got out this morning. Parole violation.”
Her eyes widened.
“What’d you go down for?”
“Weapons charge,” I said shortly. Marsh frowned.
“How long was your sentence?”
“Three years.”
“That’s too long for a weapons charge,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“It’s complicated,” I said, which was the truth. “Let’s just say it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Had priors, too.”
An overworked waitress came hustling up to us.
“You guys need anything?” she asked.
“We needed something half an hour ago,” Talia said, standing back up. She stepped forward into the woman’s space, thrusting her chest out. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I’m real sorry,” she said. “We’re just slammed. I’m sure we can—”
“We deserve a free round,” Talia said. “This is your fault, not ours.”
Gage shot me a look.
“Baby, let’s go dance,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I want to feel you up against me.”
“I’m busy,” Talia said, and while she didn’t flip him off, she might as well have. She glared at the waitress. “Are you going
to get us the drinks?”
The woman glanced at Marsh, then nodded her head quickly. “Sure, I’ll be right back.”
She backed away, making for the bar door.
“See, it’s all about how you talk to them,” Talia declared, and Marsh started laughing. “I’m ready for that dance now.”
She grabbed Gage’s hand, dragging him toward the dance floor. My eyes followed them. Ah fuck. There was a big guy wearing a bar T-shirt talking to the group of off-duty cops, pointing toward our group. Bouncer.
The men stood up and started walking toward us. I needed to do something. Fast.
“Marsh,” I said in a low voice, leaning into the seated man. “We gotta get out of here.”
He stood slowly, stepping into my space.
“Did you just give me an order?”
Seriously? The cops were coming and he wanted to play bullshit games?
“No, but those guys are police, and they’re headed this way,” I said urgently. “This is trouble none of us needs.”
Marsh narrowed his eyes. “How do you know they’re cops? You’re working for them, aren’t you?”
From the corners of my eyes, I saw his crew crowding in. Then Marsh was on me, his fist catching me hard in the stomach. I lunged for him, a sudden rush of adrenaline pushing me through the pain as people started shouting all around us. The Nighthawk brothers jumped in, punching and kicking me from every side. I was vaguely aware of Gage shouting, trying to reach me. More hits and then I went down, catching a foot in my kidney.
In an instant, the cops were on us and Marsh forgot all about me. I watched as he pulled out an ugly knife, then launched himself at one of them. Ah, fuck. Suddenly Gage was next to me, catching me by the arms to drag me back. A body flew by, knocking him over. I saw a flash of bright red blood spray through the air. Catching a chair, I started to pull myself up when someone hit me over the back of the head.
I pitched forward, and in the instant before I hit the ground I thought about Melanie. About our baby.
About the fact that I was almost certainly going back to prison.
I’d fucked up. Bad.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER
Dear Painter,
I got your letter asking me to come and see you before they send you back to California. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I even drove down to the jail once. I sat in the car for half an hour and then I turned around, because I’m just not ready to talk to you.
I don’t know when I’ll be ready.
I understand that you panicked—when I found out about the baby, I panicked, too. I cried on the bathroom floor because I was so scared. It’s a terrifying thing, to suddenly discover that you’re going to be a parent. But here’s the thing . . . you didn’t only panic. You took off and did something that you knew could land you back in prison. That was a choice you made and there are serious consequences. Now I’m having a baby by myself and you’re going to be gone for two years. Do you realize that we’ve only spent a few weeks together, total, in the entire time I’ve known you?
You asked if I would consider waiting for you. No. I have one person in my life right now who really matters, and that’s the one growing in my stomach. Four weeks spent together full of unanswered questions and secret trips away from me isn’t enough to build a life on. It isn’t fair to me or our baby to sit around waiting for a man who ran away from us. And yes, you say you regret it¸ but you also did something guaranteed to separate us. You don’t even have to choose to ignore your child. You’re gone by default.
And I think that’s what you really wanted anyway . . . to have this problem go away.
Now it’s gone.
I don’t hate you. For what it’s worth, I’m sad. I’d say you broke my heart but that’s not true—I can’t afford a broken heart. I’m a mother now, or I will be soon. If I’m going to take care of this baby, I can’t afford to put any more time and energy into a man who will always put his motorcycle club first.
I deserve someone who puts me first. So does our child.
Melanie
TWO MONTHS LATER
Dear Melanie,
I hope you’re doing well. I was disappointed that you didn’t come see me while I was waiting in the Kootenai County jail for my parole hearing, but I also understand. I appreciate the letter you sent, and I agree with you. You have every right to stay away from me and I don’t blame you for being pissed.
I’m pissed at myself, too.
Now I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I did. You may not be interested in hearing this, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all kinds of things. I should’ve been supportive when you told me about the baby. There’s no excuse, but I did want to explain. I had a shit time growing up and kids scare me. But the more I think about a baby with your eyes, the more I want it. I hope that you’ll give me a chance to be a father when I get back out of here.
I’m also sorry that I got myself thrown back in prison when you needed me the most. I’m sorry I won’t be there when the baby is born, and that when you’re tired and you need help I won’t be around.
I’ll never forgive myself for that.
Puck tells me that Jessica and Loni are helping you out a lot and that you’re doing good. He’s selling my bike and will get you the money as soon as he can. I hope you’ll consider using some of it to come and see me when the baby is born—maybe bring him to meet me. (Or her, if it’s a girl. I guess I assumed it was a boy, but I don’t care either way. I just want to meet him.) If not that, I hope you’ll send me pictures.
Maybe my life would be different if I’d had a dad. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a fuck-up. I promise you that if you give me a shot, once I get out I’ll be a real father for our child.
I still love you,
Painter
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Painter,
So, I bet you never expected to hear from me, huh? Hunter was pissed when I told him I wanted to write to you, but then he and I talked about it some more, and when I explained why he understood.
It’s because we know what it feels like to lose a child.
I know your situation is different, because your baby is alive and well, but it probably feels like you’ve lost her. Maybe hearing more about her from me will help. (Hopefully you already know all this anyway, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking Melanie about it under the circumstances.)
Anyway, baby Isabella is beautiful. I’m sticking in some pictures from the hospital. Kit and I are both very excited—we asked Melanie if we can be her aunties and she said yes. When we heard she was in labor we wanted to be there, although we weren’t in the room. We waited out in the hallway, which made for some very interesting people watching. Lots of excited grandparents, that kind of thing. Jessica and London were inside with her. I drove over and kept speeding because I was afraid I’d miss something, but it turned out I had plenty of time.
I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but things got scary for a while. Izzy (that’s what we’re calling her) wasn’t progressing right and then she went into distress. They had to do an emergency C-section and the baby ended up getting miconium (that’s poop—I probably spelled it wrong) in her lungs. She ended up in the NICU for more than two weeks and got pneumonia. Even now we have to keep a close eye on her and we’ve all been taking shifts watching over her.
She’s got apnea, which means she sometimes stops breathing. (There’s an alarm that’s supposed to go off if it happens, but it’s hard to trust a machine with something so important.) It’s really scary. The good news is that they think she’ll grow out of it and it won’t be a big deal. Melanie has been incredibly strong. The same day as her surgery she got out of bed and climbed into a wheelchair, then made us take her down to the NICU to see Izzy. Didn’t give two shits that she’d just had surgery, or that the doctor told her she had to stay away.
That girl’s a fighter, and she’s going to be a very good mother.
I should get going
now, but I hope you’re doing all right. Hunter says he hopes you eat shit and that you’re a douche, but he was smiling while he said it. He also sends his respect.
Take care,
Em
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY
MELANIE
I wasn’t ready to see him.
I’d been pumping myself up for weeks—I’d even called Jessica early that morning for a last-second pep talk before I left the hotel room. She’d reminded me of all the reasons I wanted Izzy to know her daddy, but now that we were really here, in the visiting area, I couldn’t remember any of them.
All I could think about was how much he’d hurt me the last time we talked.
I glanced around in near panic, wondering if I should just leave. The guard standing next to me—the one who’d escorted us in—caught my eye.
“They’ll be here in a minute,” she said in a low voice, offering a reassuring smile. She didn’t look like she should be working in a prison. The woman was probably around Loni’s age, and while she wasn’t exactly model gorgeous she wasn’t unattractive, either. She looked down at Izzy, her face softening even more.
“I’m sorry I had to search the diaper bag,” she added. “You wouldn’t believe how many people try to sneak contraband.”
“I understand,” I said quietly, although the reality was I could hardly wrap my head around it. How had I fallen into a world where people expected me to load my daughter’s diapers with drugs?
“You ready?” Puck asked, his face grim and blank as always. Painter’s best friend made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t deny he’d been a huge help. Sometimes it seemed like I couldn’t turn around without finding some biker checking up on me. This was good and bad—I needed the help, but I hated feeling dependent. Much as I blamed Painter for what happened, I blamed the Reapers, too.
