“Been thinkin’ about that, precious, and I think I’ve come up with a solution that’ll work for both of you.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I take in my dad’s relaxed posture. He’s seated on a stool at the kitchen island, his booted feet up on the bottom rung, watching me cook his breakfast. For all intents and purposes, he looks relaxed, perfectly at home, but I can see the tightness around his eyes
and the grim set of his jaw. This, my situation is hurting him just as much as it is me, that much is clear.
When I arrived at my dad’s house after fleeing the Vengeance compound as fast as I could four months with my son in tow, my dad was as worried as he was happy to see me. The speed of which I packed and left meant that I had brought very little with me for an extended stay, which set off warning bells when I told him we had no plans to go home anytime soon. But what really had dad worried was when I informed him that I was pregnant, but refused to answer his questions as to who the father is.
Firstly, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know if I ever would be, I just knew I wasn’t then, nor am I, now. Secondly, how do I tell my dad that quite possibly the same day my husband was killed, I slept with another man and fell pregnant with his child? Furthermore, and probably the most important point of all, how do I stop my dad from killing Atlas when he finds out that while Atlas may have knocked me up, but he also impregnated another woman at about the same time? The answer to that is, I don’t.
My dad would lose his ever-loving mind if he found out Atlas is my baby’s father, let alone that he has fathered another child with a woman he had only been seeing casually around the same time he was sleeping with me. To make matters worse, the way Atlas deserted Soldiers of Havoc left a bad taste in my dad’s mouth that has not lessened over the years.
I overheard my dad’s VP, Demon talking about Atlas’s
defection several years ago, and to say I was shocked that he had been a patched member of my dad’s MC was a vast understatement. I was floored. Not once had Atlas mentioned that he prospected and served as Soldiers of Havoc’s SAA. I know Atlas made the connection; he had to have known who my father is, that I’m his ex-President's daughter, yet he never said a word.
I don’t know why Atlas left, but I can imagine it had to have been for a good reason, regardless of the obvious grudge my dad holds over his defection. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do. I also know that dad must have held Atlas in high regard if he’s still pissed at him, which will only serve to make his wrath over his ex-brother knocking up his daughter more brutal.
Glancing up from the pancake batter, I’ve taken an almost obsessive interest in, I ask,
“And what would that be? Because as far as I see it, I have one of two choices here dad, and neither of them are ones I can live with.”
Dad mutters a curse, pushing himself off his stool to walk around the island and take me in his arms. Hugging me tightly, he tips my head up with his index finger and says,
“Love you, baby girl, but you’ve got rocks in your head if you think I’d leave you with so few options.”
Relinquishing his grip on me just a fraction, he unwraps my arms from around his middle and holds both of my hands in his.
“Don’t want you making decisions about your, or that
baby’s future when your head’s not right, sweetheart. And while I’d love for you to be able to stay here and sort it out, we’ve got your boy to worry about. So that means you’re gonna have to see to that elsewhere. While you do that, I’ll keep Diesel here with me, get him enrolled at the local high school, and make sure he doesn’t get himself into too much trouble. It’s not ideal, but nothing about this is, sweetheart.”
“No, dad,” I breathe out in a harsh whisper.
Squeezing my hands, dad shakes his head solemnly.
“Hear me out, darlin’. I’ve got a friend, not close, but a good one. He lives with his wife and son out in Lower Falls. It’s far enough from Furnace you won’t have to worry about running into folks you know often, but close enough that if you change your mind and want to go home, you can be there in under an hour. Spoke to him yesterday and explained I needed a favor. He and his wife, Catherine are expecting you tomorrow afternoon, which gives you enough time to pack and say goodbye to your boy before you get your ass in your car.”
“Dad?” I whimper, tears leaking steadily from the corners of my eyes.
“Said it once, but I’ll say it again because I’m thinking you need to hear it right about now; I love you, baby girl. From the second I saw you, wanted nothing but the best for you and that’s never changed. Now, get your ass upstairs and get to packing, sweetheart,” he smiles sadly.
“I can’t…I can’t just leave Diesel like that. He’ll worry.
He’ll never just accept that I left and won’t be back for months.”
“Already thought of that, sweetheart. That’s why we’re gonna tell him you’re gonna go help out a buddy of mine whose wife is sick. Catherine, Grayson, my buddy’s wife hasn’t been doing too good lately, so it’s not a lie. Sure, she’s only had a bad case of the flu, but Diesel doesn’t need to know that,” dad grins wryly.
I shouldn’t be surprised at dad’s ability to bend the truth to his will, but I am. Especially when it comes to my son. He has never, not once, lied to Diesel. But I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures, and if ever there was a situation that met that description, it’s the one I find myself in now.
Tugging me back into the warm safety of his arms, dad rests his bristled cheek on top of my head and lets out a loud sigh.
“Wish I was a smarter man, darlin’ – wish I had advice that’d make this decision easier for you, but I don’t. Just know that I’ll support you, no matter what you decide. You chose to keep that baby, bring it back here and raise it, you’ll have me and all my boys at your back. You decide not too, then you’ll have plenty of arms to hold you up when you think you’re gonna fall apart. You’ve got my love and my trust that you’ll make the right choice, sweetheart.”
As I dissolve into what can only be described as hysterical, full-body sobs, I absorb everything he’s said, and it hits me with the force of a freight train.
It’s not that I haven’t thought about it; I feel like that’s all I do these days. It’s just that I was planning on feigning ignorance until I have no other choice but to face facts. Stupid and childish, I know, but still preferable to the alternative as far as I’m concerned.
Just thinking about the baby safely nestled in my womb, mine and Atlas’ child causes unbelievable pain the likes I’ve never experienced before. Not because I don’t want our baby, but because I do. I want this child so much that I’m blinded by it, and so is my judgment. Maybe dad’s right. Maybe I do need to get away, in order to make the right choice, not just the one my heart is telling me to make.
So that’s what I do.
Two hours after dad laid out his plan for me, I was packed and sitting on the couch in his living room waiting for Diesel to get home from the clubhouse. I had already loaded up my car with the single suitcase I had brought with me, and I was armed with the name, telephone number, and address of the people I would be staying with for the foreseeable future. All I needed now was to say goodbye to my son.
“Mom,” Diesel called, slamming the front door behind him. “Demon said he’d take me out to the range tomorrow to get my hours up if that’s cool with you. You’re good with that right?”
Skidding around the corner, my son comes to a dead
stop as he sees me sitting stiffly on the couch. He takes in my red-rimmed eyes and hands fisting the material of my sweater and furrows his brow.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
I don’t bother trying to smile; I don’t think I’m capable of doing so without it coming across as a pained grimace. Instead, I pat the cushion next to me, and say,
“Come sit down, baby.”
Fisting his hands at his sides, Diesel shakes his head defiantly
.
“No, mom. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Please, honey,” I murmur.
“Mom,” his voice wavers. “You’re freaking me out right now.” Giving him a moment, I wait patiently, knowing he’ll eventually give in. And he does.
Diesel drops onto the seat beside me, but he doesn’t look at me. His eyes are focused on the floor in front of him, his posture rigid, and vibrating with confusion and no small amount of fear.
I place my hand lightly on his forearm and will myself to get through this without breaking down. Deciding the best course of action is to get this over with, I begin by saying,
“Gramps has a friend whose wife is sick. She needs more help than he can give her since he works a lot, so he’s asked if I wouldn’t mind going to stay with them for a while. Just until she’s better,” I add quickly.
I see Diesel blink rapidly, but he still doesn’t look at me.
“I would take you with me, but you have school, football, and friends here. Gramps has offered to take care of you while I’m gone so that you don’t miss out on any of that.”
“No,” my son snaps, finally, turning to face me. His eyes are filled with anger and determination, making my heart breaks at the storm brewing within them.
“Honey, listen to me,” I say softly, pleading for him to understand. “School is important. I shouldn’t have moved you mid-year as it is, I can’t do it again. It won’t be for long,” I lie smoothly, knowing it will be, at least, four months, if not five. “Hopefully, Catherine will be back on her feet in no time, and I’ll be back here with you and Gramps before you even have a chance to miss me.”
Long minutes pass as Diesel works through whatever is going on in his mind. His jaw ticks sporadically and his fists clench and unclench multiple times in frustration and consternation. I hate seeing my boy like this. Knowing that I’m the cause of his pain, yet not being able to do anything to relieve it is horrible.
Eventually, his anger fades as resignation takes its place.
“I don’t like thinking about you in some strange place all alone, mom,” he grumbles.
“I know, honey, and I love you for worrying about me, but don’t. I’ll be okay and so will you. By the sounds of it, you’ll be busy with Demon and the boys anyway. Didn’t I hear Switch ask you if you wanted to help rebuild the Chevy that came in last week?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, his body sagging into the couch heavily. “It’s a pretty sweet ride. If you’re down with being trapped in a cage, that is,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a small grin.
“Hmm,” I hum. “No, bikes. Not yet, at least. I don’t care what your Gramps says, I don’t want you learning to ride until you’re sixteen. No, make that thirty,” I huff.
“Mom, seriously?” He gapes at me.
“Yes, seriously. I don’t have a big enough shovel to bury your Gramps with if anything happens to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, mom. You worry too much,” he tells me, not for the first time. And maybe I do, but he’s my baby. My first born, my pride and joy, so he’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it.
Bumping his leg with mine, I demand,
“Now, I have a long drive ahead of me, so give your mom a hug and tell her you love her.”
Without hesitation, my strong, brave, beautiful boy wraps me in his arms, resting his head on my shoulder.
“I love you, mom. You’ll call, right?”
“Of course. Every chance I get,” I sniffle, fighting back a fresh round of tears.
“Every day, mom. I want to know you’re okay,” he mutters into my hair.
“Every day, honey,” I confirm.
Half an hour later, I drive away from my son, the only constant in my life more uncertain about my future than ever before and let my tears fall freely and unchecked.
*****
Three months later…
“Emily, sweetheart, Ana and Stewart are here,” Catherine calls out.
I know. I saw them pull up, I just don’t think I’m ready. Five more minutes won’t help, but it won’t hurt either. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself as I splash cold water on my face, attempting to ride myself of the puffiness under my eyes, and the tear tracks staining my cheeks. There’s no hiding the bruises or the fact that I can’t walk without a limp. Nor is there any disguising my casted arm, but Catherine promised to prepare the couple before I met them as to my current appearance. I can only hope they don’t run in fright.
I’ve had three long months to prepare myself to make a
decision. Three months of sleepless nights. Three months of worry and anxiety. And still, even now, even in light of the couple sitting in Catherine and Grayson’s dining room, I’m not ready. But I don’t really have much of a choice, not after what happened two nights ago. So as weak as I feel right now, I have to be strong for my baby.
After arriving at Catherine and Grayson’s house in Lower Falls, a lovely renovated farmhouse, set on a hundred acres of rolling pastures, backing onto the National Park, I immediately felt a sense of peace wash over me. That lasted all of a week. A week of three home-cooked meals a day, sweet smiles from Catherine, and sage advice from Grayson. A week in which I felt hope again for the first time in a long time. But that all change after I go the first letter. By the time I got the last, just four days ago, I knew my time was up. I had to make a choice, and I had to do it now.
I don’t know how they found me, Scott’s parents, but they did. And when they did, they sent letter after hate-filled letter, blaming me for their only sons’ death, threatening to inform the authorities it had been me that killed him, promising to go to the courts to get custody of my son and my unborn child that they are convinced is Scott’s.
I was un-phased by the former, but terrified by the latter. I called my dad immediately and told him what Jim and June had said, making him promise to keep an eye on Diesel at all times. Wherever he went, even if it were only to school and back, I wanted eyes on my son. Eyes that were armed. Eyes that wouldn’t hesitate to protect my son, no matter the cost. Dad gave me that. He vowed to keep Diesel
safe, and often called, daily, to reassure me he was fine, healthy, and happy. It didn’t entirely alleviate my concern, but it was enough for me not to be sick with worry twenty- four hours of the day, at least.
The path to the choice I made that led Ana and Stewart Nichols to Catherine and Grayson’s doorstep was a long and arduous one. What started out as any other morning, filled with dread and uncertainty turned out to be life changing.
As had become our norm over the last almost three months, Grayson, his son, Chase, and I sat on the back porch around a large outdoor setting. Both men read the newspaper while I nursed a cup of Chamomile tea and stared out at the backyard. After Catherine had finished cooking breakfast, we ate together, talked, laughed, and then Chase would help his mom do the dishes while Grayson told me his plans for the rest of the day.
That particular morning was different, though. I could feel the tension in the air, I saw the concerned looks Catherine couldn’t hide fast enough, and Chase was mysteriously absent. But the realization that something was wrong, really wrong, came when it was time to eat. For the first time ever, Catherine didn’t join Grayson and me, and neither did Chase.
“Darlin’, you and I need to have a little chat,” Grayson murmured, folding his paper in half. Producing a crisp white envelope from his back pocket, he laid it on the table, running his hands over the thick cardstock to flatten it out. “This came in the mail yesterday. Didn’t mean to invade
your privacy, darlin’, but I read it. And I have to say, what’s in it has me feeling uneasy, to say the least.”
I don’t need to see the return address to know who it’s from. I can see by the way Grayson’s staring daggers at the envelope that it is yet another letter from Jim and June. They have been coming with increasing frequency over the last few weeks, each more desperate than the last and twice as vicious in
their threats. I probably should have told Grayson about them, but I just couldn’t. As far as I’m concerned, him, his wife, and their son have done enough for me already; I didn’t need them taking another burden on.
“Called your dad last night, sweetheart. He told me you shared about the letters when they started comin’, so I’ve got to ask, why didn’t you tell us? I get that you’re going through a lot right now, darlin’, and we’re trying to give you time to sort through it, but this is something you should have told us.” Grayson’s voice isn’t irritated or chastising. If anything, it holds a note of disappointment. Maybe even a trace of sadness.
Unable to meet his eyes, I whisper,
“You have all been so good to me, that I didn’t want to worry you with something that I thought would go away given enough time.”
“After what I read in here, darlin’,” he nods, indicating to the envelope still secured under his large palms, “I doubt that was gonna happen any time soon. These folks aren’t giving up, not until they’ve got what they want. And by the sounds of it, what they want is that baby you’re carryin’.”
Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series Page 20
