by Drew Elyse
I shook my head. No, I thought. No being that weak girl who gets all morose over life being hard. You are a grown ass woman, start acting like it.
With that motivational speech, which had all the pep of a drill sergeant, I took out my phone. I did not even hesitate over the fact that there were no notifications on it—nope, not me—as I pulled up my dad’s contact information.
“What’s up, girlie?” he answered almost immediately.
“What are you doing?”
“Just finished some business at the clubhouse,” he said.
“What are you doing for dinner?”
“Why? You wanna come over to my place and cook?” he teased.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”
Three hours later, Dad and I were lounging on the couch. Our stomachs were full of chicken cacciatore—a recipe my mom got from her mother—and Dad was flipping through the channels on the TV, never settling on one thing to watch.
My phone sat on the single side table closer to Dad—he really needed to get a coffee table—and remained ever still and silent, no matter how much I stared at it.
“Not that I don’t love havin’ you here,” Dad hedged, “but are you gonna go home to him at some point? Or at least text him before your phone catches fire from that gaze of yours?”
“I don’t even know if he is home,” I replied.
“Easy to find that out, baby girl.”
He was right, of course, but evasion held such appeal. After all, as easily as Gauge could respond that he was home, he could say he and Stacey had gone off to baby shop, or get dinner, or something else I was certain I did not want to hear.
“Can I take a stab at what’s ooin’ on with you?”
I shrugged. There was no need for a deeper reply. Dad was not asking permission; he never truly did when it came to speaking his mind.
“I think you’re strugglin’ with the pregnancy. I think it might have some to do with another woman havin’ your man’s baby, but I think it has a lot more to do with your own issues.”
I should have known he would see right through me. Of course, he was one of the only people who knew why this situation was such a trigger for me. Again, I let my silence do the talking for me as I pretended to pick lint off the battered, tan sofa cushion.
“You talk to him about that yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“Maybe you ought to.” His tone made it clear there was not really a “maybe” in that.
“I know I have to, I just never anticipated it being an issue so soon. We’ve just started out. I thought it would be able to wait,” I lamented.
“Life don’t always stick to the script you expected. Sometimes you gotta roll with the punches as they come.”
I had to laugh. “When did you start dispensing such sound life advice?”
He feigned being affronted. “I’ve always had good advice. Not my fault you didn’t take it.”
“Freshman year I asked you how get the attention of a boy I liked, you told me to kick him in the balls,” I reminded him.
He huffed, and the too familiar sight of his beard shifting with the dramatic breath somehow centered me. “Little fucker deserved it. He didn’t notice you. He needed a swift kick in the nads.”
The laughter he brought out of me was calming in a way the avoidance could never have hoped to be. It was reassuring to feel that same connection with my dad, that promise that he would always be there for me.
“I should go,” I said, finally believing it myself.
“Good call, girlie.”
Pulling up to the apartment and seeing both Gauge’s bike and the Chevelle parked out front was exactly what I had hoped for. Since leaving Dad’s, I was clasping onto my resolve to talk to Gauge like it might disappear at any moment. If he had not been home, it very well might have.
I parked in Ham’s second designated spot, marveling again at the fact that he owned only his bike. Sure, I realized it was the preferred way to get around for all the brothers, but that did not mean a car was not sometimes necessary. Of course, had he owned a car, the only spot for my car would have been in the guest spots on the other end of the lot—unless Gauge insisted on doing so.
My feet hit the front steps quicker than normal, charging up to the apartment on a wave of unstoppable momentum. My pace had no hesitation, no desire to linger. I would not allow it to.
I unlocked the door to the apartment with a fluid motion, pausing only briefly to shut it before sweeping my way into the living room. Gauge was there, sitting on the couch in silence, with the TV and radio off. He seemed to be waiting for me.
“I was going to call soon or go find you, hadn’t decided which,” he said by way of greeting.
My brain did not even try to formulate a response to that. No, that momentum had reached such a point, there was no containing the forward motion of my cause any longer. “I can’t have children.”
Gauge looked as though I had walked in a struck him. Which, in a way, I supposed I had. “What?”
“I can’t have children. That’s why Stacey’s pregnancy has been so hard for me. It’s not just about you having a child with another woman, it’s about the fact that I could never give you that,” I rushed out.
“Shit, Cami…” Gauge muttered as he got to his feet. He made to come toward me, but I held up my hand.
“No, please, I need to get this out.”
He gave me a tight nod and stayed where he was.
“When I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome. There were cysts growing on both of my ovaries. They tried to treat it with medication, but nothing helped. One of the cysts ruptured when I was eighteen, and it caused some internal bleeding.” I needed to pause and catch my breath, overwhelmed by remembering the experience. The fear, the pain, and, worst of all, the doctors telling me there was only one course of action. “I ended up needing a hysterectomy.”
Gauge cursed, and seemed to war with himself before rejecting my plea for space. He consumed the distance between with long strides and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said half-heartedly.
“Does that matter?” he asked.
No. Not at all. The physical pain stopped years ago, but the knowledge that I had lost the ability to have children? That was still there.
“The crazy thing is, I never thought about having kids up to that point. I was only eighteen. I know some people always know they want to make a family someday, but it was always a crazy hypothetical to me. Maybe someday I would have kids, maybe not. Nothing more. Then, they told me I would not be able to and…” I trailed off, unable to voice it further.
I realized even if though I had been sure it was what I wanted in my future, I did not want to lose that “maybe”.
I face-planted into his chest, inhaling the smell of grease, exhaust, and cigarettes clinging to his black t-shirt. Gauge didn’t say anything, but what was there to say?
“I’m sorry I’ve made this harder,” I spoke into the contours of his chest.
“Cami, darlin’, shut it,” he answered.
“What?”
“Don’t need any apologies,” he explained. “I told you there’d be no apologizing unless one of us actually fucks up. You didn’t fuck up. You asked for time to deal before we talked, you took it, and you talked to me. This shit’s a mess no matter what way you slice it. End of. You’re having to deal with it in the first place because of me. No apologies.”
“Okay.”
“Need you to understand something, Cami,” he continued.
“What?”
“I hate that you can’t have kids. For you, I fuckin’ hate that. I hate that you had to experience that shit and that you’re still dealing with it. But it doesn’t mean a fuckin’ thing to me. I never really thought about kids. This baby, if he is mine, I’m going to love him and help raise him. I want to be around for everything because I know what it’s like not to have tha
t. None of those feelings transfer to Stacey, though. She’s a part of this, but she doesn’t get that from me. Only you have me. It doesn’t matter that we can’t have any kids. This works out and you want a family? We can adopt. I don’t care. Not being able to get pregnant doesn’t change a damn thing between us. Feel me?”
I loved hearing that. Honestly, I did. What he said made me feel lighter, even if some of the worry still lingered. Still, what I focused on was not his promise that my fertility issues were not a problem for us.
“It’s a boy?”
Gauge shook his head with a smile breaking through at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, it’s a boy.”
I could see it. A little boy with Gauge’s deep tan coloring, those midnight eyes, that playful smile that would be adorable rather than suggestive. I imagined him running around the clubhouse the way I once did, wanting to grow up to be a badass like his dad and uncles. “A little boy,” I whispered.
“I’m fuckin’ nervous,” Gauge admitted softly, as if giving it too much voice might shatter his whole tough-guy image.
“I think all parents are,” I assured him. “You’ll be an amazing father.”
“And you’ll help me,” he added.
I hated that that adorable little boy would not be mine, but I knew, even from just imagining him, I would fall hard for him. He was going to be half his father after all, how could I not?
“Yes, I’ll help you.”
“The car is registered to a John McGowan. Did some digging. Turns out the guy’s a PI. No idea what he’s doing tracking the club, but he’s not a fed,” Jager reported.
“No idea who hired him?” Stone asked.
“None. We’re gonna have to ask him ourselves,” Jager answered with a smirk.
I took a pull from the beer in my hand, listening to the conversation while also tracking Cami as she hung with a couple of the old ladies across the room.
“Gonna need to get to the bottom of that,” I added.
“Want the word out to the brothers,” Stone demanded. “Anyone who sees that car gets the driver. We need to know who the fuck he’s working for.”
“Done,” Jager and I answered simultaneously.
“I need another drink,” the pres muttered before taking off.
I was fixing to follow his lead when my phone started to buzz in my pocket. It was Stacey.
“Gotta take this,” I said to Jager, then cast a glance Cami’s way to make sure she was still good. I took the call out front.
“Hi, Gauge,” Stacey said in that excited voice she seemed to be stuck in.
“What’s going on?”
“The results from the paternity test came in,” she said. There was a pause while she gave me a chance to speak, but I had nothing. “He’s yours.”
“Yeah…” What the fuck did I say now? “Good. Okay.”
“They have a printed record of the test we can pick up there if you want,” she offered. “Otherwise, they will mail copies to each of us.”
“Right,” I answered. “It can wait.”
“You’re sure? I understand if you want to go get it from them.”
“No. I trust you.”
“Okay.” She paused. “Well…”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” she perked back up. “I haven’t had any morning sickness or dizziness for the last few days. My clothes are getting a bit tight, so I need to get some more stuff.”
“Do you need some money?” I offered. After all, it was at least half my fault she didn’t have a job.
“Oh no. I’m good. I didn’t tell you I found a job?”
Seeing as I’d exchanged a couple texts since the appointment last week and nothing more? “No.”
“Yeah,” she enthused. “I found a job as a medical transcriptionist. I can work from home, and the doctor I’m working for said he can funnel some of the work through the woman who used to have the job after the baby comes until I can balance more.”
“That’s great,” I said.
She started to rave a little more about the whole thing when the door to the clubhouse opened and Cami’s head dipped out to search the lot. Her eyes landed on me and she offered a small wave. I could tell she was going to duck back in.
Covering the mouthpiece, I called out, “Wait.”
She seemed hesitant, but came over to me.
“…but I think it’ll all work out well,” Stacey wrapped up on the line.
“Yeah. It sounds like a good deal, Stacey,” I threw out, having no clue if it actually followed what she was saying.
Watching my girl stiffen, I wondered if I should have let her go back inside and found her when I was done. Shit. Was this ever going to stop being uncomfortable?
“Yeah. But, anyway, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to let you know about the results.” Then she changed gears, “Oh! And I was wondering if you have some time soon? I’d like to start doing some shopping for the baby. I read it’s better to do it early than to wait in case I end up on bed rest or he comes early or anything.”
“Sure. I can find some time,” I said. Was that something I really needed to be present for? If we were talking furniture and shit, it would all be in her house where I wouldn’t be, right?
“Great! I’ll text you and we can plan.”
“Sure,” I said.
That was that, and then we both hung up. I looked to Cami, who had gone from mildly uncomfortable to looking like she wanted to bolt. “That was Stacey,” I offered like an idiot.
“Caught that,” she replied.
“The DNA test came back.”
Cami nodded. “He’s yours?”
“Yes,” I answered. She was quiet after that, and I couldn’t fucking blame her. “You were looking for me?”
“I just noticed you were missing,” she said.
“And?” I pressed.
“And?”
I moved in on her, gripping her waist in my hand to hold her to me. “And why did you come looking for me, darlin’?”
“I just…” she trailed off as I flicked her earlobe with my tongue.
“Just what?” I slid my hands into the back pockets of her jeans, cupping her perfect ass. Her pulse rushed beneath my lips as I worshipped her neck. The moan that answered me was enough to have me considering whether it was really that bad of an idea to take her right there against the wall. I ran my tongue along the ridge of her collarbone, then forced myself to veer north, away from her perfect breasts.
“You haven’t answered me,” I teased against her lips.
“What?” she asked in a fog. She angled her head up, chasing my lips as I kept myself out of reach.
“Did you came out here because you wanted me to fuck you?”
She made a sound that wasn’t a yes or a no; it was a “shut up and kiss me, asshole.” And I wanted to give in—fuck, did I—but I wanted her to admit the truth first.
