by Naomi West
She’d had more sickness that morning, too. Even before her alarm clock sounded the alert to get up, she was yanked out of bed by the overwhelming urge to throw up.
Here goes nothing, she thought, stepping inside.
The doctor saw her as soon as she stepped inside and let the receptionist know that she had been sent there on a recommendation from Owen Flynn. She’d learned quickly in their relationship that Owen’s name carried plenty of weight around town, but Carey still found herself surprised at just how many doors it opened for her.
Once seated upon the crinkly white paper in the examination room, she explained to the doctor—a slight, white-haired man named Dr. Hampton who was just as unassuming as his office—just what her symptoms had been. He jotted down his notes on a pad of paper, nodding his head as she went on.
“… and today I was sick right when I got up,” said Carey, rubbing her forearms with her hands for comfort.
“Ms. Oakley,” he said, looking up from his pad. “You and Mr. Flynn—you’re … an item, correct?”
He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.
“Yes,” said Carey. “We’ve been dating for around six weeks now.”
“I see,” he said. “And I’m assuming that you two have been sexually active?”
Carey blushed a little, hesitant to talk about sex with a stranger despite the circumstances. “Yes, we have been.”
“And are you on any sort of birth control?”
“Just condoms.”
He nodded. “We’re going to need to do some bloodwork to confirm, but I think I’ve got an idea of what, exactly, is going on with you. And I think you do, too.”
“You don’t mean …?”
He nodded, a small smile forming on his face.
“But let’s get these tests done before I start issuing any congratulations.”
The next hour passed by in a blur. Carey could hardly think, let alone speak. Only simple one-word responses came from her mouth whenever Dr. Hampton asked her a question. Eventually, he left the room to check on the results of his exam, and Carey was left alone with her thoughts.
Pregnant? she wondered.
The word was strange in her mind, like it was something from a foreign language. She knew that she’d been reckless with the sex she and Owen had been having, but she somehow had managed to convince herself that there wouldn’t be any consequences. But now, sitting in the sterile doctor’s office, she began to feel like her life was on the verge of coming apart at the seams. The anxiety building inside of her was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She didn’t know for how much longer she could take it.
After about ten minutes of waiting the door opened and the doctor, a nurse at his side, stepped in. Both of them had warm smiles on their faces.
“Ms. Oakley,” said the doctor, looking at the information in a manila folder opened in his hands. “I have some wonderful news.”
But before he could speak any further, Carey’s vision tunneled and all went black.
Chapter Nine
Carey
Sitting behind the wheel of Lily’s recently-purchased car, Carey took one last look through the groceries she’d bought for the dinner that evening.
Okay, she thought, rifling through the food. Got pasta, tomatoes, bread, wine … all here.
She took in a deep breath before taking her phone to call Owen. It’d been three days since Carey had found out she was pregnant, and she knew that she couldn’t put off telling him the news for any longer. So, she figured that over a nice, homecooked meal of lasagna would be just the way to do it.
It’ll be fine, she thought, holding the phone nervously in her hands. Just get a couple glasses of wine in him, and then stuff him so full of food that he’ll be halfway into a coma. Then I drop the bomb.
She had it all planned out, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Just rip the damn Band-Aid off, she thought. Not like you can’t tell him.
Carey hit the number for Owen and let the phone ring. After a time, he picked up.
“What’s up, kid?” he asked, his voice sounding extra gruff through the phone.
“Um, just wanted to see if you were still on for dinner tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Great!” said Carey. “I just finished up at the store, so give me your address and I’ll be over right away.”
“Wait,” he said. “You want to come to my place and cook?”
“Yeah,” said Carey. “I mean, we’ve been together for almost two months and I still haven’t seen where you live.”
There was a silence, as if Owen were weighing the pros and cons of something.
“No way,” he said. “My place isn’t good for company.”
“Come on,” said Carey. “We’ve been together for two months and I still have no idea where you live.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Okay, fine,” he said finally, with some hesitation in his voice. “My place is right by the auto shop. White building just to the right if you’re standing in front.”
“Great! See you in a few.”
As soon as she hung up, Carey couldn’t help but feel as though there was something Owen wasn’t saying. She’d asked him about going to his place every now and then, but he’d always been evasive about taking her home. Instead, they’d end up staying the night at her apartment or at the random spots around town that Owen had access to. But his home seemed to be off-limits.
Carey put it out of her mind as she started off towards the auto shop. She had big news to tell him, and she didn’t even want to tell him that she had news. Owen wasn’t the kind of guy who liked surprises, and she knew that if she even hinted at a secret they’d still be on the phone, him trying to pry the information out of her.
After a time, she arrived at the auto shop, which was closed for the day. Carey parked and looked for the building that Owen indicated. To the right of the shop was a white building, a run-down two-story little thing with peeling white paint and overgrown weeds around the sides.
This is where he lives? she thought.
She grabbed the bags out of the seat, walked to the front door, and gave it a knock. Moments later, Owen opened.
“Hey,” he said, taking the bags from her. “Come in.”
Carey stepped inside, her heart sinking a bit as she laid eyes on the interior. The bottom floor was one large open space that seemed to serve as a garage for Owen’s bike. The floor was concrete, and tools and supplies were here and there, his bike in the center of the room. She followed him up the stairs, hoping that the second floor was a little more promising than the first.
That wasn’t at all the case.
The second floor was a small, cramped area comprised of a living room, a bathroom off to the side, and a tiny bedroom tucked into a corner. The décor was sparse, and there was very little in the way of furniture—little more than a table, a couch, and a TV in the room. The place was tidy and well-kept, but it was clearly nothing more than a place Owen crashed when he wasn’t out with his club.
“Nice place,” said Carey.
“It’s a rathole,” he said. “But I’m barely here, so it works.”
“What … about those other places we stayed? Those aren’t yours?”
“What, you think I own property around town or some shit? Those are just pads of people I do favors for. They let me stay at their places when they’re out of town. But this is where I live.”
Carey couldn’t help but feel her heart sink as she laid eyes on the place. Normally, she wouldn’t care about just how nice a man’s place was, but she had more on her mind than just herself—she had to think about raising a child. And there was barely enough room for Owen here.
Owen looked through the bags, checking out what Carey had brought.
“Uh, not sure what you’ve got in mind, but if you can’t make it with a hot plate and a toaster oven, you might be out of luck.”
Carey checked out the
half-kitchen, which was nothing more than a counter, a mini-fridge, and sure enough, a hot plate and a toaster oven.
“I was thinking about lasagna,” she said. “But, um, I guess I can make some garlic bread.”
“Babe, you don’t need to go to all this trouble,” he said, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders.
“I just wanted to do something special for you,” she said, sidestepping the issue of the news she’d come to share.
“Just being with you is special enough,” he said. “But thanks for the thought. How about this—you make some garlic bread for an appetizer, and I’ll go pick up some takeout Italian. Then we can head back to your place and you can make dinner some other night.”
“Sure,” said Carey, feeling crestfallen.
“Awesome,” said Owen. “Be back in a bit.”
He kissed her before heading off. Once alone, Carey stepped in front of the hot plate and turned it on, wondering if it’d be able to even get hot enough to cook the garlic. As she fetched the bread out of the bag, she looked around the cramped, sad little apartment, trying to imagine her, Owen, and the baby living here. But it was impossible. She had no idea how much money he made, or what kind of life he could provide, but nothing that she saw here gave her any confidence that he was ready to be a father, as much as she loved the idea.
Carey cut the bread with one of the few knives in the place, turning on the hot plate and getting everything else ready. Tossing the butter on the plate, along with some chopped garlic, she looked around the apartment one more time, this time her heart gripped by a slowly-tightening panic. It was as though the reality of her situation was dawning on her, and she was only now realizing that she was in over her head. She stared off into space, only coming back to reality when she could smell the burning garlic on the hot plate.
“Fuck!” she shouted, turning over the contents of the plate into the tiny sink.
Her legs feeling weak, Carey sat down on the floor and zoned out once again, time passing by the minute as she sat stewing in her fear. Her heart pounded, her mind raced, and she felt short of breath. Carey had never had a panic attack before, but she felt like whatever was happening to her might just be one.
After a time, the front door opened and Owen stepped through, a big bag of food in his arms.
“Smells like burning in here,” he said.
Then his eyes locked onto Carey. Seeing that something was wrong, he rushed to her side and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, his voice stern yet comforting. “Tell me what it is.”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just feeling a little lightheaded for some reason.”
His eyebrows furrowed.
“And the doctor the other day just said you were exhausted?”
“Yeah,” said Carey, lying. “He said that between the job and the internship I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.”
“Good thing you’re done with all that next week,” said Owen, helping her to her feet. “In that case, sit that sexy ass of yours down and forget about the cooking. They gave me garlic bread with the food, anyway.”
He grabbed a couple of plates and some silverware before pouring the wine into a couple of plastic cups that looked to be left over from a party. He unpacked the takeout and loaded up her plate with hot, steaming Italian food.
“Eat up,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Eating was the last thing on her mind, but she knew that Owen wasn’t the type to be argued with when it came to her well-being. She forced down a few bites of lasagna, chewing slowly. After a time, she felt as though she had a little more energy, but still felt anxious about all that she’d been worried about.
Carey had come to tell Owen that he was going to be a father, but now she felt like doing so was a mistake.
“Have some wine, too,” he said.
Carey reached for the cup, but as she did she remembered that she was pregnant—she couldn’t even have a glass of wine to make her feel better. Tears formed in her eyes, and she knew that she was only moments from having a total breakdown right in front of Owen. But before she could completely freak out, Owen’s phone vibrated loudly on the coffee table.
“Hold on a sec,” he said. “This might be serious.”
He snatched up his phone and left the room. Through the bedroom door, Carey could hear Owen speaking in deep, stern tones, as though he was trying to have something very urgent explained to him.
“Where?” she heard him say, his voice muffled slightly from the cheap, thin bedroom door. “Okay, I’m coming now. Stay put.”
Owen burst from the bedroom, his eyes narrowed in grim purpose.
“What’s wrong?” asked Carey.
“Some boys got jumped,” he said, grabbing his things. “Some fucking punk crew from a town over is making trouble, and I gotta get down there before shit gets even worse.”
“Wait, you’re leaving just like that?” she asked. “What about me?”
“You can hang here till I get back, or you can go home. Your call.”
“Can I … come with you?”
Owen stopped in his tracks and turned to her with an expression of total bewilderment.
“Not a goddamn chance,” he said. “You stay as far from this part of my life as possible. Too goddamn dangerous for a girl like you.”
He snatched his motorcycle helmet off of the small table by the front door and stepped out.
“Are you going to be okay?” Carey asked as he was halfway out the door.
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Just wait for me to contact you.”
And just like that, he was gone. Carey sat on the couch, listening as the engine of his bike roared to life and the garage door rumbled open and closed. Owen then took off, his tires squealing against the road.
Carey sat alone, feeling helpless and lost. But before she could stew in her stress for too long, a wild streak ran down her spine.
Time for me to see exactly what he gets up to, she thought, standing up. He’s going to be the father of my baby; the least I can do is see what he does when he’s with this club of his. Grabbing her keys, eyes narrowed in determination, she rushed out of the apartment and down to her car.
Moments later, she was on the road, driving faster than she ever normally did as she struggled to catch up with Owen. Eventually, she heard the buzzing of the engine in the distance and drove towards it. After a time, she caught up with some traffic on the highway and was able to spot Owen’s bike weaving through the cars, breaking all manner of traffic laws as he raced to his destination. Carey came to a halt behind the traffic, realizing that she was stuck.
But that wasn’t about to stop her. Pulling off onto the shoulder, she drove the car along the side of the road, the car rumbling and bumping from the uneven ground beneath it. The drivers in the cars to her left cursed and honked at her, but she didn’t care. All she was concerned with was catching up with Owen and finding out just what kind of man he was.
After a time, she was able to spot Owen pulling onto an off-ramp, heading towards the outskirts of town. Carey followed behind him, doing her best to keep her distance. The off-ramp led to a part of town that was even more rundown than Fiends’ territory, and a sick feeling overcame her as she kept her distance behind Owen.
Eventually, Owen pulled into a warehouse district and parked his bike. Carey, still driving far behind him, found a secluded spot. Killing the engine, a hard silence came over the car.
What the hell am I doing? she thought. Owen’s going off to get into a gang fight or something; why on earth am I putting myself in danger like this? I mean, I’ve got a kid to worry about now!
Carey knew that she was putting herself at risk, but the need to know the father of her child as well as she could blocked out every concern.
I’ll stay back in the distance, she told herself. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get into a fight or something. And if things get rough, then I’ll
just leave.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stepped out. The area around her was block after block of rundown industrial districts, only a few weak lights from street lamps here and there illuminating her way. She moved slowly and carefully, as though Owen might hear her footsteps on the sidewalk.
Eventually, she reached the small street that Owen had turned down. Pressing herself against one of the nearby buildings, she peered out from behind it. Sure enough, further down the road she was able to catch sight of around two dozen men, both of them squared up against each other, all looking ready for a fight, and all dressed in the leather and denim of bikers. And in the middle was the unmistakable shape of Owen.
