Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2)

by K. Ryan

  I squinted at him, a little surprised that he would even imply it wouldn't be. "Of course it is. So we ready to do this?"

  Wallace tipped his chin down in a nod, never one to mince words, and then gestured to the other two guys with him towards the van, stepping back so they could jump inside and start moving the product into their transport.

  Once the barrels were safely inside the Warlords' van, Wallace reached inside his cut and held an envelope out to me. I'd barely gotten the envelope inside my own cut when five sedans tore out onto the gravel road from around the corner and skidded to a stop just a mere 10 feet away from where we stood.

  There was no time to react. No time to even think about reaching for the Glock tucked behind my jeans. No time to even think about hopping into our van to make a run for it.

  Because the doors to each sedan flew out and 10 agents aimed cocked guns at us, screaming to get our hands up and on our stomachs.

  We were surrounded.

  We were caught.

  I was numb. Paralyzed by shock. Stunned into immobility. But when Agent Jordan's smug, triumphant face came into clearer view, that was when everything snapped back to life. That was when my blood boiled over, when loathing took the reins and spilled over, drenching the smirking bastard stalking toward me and most of all, on myself.

  I should've known better. I should've listened. I should've backed out when I had the chance.

  Now I was completely screwed and I'd taken Dom down with me.

  Even as Jordan hovered over me with handcuffs in his hand, even as he slapped those same handcuffs over my wrists and knelt down, I didn't care.

  "I bet you thought you'd never see me again, huh?" he chuckled in my ear. "Good thing you ended up being exactly what I thought were: stupid and predictable."

  All he was doing was rubbing salt in an open wound. Kicking me while I was already down. Throwing sand in my face.

  All I could see now was Isabelle. All I could think about now was our baby.

  The timing was just a sick joke. Part of me wanted to raise a fist to the air and scream: Congratulations, universe. You win. Thanks for giving me everything I've ever wanted and then ripping it away. The other part of me wanted to curl up into ball and wail like a baby. This was my fault. I was the one in control of this situation. I was the one who'd made this decision and followed through with it.

  And for that, I was going to miss everything. Every kick, every doctor's appointment, every time she needed me to do something for her, I wouldn't be there. Someone else was going to have to do it. I would miss the birth of my own kid just because of greed. Because of my ego. Because of my pride.

  My stomach swirled and nearly emptied itself right here on this gravel road, right over Jordan's scuff-free leather shoes and I let him haul me off the gravel, yank me to the nearest sedan, and throw my ass in the backseat.

  . . .

  Isabelle

  My paintbrush moved in broad strokes, up and down in the wall, covering my pencil markings effortlessly and a little too absentmindedly. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to do this right now. I really shouldn't be doing this right now, but I needed something to take my mind off all this ugly, to focus on something positive, something that was still good in my life.

  Painting the baby's mural today of all days was a terrible idea.

  Now, every time I looked at it, I'd forever be reminded of this day. The fear. The pain. The heartache. The loss. How much I wanted to murder my baby's father right now.

  I just shook my head at that thought. I wanted to hit him, not murder him. Scream at him. Kick him. Throw something at him.

  He was probably on his way back from the clubhouse right now after being released from holding in Pittsburgh. More than likely, he'd taken one look around the parking lot, saw that I wasn't there and jumped back on his bike to head right to our house.

  I didn't want to see him, mainly because I was terrified of what I would say to him, terrified of what I wanted to say to him and right now, I just wasn't sure if I could even stomach looking at him.

  Over the last two days since he'd called me from holding in Pittsburgh, I'd gotten a crash course in navigating the dark waters of legal representation. My whole life I'd only seen it from from my dad's point of view as a lawyer himself: his view of the cases, the defendants, and the rulings. Now, here I was on the complete opposite side of it and barely able to keep my head above water.

  I now knew way more than I'd ever thought I'd have to know about gun trafficking laws, too. Apparently, there was no federal statute in writing which was a good thing, the lawyer, Ross Hinkley, had said. Thinking about how it was a good thing not to have a federal statute standing against you, that we should be grateful Congress couldn't agree on a law...it was mind-boggling. I couldn't wrap my head around something like that. To make my head swim even more, there was the whole issue of the fact that Caleb and Dom had crossed state lines.

  If they'd gotten caught in North Carolina, they would've been looking at a much shorter sentence. Since they'd gone all the way up to Pittsburgh, not that the distance mattered, they were looking at a maximum sentence of five years. The three Warlord members who'd been arrested with them would get less time just on that technicality alone, and in spite of my fury, even I had to admit that didn't really seem fair when all five of them had basically committed the same crime.

  The second Hinkley had said the words maximum five years, I'd felt my eyes practically roll back in my head and I'd almost passed out right on the clubhouse floor.

  Of course, he'd been quick to add that the best course of action was to plead guilty, which would automatically lower their prison sentence, even if it raised the length of their probation, and since this was their first charge 'of this nature', as Hinkley had so eloquently stated, and since they hadn't been transferring any assault weapons, it was likely a judge might be lenient. Hinkley was going to ask for a reduced sentence of 12-18 months with parole at Caleb and Dom's sentence hearing in two weeks.

  But still.

  Prison.

  Caleb was going to prison.

  There was no way around it. No magic deux ex machina that could sweep in at the last minute and prevent it from happening.

  It was most definitely happening.

  The irony, of course, was that Skyler and I had had to scrape together every last penny and all but emptied Caleb's bank account just to bail him out of prison. Karma, in all her infinite, bitchy wisdom, really knew how to kick you right where it hurt.

  We were supposed to go to City Hall in two days to get married and now, I just didn't know how I felt about taking that step with him.

  And more than anything, I needed to just stop working on the baby's mural. Creating it under all this negative energy wasn't good for anyone. A spike of pain flashed across the length of my stomach and I winced, rubbing the spot on my baby bump a little.

  That tell-tale motorcycle roar came screaming down the street and I closed my eyes to brace myself. I didn't want to see him. I did, but I didn't. About a minute later, the front door opened and closed and I knew I just had seconds to calm down long enough to tell him to get the hell out before I did or said something I'd regret later.

  As it turned out, I had only about half a second before a gentle knock rapped at the door.

  "Iz?"

  I squeezed my eyes shut, blew out a deep breath, tossed my paintbrush into the mason jar at my feet, stood up my stool on shaky legs, and flung open the nursery's door with one swift motion. Caleb was standing in front of me, both arms splayed over the doorway as he leaned into the open space.

  It was his eyes that knocked me sideways. I didn't know what I'd been prepared to see, but this softness, this apology, this genuineness, this anguish had me momentarily forgetting why I was so furious with him in the first place.

  "Iz," he started softly before darting his eyes over his shoulder to the prospect behind him and nodding to him, signaling it was time for him to leave. "Can we talk?" />
  My chest was heaving wildly now and I couldn't make it go away. So, without as much as a word, I gripped hold of the door and started to slam it right in his face. When his hand shot out to stop me, putting just enough force to gently nudge me backwards, the soft, concerned eyes reflecting back at me still didn't change.

  "Iz, please," he tried again, this time more urgently. "Just let me in. Don't do this."

  My nostrils flared at his choice of words and his eyes widened when he realized his error.

  "No," I bit back. "I can't even look at you right now, let alone even think about talking to you."

  Pain flashed across his face, but he didn't take another step. He knew what he'd done, he knew he'd completely destroyed everything we'd been working toward, and he knew there was nothing he could say that would make this better.

  His head tilted to the side in agony and he reached for me, but I just batted down his hand. If he touched me, I'd let him in. I'd talk to him. I'd forgive him. He didn't deserve any of those things right now.

  "I'll call you when I'm ready to talk to you," I told him icily. "Until then, I think you should leave."

  Steely resolve clouded his eyes and for a moment, I thought he would protest. I thought he would fight a little harder. Instead, he nodded sadly and stepped out into the hallway. I watched him walk out the door and locked it behind him just for good measure. Sure, he had a key, but I wanted him to hear the lock click. I wanted him to hurt just as much as I was hurting right now.

  I stumbled back until my calves hit the back of our couch and tried desperately to control the thundering inside my chest. About two seconds later, my phone chimed from the nursery and I headed back down the hallway with a sigh.

  As I swept my phone off the carpet, ignoring the little pricks of pain in my stomach, and frowned down at the screen.

  Not leavin you, Iz. I'll just wait til you wanna talk.

  Swallowing tightly, I leaned across the window and pulled the blinds down. Caleb sat on the edge of our porch, hands clasped in front of him as a cloud of smoke puffed out into in our yard.

  My phone buzzed again.

  Sorry about the smoking. It's just been a shitty day. This is my last one today. Promise.

  I pushed out a heavy sigh and let the blinds fall back in place. He knew me too well. And he knew exactly what to do to crumble my resolve. Still, if he wanted to wait, then I'd let him wait. I just didn't know if I could have a rational conversation with him without throwing something at his head or screaming obscenities at him until I was blue in the face.

  With new resolve, I headed straight for my home studio, plopped down on my stool, and shoved my earbuds in, and cranked up the volume as loud as my eardrums could tolerate. Twenty minutes later, I roughly pushed off the stool and stalked back to the window. White shoes were still directly in my line of vision, but now, both of his hands were clasped over his knees, and he was leaning forward enough off the porch that I could clearly see his stricken, tightly drawn features. He really was going to sit out there and wait until I decided to let him back in the house.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed a hand across my belly to try to lull the sharp pain there. In two weeks, Caleb would be checking into prison and I'd be lucky if I saw him once a week. Shouldn't we be making the most with the time we had left together?

  That dull ache in my stomach had spread all the way around to my back and I sucked in a breath when that dull ache sharpened into a shard of pain. It almost reminded me of some of the worst period cramps I'd ever had, but that couldn't be what this was. I inhaled again, a little more slowly this time to try to soothe whatever was going on inside my stomach, but it didn't work.

  At first, I thought I had to be dreaming, but then little pricks and tremors erupted and pulled at the inside of my stomach.

  My eyes flew open as the pain subsided for just a moment and my hands subconsciously flew protectively over my tiny baby bump. What had started as a slight tugging sensation had quickly escalated to a sharp, stabbing pain and now there was no denying it.

  Just as I leapt to my feet to head for the front door, another wave of pain nearly knocked me to my knees. Somehow, I managed to scramble to the door, wincing and gritting my teeth through the sharp edges of pain spreading across every inch of my stomach, and threw open the door. Caleb had his back to me and whirled around from his perch with a relieved smile on his face.

  But just as quickly, that gorgeous smile faded into deep lines of worry and disbelief. He shot up to his feet, practically tripped up the stairs, and his eyes widened when I winced yet again and hunched over from the pain.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried in vain to breathe through the pain, but it felt like my stomach was spasming and closing in on itself and I finally cried out through clenched teeth as Caleb's hands closed around my shoulders to steady me.

  "Iz, what's happening?"

  "I don't—" my voice died out on me when a rush of warm wetness soaked between my legs. I looked down in disbelief, unable to let myself even consider what was really happening here, but I knew.

  Somewhere, deep down, I knew.

  "I think..." I struggled for the words.

  If I said it then it would be real. I guessed I just needed to live in a fantasy world for as long as I could, but when another wave of needles swept through my stomach, I couldn't deny it any longer.

  "I think my water just broke."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blowback

  Isabelle

  When we finally got to the hospital, Caleb sped through the entrance, ignoring every stop sign and speed limit warning in our path, until he skidded the truck to a stop directly in front of the emergency room's main entrance. In a flash, he shot out of the truck and sprinted around the side as an attendant met him at the passenger side door with a wheelchair.

  Caleb carefully lifted me out of the truck and set me gingerly down in the wheelchair. When the attendant moved to take hold of the steering, Caleb roughly shoved him aside and wheeled me inside the emergency room, where a nurse was already waiting for us.

  All I had to do was sit there numbly, twisting my engagement ring around my finger while Caleb, following the nurse's lead, wheeled me right through the hallway and into an elevator that would take us to the maternity ward.

  After Caleb helped me out of my clothes and into the hospital gown, he carefully lifted me onto the rickety bed as a doctor and nurse pulled the curtain back to enter.

  "Alright," the doctor began easily, despite the tension in the cramped space. "My name is Dr. Reynolds and I'll be your attending physician tonight. So," he gestured for me to put my feet into the stirrups as he spoke. "You're 15 weeks along, correct?"

  "Yes," I nodded anxiously. "We just had an appointment a few weeks ago. Everything was fine then."

  Caleb squeezed my hand supportively while Dr. Reynolds positioned himself and the fetal monitor next to us.

  "When did the cramps start?"

  "Maybe an hour ago. I didn't really think much of it at first, but the pain just kept getting worse and..." I trailed off, unable to force myself to say any more.

  "You did the right thing in coming in," Dr. Reynolds nodded tightly, his lips set in a grim line. "With your water broken, I need to listen to the baby's heartbeat first and then we can decide what steps to take from there."

  There was a part of me, even as Caleb squeezed my hand and kissed my forehead, that knew no amount of denial or distraction would make this go away. Even I knew, as the doctor dutifully got to the task of trying to hear the baby's heartbeat, that the odds of the baby even surviving a delivery, if there had to be one, would be slim to none.

  I winced and shifted uncomfortably on the squeaky bed, but my eyes never left the fetal monitor screen, waiting desperately to hear something similar to what we'd heard at my gynecologist's office. Everything just seemed to stop as Dr. Reynolds waited and waited for the screen to focus on something other than waves and emptiness.

  As Dr. R
eynolds gently moved the fetal monitor away from my body, all the blood drained out of my face. I knew what was coming now. It was only a matter of time before the doctor told us what I already knew and had known from the moment I'd first felt those little pinpricks of pain before Caleb came home.

  "I'm so sorry," Dr. Reynolds looked at us somberly. "There's no heartbeat."

  Hearing the words, the confirmation, was more devastating than I'd expected. It felt like I was submerged underwater and everything felt hazy, like I'd just been shot with a tranquilizer. I felt heavy, despite the way my heart thundered violently in my chest and I was vaguely aware of Caleb's tortured, hoarse voice above me.

  "What do you mean?" Caleb asked desperately, disbelief flooding into his voice. "How can it just be gone? I don't understand."

  "Well," Dr. Reynolds cleared his throat painfully. "Unfortunately, premature labor like this isn't uncommon and when that happens at this early stage, there's very little we can do to stop it once the water breaks. I wish I could tell you the exact reason..."

  At this point, I knew I was better off just tuning out the rest of this terrible conversation. I didn't want to hear any more. I couldn't hear any more. Now, there was just this heaviness weighing down inside me and I didn't know how much more of this shit I could take. There was just nothing now. Nothing but emptiness.

  After the nurse pumped me with some pain medication, my body finally caught up to my mind.

  I finally allowed myself to take a deep breath for strength that never came. A beat later, as Dr. Reynolds once again expressed his sympathies, he launched into our 'options' and my heart sunk lower and lower with every second.

  "In circumstances like these, the baby is just too big for us to allow him or her to naturally pass," he started and whatever life that was left in me withered away. "We have several options: the first is to allow labor to continue. You're already dilated several centimeters, so the delivery would be fairly quick. After an epidural, you wouldn't feel any pain and in most cases, it's one push and it's over."