by Gina Azzi
"Morning," I say, sliding her my driver's license for identification. After signing in, divulging my past record, and confirming that I am here to visit my father, Darren Kane, I'm led to another room to wait for the security check.
Sitting with a group of people of all ages, all ethnicities, and religions, with varied life experiences, it's funny how much we all have in common in this moment. Everyone wears an expression filled with nerves and anxiety, underlined by hope and a glimmer of longing to see their loved ones. Kids clutch colorful drawings on construction paper tightly in their fists. One man counts out his singles and quarters, probably to make sure he has enough change for the vending machine.
"Group B." An officer calls out, walking over to our section as we all stand, quietly forming a line as we're led to the metal detectors.
After we're all cleared, we remain in a cafeteria-style room to sit and wait for the inmates to arrive.
Within minutes, I spot him. His hands are cuffed in front of his waist and his hair shaved nearly to his scalp. His eyes are dark and humorless, like mine, and his expression is severe. I frown, wondering if this is what I'm going to look like in twenty-something years. God, I hope not.
"What're you doing here?" He practically sneers as he takes the chair across from me. He nods at the guard standing to his side, and the guard backs up a few feet, but his eyes never leave my father.
"How're you doing?" I ask instead.
"How do you think?"
I nod slowly, absorbing his shitty attitude and reminding myself that the man who once read me bedtime stories and schooled me in the proper way to dunk a cookie in a glass of milk no longer exists. The man before me, the hardened, selfish, hateful man in front of me is who my father is now.
"You're going to be a grandfather."
He snorts, the sound loud and harsh. "Who the fuck you knock up?"
"My girl. We're going to have a baby." I keep my voice quiet, but there's an edge to my tone that I know Darren hears as a small smile lifts the left side of his mouth, the same way Carter's does. As much as I want to punch Darren in the face for insinuating my girl is some trash I could care less about, I know what he wants more than anything is a reaction from me. I fight to keep my features neutral, my expression bored.
"Congratulations." His voice is dry and empty.
Around us, little kids squeal and family members exchange quick hugs and tearful reunions. But for Darren and me, this tense dance border-lining on a power struggle to maintain our cool is as good as it gets.
"I came to tell you that I've hired a team of lawyers. I'm going to clear my name, so my son or daughter doesn't have to live with having a parent with a record the same way Carter, Jax, Daisy, and I did."
A low, humorless laugh whooshes out of his nose as he shakes his head, knocking gently against the table. "You're pretty funny, Denver, you know that?"
I don't say anything, continuing to wait for him to get to his point.
"You think I don't know about you and Daisy's friend? I know everything." He points to his chest. "I have eyes everywhere. I'll hand it to you and Carter; y'all did good finding girls with money. But don't forget where you came from. You'll always be a bottom feeder, and your kid is half you, so that's not saying too much for his future, yeah?"
I bite down hard on my tongue to keep from lashing out.
"There's no evidence that links anyone but you to that robbery. You already served the time. What the fuck does it matter now?"
"I'm innocent."
He snorts again. "You're anything but innocent, Den."
"I just came to give you a head's up."
He gives a slow nod, his eyes narrowing at me once he realizes I'm not dropping this. "All right." He glances at the clock, as if he has somewhere to be. "You do this, go against me, go against the Club, and it's not gonna end good for you. Or Sierra Begay."
I stiffen the moment her name leaves his mouth and he laughs, this time with more humor.
"A New York painter, isn't she? Lives in a penthouse on Park?"
I swallow thickly, a lump forming in my throat, unsure of what to say next. I hate that my father always seems to be one step ahead of me, but I shouldn't be surprised. He's a sneaky fucker, and he has been for a long, long time.
"Drop this bullshit, leave the past in the past, and I'm sure my grandson will be born healthy and without any complications," he says quietly, leaning forward to catch my eyes with his.
The dark depths of his black eyes are bottomless, devoid of any real emotion except hatred.
"You should let her go. I hear Scotland is a beautiful country. Not that I'll ever see it, but I'm sure Sierra and the kid will be better off without you. What the hell are you, a guy with no degree, no skills, and no future, going to provide for a girl who could hold the world in her hand?" He raises his eyebrows. "How are you going to support a kid? On what salary? With what future?" He smiles at me, a frightening expression on him. "You're a lot more like me than you think, Den. Why do you think I tried to train you? To bring you into Club life? You could have been someone, done something with your life. Something your kid could be proud of. But now," says, his smile widening, "now you're nothing. And deep down, you know it. So drop this stupid idea. Let your girl and kid go; let them have a real shot at life. And keep doing whatever the hell it is you do all day."
I lean closer to my father, making sure our eyes are connected so he can see all the hatred I feel for him when I tell him my next words. “Fuck you, Darren.” I say quietly, my voice hard as steel. “Don’t ever speak about my girl or kid again. In fact, I never want to hear her name come out of your mouth again. Don’t forget, you’re in here.” I gesture to our surroundings. “The real world is out there. And this Club you speak so highly of doesn’t need you anymore. You’re not worth anything to them. Get the fuck off your pedestal and remember that I can make your life in here a lot more difficult than it is now. And I will if I have to.” I stand, my limbs shaky from the rage radiating through me, beating in my blood like lava.
"Have a nice life, Darren. I hope you only see the inside of this building for the rest of it." I rap my knuckles twice against the table to signal the end of our conversation, and then I turn around to leave.
“Denver.” His voice rasps out and I stop, not bothering to turn around and face him. “I take it back. I don’t care what you do or don’t do regarding your record. Just know I’ll have eyes on your girl and the baby either way. I guess we’ll see what the future holds.”
I see red at his words and more than anything, I want to turn around and knock his teeth down his throat until he chokes on them. But knowing I can’t do that, especially in here, I force myself to walk steadily out of the prison. It isn’t until I’m back in my car that I take in the shaking of my hands, the anger thrumming through my veins, causing my body to vibrate. It takes me three attempts to shove the key into the ignition and another five minutes to pull out of the parking lot and point the SUV in the direction of Georgia.
But the entire drive back to Ashby County, Darren's words play like a loop in my mind.
Could he hurt Sierra and our baby? Does he have eyes on her right now?
My blood turns to ice at the thought. And then the ice cracks because deep down, I know he’s capable of it. He’s capable of anything.
How could Sierra and our baby not be better off without me?
21
Sierra
I haven't heard from Denver since we talked before he went to see his dad. It's been one day and I’m starting to worry. He’s supposed to fly back home tomorrow and I’m questioning if he’s still coming.
I've texted him several times and left a voicemail but still...silence. My nerves are starting to get the best of me, anxiety spiking in my chest. Did something happen to him? Is he okay? Did something happen with his dad?
I don't know much about Darren Kane, other than he's a thorn in the side of all the Kane kids. He's hurt them, repeatedly, and he makes my absent
father look like a saint. Knowing all the hurt I feel by my own dad's rejection, I can't imagine how Denver or Daisy feel when trying to build fences with their father.
But still, I should have heard something, anything, from Denver by now.
Mom left this morning and I’m relieved she’s not here to see me like this. My fingers are twitchy, and my head is all over the place. I hate the worry snagging my heart, the constant loop of questions and doubts playing in my mind on repeat.
Something is wrong. I don't know what, but I know that something is definitely wrong. Women have an intuition about these things. That cold chill that settles in your chest and seeps through your bones, making you question everything, recount all your past conversations and actions, looking for a sign to explain the sudden radio silence from your person. It all points to them pulling away, putting space between you and him, pushing you into a corner.
It all means something bad is coming.
Huffing, I slide my laptop off the couch and onto the coffee table. I need to get out of the apartment, clear my head, quiet my mind. Lacing up a pair of sneakers, I decide to go for a walk, an aimless stroll that will allow me time to window shop, grab a hot chocolate, and distract myself from staring at the time on my phone.
"Hi. How's the mama-to-be?" Daisy answers on the first ring and I breathe out some of the panic coursing through my veins at the sound of her voice.
"Dais."
"What's wrong?" Her tone changes immediately and I try to keep my stupid tears from slipping out.
"Is Denver okay? Is he home?"
"Yeah, he's fine. He got back yesterday. Why?"
"I haven't—he hasn't, called me." I admit, wincing at how stupid the words sound once they're out in the open. Like I'm Denver's keeper and he has to share every detail of his life with me now that we're a couple and having a baby.
But Daisy's silence lets me know that she sees the issue in this scenario.
"Has he reached out at all? A text?"
"Nothing." I almost-wail.
"That idiot!"
"Did something happen?"
"He's been in a foul mood since he got home, but I just assumed it was from seeing Darren. I don't know him that well, but it seems dear old dad can piss anyone off."
"But he's okay?"
"Yeah. Physically, he's fine."
"I just, I feel like something's wrong. Something shifted and now, I don't know, I'm worried. And it's not the crazy pregnancy hormones; it's real. He's avoiding me and I don't know why."
"Okay, okay. Let me talk to him. I'll call you back. Sierra," she sighs, her voice wavering slightly, "whatever happens, you're my best friend, okay?"
I nod, squeezing my eyes shut tight as the tears threaten to fall. Whatever happens? Does she think Denver's trying to cut me loose? Forget all about the plan to be in New York and raise our baby? Is he having second thoughts?
"I'll call you later, okay?" Daisy's voice is gentle, and I know that she knows I hear her and just can't speak. "Love you."
"Yeah," I manage to squeak out. I hang up the phone and let the tears come.
Cradling my growing belly, I take comfort in the tiny fluttering of my little peanut.
No matter what happens, I'm going to be the best mama I can for my baby.
At least I know that much.
The night is long and dark, and time seems to stall as I sit and stare out the window. Little by little, night fades and the sky lightens. I haven't heard back from Daisy. I also haven't heard anything from Denver.
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't do much of anything but sit and worry. And think. My mind jumps from one thought to the next with a million different scenarios and explanations.
Around dawn, my brother texts to remind me that my window on James's offer is closing, and I need to decide one way or the other. He also says he’s happy to hear about my visit with Mom and the art gallery and he understands that I’ve been busy but he misses me. His words make my eyes well with tears as I realize how much I miss him too. I really need to tell him about the peanut.
I sigh, suddenly wondering if Denver and I should move to Scotland? At least there, we’ll be surrounded by family. Now that Mom is gone and Lachlan is messaging me and Denver is being weird, I feel a wave of homesickness that I can’t shake. Being alone in New York right now seems hard, lonely, and while I trust Denver, the past forty-eight hours have shaken my confidence in my ability to rely on him.
My eyes grow heavy and sleep beckons when the shrill ringing of my cell phone startles me awake. I grab it quickly and relief floods my bones when Denver's name appears on the screen.
"Hello," I answer quickly.
"Sierra." His voice is quiet, gruff, and distant in a way I can't explain. It's just...he sounds off.
"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned for him, relieved that he’s finally calling.
He clears his throat, mumbles a few colorful curse words. "I went to see my dad."
"I know. You were supposed to call me when you got back."
"Yeah, well, I've had a lot on my mind."
I roll my eyes. Like I haven't? I've just wasted two whole days sitting here and worrying about him and his conversation with his father. And how whatever the heck happened is going to affect his flying up tomorrow and coming home to me.
"I don't think I'm going to be able to clear my name," he admits, an edge to his voice.
"Why not?"
"It's just not going to happen."
"Is that what the lawyers said?" I wait for him to offer me concrete reasons why this is no longer an option.
He's quiet for several seconds before he says words that turn my life upside down and rip apart the future I’ve been envisioning for us. "I think you should take the job offer in Scotland. And go home."
My heart stops in my chest for a full beat before galloping to a start again. "What?" I hiss, anger and frustration getting the best of me. My temper flares as I wait for him to give me something, anything, to fight back against. A real reason.
"It's for the best. I'd just hold you back."
"Denver, you're not making any goddamn sense. I don’t even know what you’re saying right now. We’re in this together. Me and You. I love you. We’re having a baby. And now what? You have one conversation with a man you haven't talked to in years, and you're suddenly questioning everything? But you can't give me one good reason why you're questioning us?"
He's silent, and his lack of a response fuels my fire.
"You're being a coward!" I shout at him. "If you don't want to be with me, just tell me that. Don't cut yourself out of our baby's life because of it. Don't make me promises one day and then renege on them all the next. Talk to me! Tell me what the hell is going on," I practically beg him, my voice pleading and whiny and not like my voice at all.
But instead of his angry and emotional response, he sighs heavily, as if it's a massive burden to have to answer my questions. "This is for the best. I'm removing myself from the picture for you. For the baby. You just have to trust me."
I laugh, loud and obnoxious and sarcastic. "Trust you? That's rich. How the hell am I supposed to manage that when you tell me you’re coming back in three days and then you don’t come home? When you register for prenatal classes with me and then just decide not to show up for any of them? What just happened to the future we were figuring out together?”
"I just, I can't do it. I won't do this to you."
"Do what?"
"Take the job, Sierra. You'll be better off. So will the baby. And maybe one day, you'll understand that. Take care."
Take care?
He hangs up the phone.
Hangs up on me.
I sit in shock and stare at my phone screen for several long seconds before tossing it on the coffee table. Looking around the apartment wildly, as if it's going to magically provide me with some answers, I drag myself off the couch and take a long, hot shower. I run through all of my conversations with Denver, think about our past few wee
ks together, desperate for a clue or sign that would explain how this happened. That would show me he was unhappy, that I should have seen this coming. But there are none. I can’t come up with one freaking reason to explain why he’s doing this to me. To us.
I cry. A lot. Ugly crying with sobbing and shaking shoulders and hiccups.
And when I'm done, I swipe my hand across the steamy mirror and stare at my puffy eyes and the bags underneath them. But then my eyes snag on the slight swell of my lower abdomen, and I know I can't dwell on this, can't dwell on him. I need to make smart choices, sound decisions because it's not just me anymore. It's me and peanut.
And I don't need Denver Kane.
I don't need anyone except myself.
Around eight in the morning, my hair twisted in a towel, my body clad in a bathrobe, I finally succumb to sleep. And I'm grateful that it drags me under like quicksand. I don't dream or think or wonder. I sleep, deep and soundly, until four the following afternoon.
When my eyes finally open and the throb in my chest is a duller version of yesterday, I pick up my phone, scan my messages and missed calls, and begin forming a plan for my own future. Without Denver Kane.
22
Denver
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Daisy's voice is furious as she storms into the kitchen, the swinging door bouncing hard off the wall.
I look up slowly from my bowl of Cheerios. I shove the spoon into my mouth and continue to watch her as she paces next to the kitchen island.
"I knew this would happen!" She throws her hands in the air. "I knew you would hurt her. I never imagined you'd be this stupid or selfish about it, but I knew you would let her down."
Daisy's words pierce my heart as she confirms everything Darren said the other day. I'd never be good enough for Sierra and our baby. I'd just let them down. Better now than in five or ten years, right? This way, my kid doesn't even have the chance to grow attached to me, to feel the void when I mess up in the future. It's better this way.
