“Yes, Mother.” I laughed.
“Don’t you ‘yes, Mother’ me.” She looked around to see if either of our families were nearby. Seeing the coast was clear, she whispered, “Have you told them yet?”
“Shhh, please be quiet! No, I haven’t. There hasn’t really been a good time.” I knew I looked guilty, because I was very guilty.
Since Colton had been my only sexual encounter in… well, forever, I was a little over eight weeks along. Still early, but I knew I would have to tell them before there was no hiding it. My stomach still seemed as flat as ever, but I knew that wouldn’t last.
Thankfully my morning sickness had tapered off after I figured out the magic of eating a few saltines in the morning before even getting out of bed. It helped settle my stomach so I could feel normal.
“Steph, there isn’t going to be a good time. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to CB with me for a while? Maybe you can find a job there, and you can stay with me.” She meant well, but I knew I couldn’t run away and hide from my family forever. Eventually, I had to tell them.
“No, I need to tell them, and I think I’ll need to be with my mom for this. I just pray they don’t hate me or disown me.” My face began to crumple.
Becca reached over and gave me a hug as tears trickled down my cheeks. Her red hair tickled my nose, and I reached up to brush it back. Of course that made me think of how Colton had brushed my hair out of my face with such tenderness. With that thought, I began to cry harder, and she squeezed me tighter.
“None of that now, girls. You’re acting like you won’t be just three hours apart. Becca can come up and stay with us any time.” My dad walked over, hugging us both. He was still handsome even at fifty, with dark brown hair going gray at the temples.
My mom came through the door, walked over, and kissed me and Becca each on the cheek. She was still gorgeous, but to me, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world.
People told me I looked a lot like her. Tall, lithe, blonde, bright blue eyes. She was a few years younger than Dad but easily passed for a woman years younger. My dad looked over to her with love shining in his hazel eyes.
I wondered if I would ever find the love my parents had, three children and many years later. Or would it forever be only me and my little one? The thought brought a new wave of tears.
The book I’d bought at the used book store said I’d feel more emotional than usual due to fluctuating hormones, but why did I want to cry all the time? Ugh!
“Are you about ready to head out? Your brothers are securing the last of your boxes in the back of the truck, sweetheart. I figured we could grab a bite to eat with Becca and her family and then hit the road.”
I kissed my mom on the cheek. She was amazing, and I was so thankful for her intuition in knowing I needed a little more time with Becca.
“Yes, that sounds amazing!”
Becca went to tell her parents, and I walked to my room to gather the last few things I had piled up in the corner. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one had followed me, I tucked the pregnancy book in my backpack. Heart racing, I was thankful that no one had come in and grabbed any of my things I’d set aside there.
Yikes! That would have been a great way to let everyone know. “Oh, look, Stephanie has a pregnancy book and some prenatal vitamins here with her notebook and makeup. Wonder what she has that for?”
Yeah. Not so much.
Taking one last look around, I slung my backpack over my shoulder. No, the place wasn’t much, but it’d been my first real place. Becca and I had a lot of memories, laughs, and tears there.
Sighing, I took in the worn carpet. The sunlight streamed through the dented blinds and highlighted the dust motes floating through the air like tiny snowflakes.
It was time to start a new chapter of my life, one that would include a few major changes and alterations to my previous plans and dreams.
January 2014
“OHHHHHHHH MY GAWWWWWWD! ARGHHHHH!” Growling, I squeezed my mother’s hand, crushing her fingers in a death grip. She never once complained; she just kept holding a cool cloth to my forehead and speaking in a soothing tone as she encouraged me to breathe slowly.
My hair was soaked with sweat and plastered to my head. I knew I looked awful as I tucked my head down to my chest, my face burning hot and screwed up in a painful grimace.
“There you go. Keep pushing, Miss Quinn. Your baby’s crowning, and with one more push, the head should be out. You’re doing great,” the nurse encouraged me in her ever-calm voice as she monitored my progress and all the machines beeped around me.
Did these bitches take classes in that ridiculously calm voice they used? I wanted to kick her in the face. She wasn’t the one shitting out a watermelon.
“How are things going in here? Are we ready to have this baby?” As the doctor walked in, taking over the nurse’s spot between my spread knees, all smiles and sunshine, I wanted to kick her in the face too.
What was coming over me? It was like a demon was inhabiting my body. Granted, I was tired as hell, and I’d been in hard labor for over seven hours. They said things were progressing very well for my first child.
Yeah, fuck them. They weren’t the ones being split in two.
Very well, my ass!
As the contraction slowly ebbed, I fell back in exhaustion. Sweat poured down my face, burning my eyes until my mom caught it with the cool rag.
Grabbing her hand, I looked up at her in desperation. “Mom, I can’t do this. I don’t know what I was thinking. Get me the epidural. Or just make it stop. I’m not ready! Please!”
My mom gave me a small smile and kissed my cheek. She squeezed my hand lightly in encouragement. “You’re doing great. It won’t be long now, sweetheart. Your baby will be in your arms, and this will be a distant memory. I still cannot believe you didn’t want to know if it’s a boy or a girl, but we’ll know soon enough, now won’t we? I’m here for you, baby.” She smiled at me again, and I felt the next contraction building with a quickness.
It was like a band was tightening from my hips, meeting in the middle of my stomach. Gripping the railing and my mom’s hand, I screamed through gritted teeth, leaned forward, nearly touching my chin to the center of my chest, and pushed.
“There we go! Look at that beautiful head of dark hair and those sweet little cheeks!”
I rolled my eyes as the doctor suctioned the baby’s nose and spoke of a child I couldn’t see over the still ginormous lump of my belly.
Asshole, I thought.
“Next push should have this little one out, Miss Quinn!”
How are all of these people so damn cheery? Yeah, I’m gonna kick them all in the face by the end of it. Stupid fuckers!
One more brief respite and the next contraction hit. Bearing down, I pushed like the doctor told me, the whole time afraid I would split in two at my crotch.
Surely this baby isn’t going to fit! There is no way.
Shoving the Negative Nancy in my head away, I pushed. And I prayed for a miracle that the giant bowling ball of a child was going to fit through the donut-sized opening without ripping it asunder.
I heard the lusty cry of my precious baby right after the fluid-like slip of its body from mine. Suddenly, the pain eased.
“It’s a girl, Miss Quinn!”
As they placed her naked body on my bare chest, I peered into her big blue eyes. Meticulously, I counted her fingers and toes. Then I took in the full pink cheeks and pursed rosebud mouth, falling more in love with this exquisite little miracle with every breath she took.
I barely noticed the last of the contractions expelling the placenta that had nourished my little angel. She solemnly blinked her beautiful eyes at me before she smiled, revealing two perfect dimples, which hit me like a punch to the gut.
She was her daddy’s little girl for sure, and he would never know.
I cried for the memories that would never be and for the gift I had been given.
I cried for the unexpected level of amazing love I had for this one tiny person.
“So what name do you have picked out for your little girl?” the nurse asked with a bright smile as she gathered my tiny bundle to clean her up.
She was so patient and kind, and I couldn’t believe that minutes ago I’d wanted to kick her in the face. It left me feeling like shit, and I hoped she hadn’t been able to read my mind.
“Remington Amelia… I want to call her Remi.” My thoughts drifted to her father and how I would have named her Colton after him if she’d been a boy. Since she was a sweet little girl, I figured Remington was a close second to Colt, which was close to her daddy’s name. My smile was bittersweet as I imagined how he would look holding her.
My mother was the next to hold her after the nurse brought her back over. When she placed a soft kiss on her forehead, it caused my little Remi to root around.
She laughed as she handed her to me, saying, “I think she’s ready for you, Mommy.” I pulled my gaze from the window, where a soft January snow was falling, and reached for my angel.
With the guidance of the nurse, I situated her, then felt the first tug at my breast from her tiny mouth. I knew there could be no greater or stronger love in the world than I had for this little precious baby.
Lost in thought, I softly ran my fingers through her silky hair and sent out a message on a prayer, thanking her daddy for the gift he’d unknowingly bestowed upon me.
January 2014
JERKING AWAKE, I TRIED to shake off the lingering nightmare. It was always the same. Horror on repeat of the last ride in the Humvee Mason and I were traveling in with our interpreter and a fresh-faced young driver. A young man who, unfortunately, would never bless his family with his youthful optimism again.
Panic was trying to eat me alive. I tried to catch my breath and slow my heart down before it had my nurse running in again.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I fought to stop the tears and erase the sightless eyes of the interpreter and our scout from my vision. Ineffectively, I covered my ears, as if it would block the screams of my spotter, my best friend, from my ears.
It seemed nothing could erase the coppery taste and crimson stains of the blood covering us all, and I relived it every fucking night. The things I wanted to remember were fuzzy half the time, but that shit… that shit was burned into my head.
As the room slowly came back into focus after I opened my eyes, the air seemed different. Like suddenly I wasn’t alone, or something had shifted in the universe. Shaking off the strange feeling, I reached for my water pitcher.
I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d been told I was lucky to be alive.
Honestly, I didn’t know how they figured that. I hurt every day. All day.
The nights were worse though. Because the nights held the nightmares.
Mason and I had barely survived the blast, but we’d lost two good men with families who loved, and now grieved, them. The thought made me nauseous.
Why had I survived when I had no one? It didn’t make any fucking sense. Why me, God?
Except, at the same time that I cried out for Him, I had my doubts there even was a God. How could there be? No God should allow people who had so much to live for die, yet allow someone with my sins, and no one to mourn me, live.
I’d been at BAMC—Brooke Army Medical Center—for about a month. All thanks to the IED explosion along a seemingly deserted road in Afghanistan.
The first several weeks, starting with the initial stabilization by the flight medics, then the transfer to Landstuhl, Germany, and then my transfer here, were a blur of semiconsciousness.
All I remembered clearly were the screams. Not that I could be sure if they were my friends’ or my own. And the smell. Fuck, that smell would haunt me for the rest of my days.
I remembered blackness and praying it would swallow me.
But most of all, I remembered the blonde hair, blue eyes, and gorgeous warm smile of a girl who had kept me going through everything.
Motherfucker, I clung fiercely to those memories.
I couldn’t believe how one night had embedded her so deeply in my psyche that she was forever etched in my heart. Christ, I didn’t even know her name because I’d been a selfish, horny bastard who’d only cared about sex that night nearly a year ago.
Back then, I’d arrogantly told myself there was no need since I would never see her again.
Now I’d give anything to have her holding my hand.
God, I’d been so stupid. Such a conceited, self-righteous fuck.
I hated myself more every day.
Because it hurt to lean forward, I blindly reached down beside me, searching through the blanket for my phone. The same one that now sported a cracked screen. And what I repeatedly told myself were mud splatters on the back each and every time I scraped one off.
Opening it, I stared at the picture she’d taken that night of the two of us.
It was after the first of our mind-blowing rounds of the best sex I’d ever experienced. The pale blue sheets were tucked up over her breasts, and we both had flushed cheeks and ridiculous smiles.
There was such happiness captured in that brief moment. It seemed fitting that the crack in the screen ran right between the two of us. Because I wasn’t good enough for her before, and I certainly wasn’t now—scarred and broken, both physically and mentally.
But she’d been my saving grace. The thought of her body held close and intertwined with mine, the smell of her hair, the feel of her lips against mine, and the look of complete satiation on her face. Those things had kept me intact during moments that would have driven some men over the edge of sanity.
For that, I would always hold her in my heart and love her like no other.
Love? Shit. What did I really know of love? Maybe I shouldn’t even say that shit.
The accident happened in December. Mason and I had spent Christmas and New Year’s in the hospital, with me pretty much in a constant haze between drug-induced unconsciousness and surgeries.
His parents had come down over the holidays and stayed in the Fisher House, kind of the military’s version of the Ronald McDonald House. Vaguely, I remembered them visiting my room with Mason.
It was now mid-January, and the world outside my window looked as bleak as I felt. I’d give almost anything to be back in the drug-induced haze I’d been in before.
Better to feel nothing than what I felt then.
Cautiously, I reached up, touching the scar that ran from my temple to my lower jaw. It was still thick and jagged. The doctors told me it would get better with time, but it would always be a reminder of that day.
It wasn’t just my face that was scarred or disfigured in the explosion though. I’d suffered nerve damage, fractures to my skull, left arm, three of my left ribs, and my left leg at the thigh and lower leg.
My left leg now sported enough metal to ensure I would set off every detector in the airport for the rest of my miserable, worthless life. A rod took the place of the center of my femur, and I had enough plates, pins, and screws in the bones of my lower leg to build a parking garage.
They said I was lucky they’d been able to save my leg.
Fuck them.
The daily therapy pissed me off. I hated the pain and the fucking optimism of the stupid fuckers that pushed me to walk and use muscles that I would have been happy to let die.
Mason had healed up pretty well, all things considering. His left side caught the brunt of the explosion as well, but the shemagh scarf he was wearing as a dust mask prevented him from having as many facial lacerations.
Honestly, I was thankful for that, because he was always such a happy fucker. Of the two of us, he was the outgoing one. Mason was a good-hearted guy and deserved to be able to have a chance at happiness.
He did, however, suffer a traumatic brain injury, minor burns, and breaks to both of his lower legs. He
’d since healed, and he used them to walk in my room and pester the shit out of me every day of our recovery.
The asshole had chosen not to re-up when his window opened and was now on terminal leave. The faint scruff growing on his face did little to hide the boyish smile that still remained despite going through hell with me.
He talked nonstop about going home and prospecting for some motorcycle club. I tried not to roll my eyes as he went on about seeing his family and beginning the hang-around, then prospect journey. His excitement was damn near childlike, but I couldn’t share it with him.
Unlike him, I hadn’t wanted to get out. What the fuck did I have to get out for?
That was in the beginning.
Before I realized the extent of my injuries and how my career as a ranger was likely over.
When the doc had brought up a Medical Evaluation Board, I said fuck it. There was no way I’d be happy as a fucking paper-pusher. If I couldn’t have my rifle on an isolated hilltop or other vantage point, what the fuck was the point?
During the MEB process, I’d be stuck there in that worthless shithole and would have to go through therapy for a while.
The doc said if everything went well with the scans and tests they ran, I should be discharged soon and moved over to the Warrior Transition Unit barracks to finish up my treatment on an outpatient basis.
It was probably for the best that my MEB was approved, because I didn’t have it in me to stay in anymore. I wanted out. I’d failed to protect the soldiers under me.
I’d seen more senseless deaths than I could count. I’d killed more piece-of-shit terrorists than anyone else on my team, and yet it didn’t make a difference. They seemed to multiply like fucking rabbits to keep killing as many of my brothers and sisters as they could. I hated those motherfuckers.
Even though air entered and exited my lungs, machines continued beeping around me, and the pain throbbing through the left side of my body told me I was alive, I was dead inside.
I had not a single thing to be alive for. I was a waste of pathetic space in this fucked-up, hate-filled world. I was hate-filled… rotting from the inside out from the empty blackness of my soul.
Demented Sons Series Volume One: Books 1-4 (Demented Sons MC Iowa) Page 5
