by Ada Stone
“Hey!” Her mother’s soft voice tore her from her thoughts.
“Mom.” Belle jumped from her chair and watched her mom’s bed being wheeled back in place. The nurses checked all the monitors and IVs and left them. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. They stuck me in a tube and left me there for an hour. I think I slept.” She smiled, but it was a paper thin smile. Everything about her mom was thin. She’d lost too much weight; her hair didn’t make it past the first round of chemo. The once vibrant blue eyes had been replaced with somber gray tones.
“You hungry?”
“Nah.” She waved a hand through the air, then closed her eyes for a moment.
“You want to sleep?”
“No.” Her eyes flew open. “I want you to tell me how you’re feeling.” She poked a frail finger into Belle’s belly. “How’s that baby treating you?”
“Still kicking out anything I eat.” Belle gave a little laugh. When she told her mom about the baby, she had been worried she’d be upset. Without a husband or even a boyfriend, it wasn’t exactly the traditional thing to do. But her mom had been thrilled.
“That’ll last a few more weeks, then you’ll be okay.” Her hand fell to her side, and she closed her eyes again. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so tired.”
“No, Mom. It’s fine. I have to get some groceries and wash my scrubs for work tomorrow. I’ll check back in this afternoon, okay? Maybe after dinner?”
“Of course. Go. You can wait ’til tomorrow to come back, baby? You don’t have to spend your whole time in here with me.”
“After dinner,” Belle insisted and gave her mom a kiss on the forehead before she headed out.
As she headed toward the elevator, she saw the same two men who’d walked past her mom’s room standing outside a room a few doors down. Taking a moment to check their patches, she confirmed what she already knew. They were in Michael’s club.
“They’re bringing him up now. No, he’s fine, just needed a few stitches. I don’t know, overnight observation or some shit. Got hit in the head.” One of the men was talking on his cell phone and not being very quiet about it either. She walked past, keeping her head down to avoid their eyes as best she could. They wouldn’t know who she was even if she introduced herself to them but no need to test the waters.
The elevator doors slid open just as she reached the call button, and a bed was pushed out. She stepped to the side to give them room, and her eyes swept over the patient in the bed.
Michael.
A thick bandage wrapped around his head, and she could see bruising and scrapes on his chin. His eyes caught hers, but she looked away, diving into the elevator as soon as the carriage was empty. He raised his hand into the air. Did he call her? What did he say? His friends were around the bed, and he was still gesturing toward her. She slammed her hand into the elevator buttons to make the doors close, to get her out of there.
He was hurt. Dangerous. She’d made the right decision. Stay away from him.
But was he okay?
# # #
The pain in Michael’s head woke him. The memory of seeing Belle recognize him and hide when he’d been wheeled past her kept him awake.
For three months, he’d forced himself to keep her from his mind. Almost daily, he cursed himself for not getting her phone number. He’d given her his, putting all the control into her hands. It didn’t sit well with him. Control was what kept him going, kept him sharp.
Once he was settled in his room, he told Tretton, the prospect in charge of hanging outside his door until he was released in the morning, to find out what room her mother was in. He couldn’t remember the name, but that was his problem to figure it out.
Her mother was either still in the hospital or back in. Either way, people who weren’t seriously ill didn’t spend so much time in the hospital. And was she carrying his baby? He hadn’t been able to get a good look at her, other than to realize who she was. The fucking pain meds they’d forced on him in the ER made him too groggy for anything more.
Realizing he would be getting another chance to see her, he almost forgave the fucking prick who jumped him. Jerry’s wounds had healed, but the club didn’t stop looking for the assholes who shot him. Being the captain, it was up Michael to dispense any sort of justice that was called for.
Except on his way to the bar where the Devil’s Nest hung out, two of them jumped out of an alley. Michael and two members took them on, but he hadn’t seen the fucking knife. One jab to his side had him stumbling, and a well-placed kick to his ribs had him falling. If it weren’t for the fucking truck parked in that alley, he wouldn’t have hit his damn head on the bumper, and he wouldn’t have lost consciences. Jimmy and Peter were fine, a few scrapes, but they gave better than they got. The prick who stabbed him ran off, according to them, as soon as he saw his name and rank on his kutte. He nearly pissed himself and ran off. Pussy.
But he’d been able to see Belle. To make sure she was doing okay. He spent the rest of the nigh drifting in and out of sleep. He’d had a dream, at one point, of Belle cradling a blanket in her arms, rocking in a chair on the porch of his cabin. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and her face lit up when she saw him walk out onto the porch, until he reached for her. Then she shot out of the chair and ran down the steps, yelling at him to get away, telling him that he didn’t care about the baby; that he would never care about the baby. He kept trying to get to her, to reach for the baby in her arms, telling her she wasn’t right. He wanted the baby. He wanted her. But every step he took toward her, she retreated another. It went on like that until a beeping from one of the machines in the room woke him.
A nurse walked in and checked the monitors. “Sorry,” she mumbled before pressing some buttons and leaving him alone again. A cold layer of sweat covered his brow, and his heart beat as though he’d run down the hall and back. He wanted the baby. How could he have ever thought he could just walk away from something like that?
Fuck ’em and leave ’em was one thing, but knock her up and walk away? No. That wasn’t him. First, he’d need to find out if she was pregnant, and then he was going to make her his.
# # #
The discharge papers arrived just after Michael managed to get down the mush they called eggs. He had to eat before they’d let him go, so he humored them and shoveled in the slop. Now he was free. The IV was out, he’d changed into his real clothes, and was ready to get the hell out. His side ached from the shallow wound, but his head was what throbbed the most. A few stitches, but he was fine.
“Is my bike in the lot?” Michael asked Tretton.
“No. Prez said to leave you the truck. He didn’t want you on a bike today.”
“That asshole.” Michael grimaced. He wouldn’t be able to ride with that pain anyway, at least not comfortably. He’d give it a day. No more than that before he had that beast between his legs again.
“I’ll wait for you, drive you back.” Tretton nodded.
“How you going to do that if you have your bike?”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
Just as Michael was sending him on his way, the elevator opened and Belle stepped out. She caught his gaze immediately, and her face flushed red. Michael shoved Tretton in the direction of the exit and crossed his arms. He’d wait for her to come to him.
She looked around, planning her escape maybe, but eventually gave in and walked toward him. When she reached him, she gave him a little wave and tried to walk around, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Belle.”
“Michael.” She gave a courteous smile. Her eyes weren’t as bright as before, and she looked a bit sullen.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just visiting my mom.” She pointed to a room behind him. “You’re hurt.” Her brow wrinkled when she took notice of the stitches on his forehead.
“A scratch. Nothing.” He touched the stitches. Burned like hell, but he’d had worse before. “How are you feeling?” He tried not to stare at her
stomach, but he couldn’t help taking a little look. The flowing blouse she wore hid her belly.
“I’m good.” She nodded, eyeing the room she wanted to escape into. In a heartbeat, her smile dropped, her face soured, and she darted around him for the door. He followed her into another patient room and right into the bathroom she bolted into. Bent over the toilet, she emptied the contents of her stomach.
He stood beside her, rubbing her back and holding her hair away from her face. He had his answer. Once she was finished, she sagged against him.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then pulled some toilet paper from the roll to wipe her mouth. He waited until she was standing completely on her own, then went to the sink to get some water with a little paper cup stashed there.
“Thanks,” she said again, taking a sip of the water.
“You’re pregnant.” He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. The confirmation sent an explosion of pride and joy through him. He was going to be a father.
“Yes.” She nodded, then gave him a wry look. “It might not be—”
“It is.” He took the cup from her when she finished.
“You can’t possibly know that.” She straightened her shirt and took a deep breath.
“I do.”
“It doesn’t matter. Remember?” She moved around him to get a glance at herself in the mirror. She tried to run her fingers through her hair but looked just as frustrated with herself when she was done.
“It does matter. I was thinking—”
“Whatever it is, no. I told you, I’m doing this on my own. I won’t ask anything of you.”
He stepped toward her, effectively backing her up against the bathroom wall. “You aren’t asking. I’m telling you. You got my baby in your belly, and I’m not walking away from that.”
She opened her mouth to respond—with narrowed eyes and tense jaw, it was probably a strong response—but she was cut off by someone calling her name outside the door. “My mom.” She grumbled and shoved away from him, exiting the bathroom. He followed her into the room to find an older woman, frail and sickly, laying in the bed with two doctors standing beside her. The doctors eyed him with curiosity but kept their mouths shut.
“Belle?” her mom asked, looking directly at Michael.
“A friend, Mom. What’s going on?” She ignored Michael and turned to the doctors.
Michael listened as they went on about her mother’s prognosis, her treatment, and the size of a tumor. They babbled on about insurance and non-covered procedures and out-of-pocket expenses. Michael kept his focus on Belle. Her muscles tensed the longer the conversation went on, and by the end of it, she was wringing her hands together so hard he was afraid she’d hurt herself.
He had stepped behind her at some point and rested his hands on her hips. Just a signal that he was there. She could lean back on him, and he’d support her. Whatever was going on in that room, she was being stripped of hope. He could see it in her eyes.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered to the doctors when they finished answering her questions. They both nodded and walked out of the room, barely even acknowledging the patient in the bed.
“Belle, I didn’t understand half of what those two were talking about, except I heard them talk about my insurance not covering something. What won’t they cover?”
Belle stepped forward, taking her mother’s thin hand in her own and put on a smile that anyone in the world could see was fake. “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Just a phone call. It will be fine.”
Her mother's pale eyes of narrowed. She didn’t believe her either. “I may be sick and half dead, but I’m not stupid. They said they already talked with the insurance.”
“Mom, don’t get all worked up. I’ll take care of it, okay?”
Soft eyes met his when she looked past her daughter and focused on Michael. “Who’s your friend?” She changed the subject for the moment with a very good question. He had a bruise on his chin, stitches in his forehead, and was dressed in his dark jeans and leather kutte. He could only imagine what she thought of him in comparison to her clean-cut daughter standing right in front of him.
“This is Michael.” Belle waved a hand behind her at him but didn’t bother looking back.
“He’s a big one,” her mother scoffed and closed her eyes.
Michael laughed at that, but Belle’s back straightened even more, a feat he didn’t think possible.
“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. Belle has told me you aren’t feeling well. I came across her in the hallway here, and she became ill. I followed her in here to be sure she was okay.”
Her eyes opened again, snapping to her daughter’s face. “Morning sickness again?” She reached up and patted Belle’s hand. “It will pass, I promise.’
“You’ve been telling me that for weeks now.” Belle forced a laugh.
Her mother eyed Michael again. “You take care of her for me. I can’t do much right now, but she’s going to need help. She’s going to be tired and cranky. She takes on too much.”
“I’m working on it, ma’am.” He nodded, feeling Belle try to pull out of his grip but unable to.
“Good.” She nodded and closed her eyes. “I’m tired. So damn tired.”
“Get some sleep. I’m going to get some coffee and make those calls.” Belle pulled up the blanket a little higher and tucked her mother in. The woman was asleep before Belle even turned around to face Michael. “You can go now. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“Come with me.” He gripped her hand hard—not giving her any hope that she could get away—and pulled her into the hallway. Once they were out of the room, he spun around and glared down at her. “Your mother is fucking dying.”
Her eyes widened at his accusatory tone. “She’s not going to die. I won’t let it happen.” She kept her voice low but firm.
“You can’t take care of this on your own. Those doctors said without that treatment or surgery or whatever, she doesn’t have good odds. The insurance won’t cover it.”
“What does any of this have to do with you?” Belle yanked her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest, plumping up her breasts.
“You’re obviously pregnant. You are having morning sickness, and you are exhausted. I don’t know a shit-ton about medicine, but I do know that if you don’t have insurance, the bills just pile higher and higher. For something like they were talking about, we aren’t talking hundreds or thousands of dollars, we are talking tens of thousands of dollars.” The muscles in his neck pulled tighter with the pout in her expression. She didn’t like being talked to like this, being scolding. Well, tough shit. Reality sucked, but it was real. You couldn’t hide from it. You had to face that shit head on if you were going to get through it. “I was wrong. I’m not walking away from this baby.”
“It’s not yours.” She gritted her teeth, shoving him hard but not enough to move him. She wiggled around him and stormed off to the elevators. He grunted when her hand pushed his side but stalked off after her anyway.
“Like hell.” He growled and stepped into the elevator with her when it opened. A glare at the nurse trying to step in with them kept her out, and he slammed his hand against the button that would close the door.
She scoffed at him and pointed at the doors as they closed. “Really? And you think you’re fit to be a father?”
“I don’t want to talk about this with other people around, sweetheart, but if you want strangers to hear how you asked me to knock you up after knowing me for ten minutes, then sure, let’s let them all in.” He stepped over to the buttons again to press the stop, but her soft hand on his arm stopped him.
“No. No, you’re right.” When he turned to look at her, she moved away from him and covered her face with both her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. The burning pain in his side would have to wait; she needed comforting more than he did. “
Just stop being so damn stubborn.”
“I don’t even know you. How the hell can I have a kid with you? What the fuck was I thinking?” She yanked out of his arms and cowered in the corner of the elevator. “You’re in a gang!”
