Heart Like Mine (Reapers MC: Conroe Chapter, #3)

by Hunter, Bijou

  “Dammit, boy, the ground is fucking muddy,” he grumbles and climbs to his feet.

  “My pop taught me to cheat in fights.”

  Pop shakes out his arms. “I’m going to pound on you good.”

  “From one VP to another, let me share a little info,” I mutter while circling him. “You’re old.”

  Pop doesn’t want to smile, but he loves shit talking. He takes a swipe at me, testing my moves. I easily dodge his attempt.

  Realizing finesse won’t work, he dives for my gut and sends me into the mud. Pop holds me on the ground and slaps me in the face with a hand covered with mud. I yank a gob of soil and toss it in his face.

  Backing off, he wipes his eye and bitches, “You’re going to blind me.”

  “Age is doing that, not me, Grampa,” I mutter, freeing myself from his grip and nearly getting to my feet.

  Pop grabs the back of my jeans and returns me to the mud.

  “No freebies, boy,” he sneers, but I can tell he wants to laugh.

  As I shove him off me, a dog barks. I look up just in time to see Scarlet pointing at us with a hose. The cold water blasts the mud from my face and soaks the rest of me.

  “Get away from my brother!” Scarlet yells and sprays us again.

  Pop tries to use me as a shield against the water. “Dammit, Scarlet!”

  “Let Jack go,” she growls.

  Knowing his daughter well, Pop realizes he might as well give in or else she’ll soak his Harley next. Once he lets go of me, I walk toward my sister.

  “I feel as if there were other ways to handle the situation,” I grumble while squeezing water out of my soaked shirt.

  Scarlet glares at our pop, who stares back with a blank expression. He’s not fooling anyone. My sister’s anger cuts him deep. Though obviously not enough to make him change.

  “Something’s wrong with Georgia, and she won’t tell me what’s going on,” Scarlet says, still glaring at our pop. “Stop fucking around here and comfort your woman.”

  I don’t wait around to ask if my sister’s cool before I jog toward Georgia standing near the porch.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask when I see her deathly expression. “Are you going to be sick?”

  Georgia stares at me with lifeless eyes. I don’t know what this is, and I have no idea how to get her to tell me.

  “Is it the baby?” I finally ask when she only backs away.

  Her lower lip thrusts out, and her face scrunches. Tears immediately appear. “He’s barely moving,” she whimpers. “Since yesterday, I feel him less and less.”

  I don’t know the right words. How should I react? Should I be afraid? Or tell her that our baby is fine? I don’t know shit about pregnancy, and she lost a baby once. It’s the topic we talk around, but one that Rebel often mentions in passing.

  Georgia collapses into my arms. Her tears come faster, harder. I don’t know how to handle her panic. Like a fucking idiot, I just think about how I’m getting her wet.

  “What’s wrong?” Scarlet asks.

  “She says she doesn’t feel the baby,” I say, sounding stupid. I feel stupid. I don’t know how to handle this moment. If someone needed to be punched, I’d be Mister Fucking Helpful. Instead, I just hold a sobbing Georgia.

  “We’ll check at the hospital,” Scarlet says as if she isn’t worried at all.

  I know her expressions, and she isn’t wearing a calm one. Her eyes reveal panic, but her voice sounds completely in control.

  “I’ll get the keys, and we’ll drive over.”

  “What’s this about?” Pop asks in a gruff tone.

  I want to punch him. Violence is easy. But punching him won’t fix anything.

  “Watch the boys out back.”

  Pop gets the same stupid look as when anyone mentions Bowie and Lemmy. My urge to punch him returns, but Georgia’s sobs need my attention.

  “Everything will be fine,” I promise as I lift her off the ground and walk toward Scarlet’s SUV. “No matter what happens, we’ll be okay.”

  Behind us, Rebel calls out for his mom.

  “It’s okay,” Scarlet tells him. “I want you to wait here with my pop.”

  “It’s the baby!” Rebel cries, and I see him look at the comic book. He nearly throws it at Hart. “Bad things happen when you’re happy.”

  Crying now, he needs his mom, but Georgia has checked out. She’s convinced our baby is dead. She even apologizes when I slide her into the backseat.

  “I hoped for too much, and this is our punishment,” she whimpers. “I got greedy. Now he’s dead.”

  Looking back at Rebel, I’m again struck by my inability to find the right answer. Do I bring him with us? If the baby has died, will it be worse if he’s at the hospital?

  “You handle this,” Pop says, suddenly at my side. “I’ll watch the boys. You take care of her.”

  I look into my father’s eyes and wish things were different. He’s let us down so many times during the last few years. But right now, I believe he’ll watch out for the boys.

  Hart wraps an arm around a still-crying Rebel and consoles his friend.

  “Phoebe’s on her way home,” Scarlet says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Let’s go.”

  I sit in the back with Georgia, who isn’t crying anymore. Yet her breathing remains rapid, and I worry she’ll hyperventilate.

  “That was my pop,” I say while she stares at the headrest. “I tried to kick his ass, but he’s so old that I was afraid he’ll break a hip.”

  I don’t know if my babble helps Georgia. She is so far inside her head now that I’m not sure she even hears me.

  The drive takes ten minutes. The entire time is spent with me talking shit about Pop because I can’t think of anything else to say.

  “He switched out my mom’s birth control pills for Tic Tacs when they were younger. That’s why Scarlet exists.”

  Scarlet gives me a tight smile, but Georgia doesn’t react to anything. Even when the SUV parks in front of the ER, and I help her out, she feels like a ghost in my arms.

  The doctor contracted with our club hasn’t arrived yet. The nurse takes us to a private room where another doctor shows up. He doesn’t get two words out before Georgia starts hyperventilating.

  “The baby isn’t moving. I did this,” she says, grabbing my hand before dropping it. “I felt him all the time. Then I got greedy, and he’s gone.”

  The doctor orders a sedative, which only agitates Georgia more. “That’s what they did the last time!” she cries, reaching for my hand again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect him.”

  I want to back away and let someone else fix this situation. I don’t know how to deal with a hysterical woman, and Georgia is spiraling closer and closer to losing whatever control she has left. I’m not a sensitive guy. When Soso was attacked by her ex-boyfriend, Bubba figured out how to help her. I would have just walked away. Or at least, that’s what I thought when their shit went down. I don’t thrive in drama.

  But I can’t walk away from Georgia. Even if Scarlet might know what to say, this woman wants me at her side. She keeps taking my hand and then letting it go as if she shouldn’t ask for help. I see her giving me an out. Despite the pure panic she feels, she expects people to abandon her.

  “I love you,” I whisper while the doctor does some shit in the background and the nurse moves around us. “Rebel loves you. Whatever happens today, won’t change what we feel.”

  Georgia stands at a dark edge, and I think my words keep her from falling over it. She panics at the sight of the ultrasound machine. I know she fears learning the truth. I’d love to pretend a little while longer too, but if our son is gone or something is wrong, we need to know. Hiding from the truth isn’t an option.

  The sedative helps Georgia almost immediately. Until then, she’s biting her thumb knuckle and breathing too fast. She barely reacts to the needle, and then she decompresses. Her body softens, and the fear in her eyes lessens. She looks half-asleep, but her ga
ze remains on the ultrasound.

  “Fuck off,” Scarlet growls at someone as she enters the room. “I’m not waiting outside.”

  My sister’s tension is the last thing I need, but then she turns off her aggravation and places her hand on my shoulder. She’s here. Whatever happens, I won’t be alone in helping Georgia. If I don’t know the answers, maybe Scarlet will. If we’re both clueless, we’ll still be strong together, so Georgia won’t have to.

  The doctor is speaking, but his words are background noise. He wants to prepare us for what he might find. When I imagine losing my son before I ever hold him, there are no fucking words from a stranger that’ll make that shit okay.

  Georgia stares at the wall. She won’t look at me or the screen. A part of her died with the last baby. She only survived for Rebel. I don’t need to know her story to feel how she struggled. The panic I saw earlier told me how on the brink she’d been back then. And she’d been alone with only a child to comfort her. No one else to hold her hand or wipe her tears. She’d been drowning in a world that didn’t care.

  Scarlet’s fingers dig gently into my shoulder, and she whispers for me to look at the screen.

  And there my boy is, just like before. His heartbeat echoes in the room. Though it sounds strong, Georgia’s expression doesn’t change.

  “Why couldn’t she feel him?” Scarlet asks, and I realize the doctor’s been talking again.

  He explains about the baby’s position and how my son’s growing a lot at this stage. If his back is against her stomach, he’ll kick toward her spine, which she won’t feel. Everything looks good, but Georgia can remain for a few hours to be sure.

  I don’t know if she hears anything he says, but her gaze finally moves from the wall to the screen. A minute passes before she seems to really see our son alive and well. Her face twists into a pout, and she begins crying.

  Thinking she doesn’t understand, I try to explain, but Georgia just stares at me full of misery. She can’t trust what she sees or my words. Haunted by the grief of her lost son, she’s convinced this one is doomed too. I don’t think Georgia’s ever been truly happy. I can’t imagine feeling that way, but I see how quickly she assumes the worst. Unhappiness is all she trusts.

  The nurse attaches a baby monitor thing around Georgia’s waist and leaves us to rest. If the heartbeat remains steady for a few hours, we can leave. I suspect the doctor is mostly placating us rather than worried about the baby. He barely looked at Georgia. His focus was on keeping Scarlet and me from losing our shit.

  I lie in bed, curled around Georgia resting on her side. We stare at the monitor while I caress her belly. She never once speaks. I can’t think of anything to say. Scarlet sits in a chair, texting people. I do ask about Rebel, and she says he’s okay, but her expression says otherwise.

  “I knew as soon as I fell that my baby was dead,” Georgia whispers after the second hour. “Patrick knocked me down all the time. I just went with it. I didn’t care, but that time, I fell against the fireplace’s brick surround. I knew immediately that my son was dead.”

  Everything I think to say sounds wrong in my head. Caressing her stomach, I keep my mouth shut.

  “Patrick didn’t want to take me to the hospital. He said it was too expensive and I was fine. I knew my baby was dead, but a little part of me still hoped he could be saved. I got dressed and started walking to the hospital. Rebel came with me. He didn’t want to stay behind with an angry Patrick. We got twenty blocks before Patrick showed up. He was angry that people were calling him to say his wife and son were walking in the snow.”

  Anger feels more comfortable than grief, and her words give me something to focus on. Saving her lost son is beyond my power, but I can kill Patrick.

  “I was too happy that day. Patrick had found a better job and was getting cash under the table. He liked not paying taxes. He seemed happier. He even agreed to let me buy a special comic book for Christmas. It wasn’t cheap, but I talked him into skipping my gift and using that extra money to buy what Rebel wanted. I felt like life was going to improve. I had hope,” Georgia whispers, fighting tears.

  A minute passes before she continues, “I forgot to be afraid all the time, to protect myself, to plan for if Patrick got angry. I let down my guard, and my son died. I failed, and I thought I did it again. I was so sure I couldn’t feel the baby because I killed him. I hear his heartbeat, but I still think he’s gone.”

  Struggling for the right words, I finally say, “I can’t promise you everything will always be easy or that you’ll never feel pain. But Patrick is the jinx. He destroyed his life and tried to destroy yours. He killed your son. But you ran and got away, and I found you. You’re mine now. Rebel too. You have a family now. You will never be alone again.”

  Georgia exhales deeply, and I hope my words help her. She’s hidden in her head now. I do my best to stay calm in the way I see other people soothe their loved ones. I’ve never needed to be that guy. I’m not sure I’m any good at it, but I’ll have to try because losing Georgia feels like death.

  We leave the hospital around eight and arrive home to a house full of people. Pop sits outside with Rebel. Neither are speaking. If I had to guess, they’ve been sitting silently for a long fucking time.

  Rebel knows his brother is okay, but he looks broken. He doesn’t follow us inside. He just sits out there in the cold, shivering under his jacket and staring at the dogs staring back at him.

  When I suggest Georgia rest in her room, Soso gives me a headshake. I don’t know why I listen to her. I guess I figure she knows more about pregnancy and trauma.

  Georgia wants to be alone, but sitting on the couch in the living room surrounded by people immediately distracts from her grief and fear. I also catch her smiling a little at Lemmy’s antics. Georgia seems comfortable sitting between Soso and Sissy.

  “Why is everyone here?” I ask Phoebe as I walk back outside to talk to Rebel.

  “They thought you might need support,” she says and hugs me. “Then we ordered food delivery, and I don’t think they’ll ever leave.”

  We share a smile before she’s distracted by Bowie yanking on her hand.

  Out on the porch, Rebel wears the upside-down-smile look his mom gets. I sit next to him and exhale deeply.

  “Your mom just got scared,” I say and force myself to wrap an arm around his slight shoulders. He needs comfort, but I feel my pop watching me. Does he think this kid isn’t my problem? “Your brother is okay. He sounded and looked just like that day at the doctor’s office.”

  Rebel doesn’t respond. He’s acting like his mom now, hiding where he thinks it’s safest.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask.

  “I got a bad score on my test,” he whispers, and his voice cracks. “My grandma told Dad how I messed up, and he got mad. That’s why the baby died.”

  “No,” I say, tightening my hold on him as he fights tears. “The baby died because your dad is an evil fuck. That’s not your fault. Or your mom’s fault. It’s just him.”

  “I remember the noise that Mom made when she found out my brother was dead. It was a howling sound and then she cried so much. She came home and cried more. Dad told her to shut up, and she would go hide in the bathroom to cry. I thought maybe she would die. That she would go into the bathroom and never come out. Or she would leave me with him because I got the baby killed.”

  “But you’re why your mom survived. You know that, right?”

  Rebel leans against me. His eyes usually remind me of that fucker’s, but now I just see little Rebel. The kid looks at me in the way I looked at my dad when I got scared, or bad shit happened. Like he ought to have all the answers.

  “Your mom never had anything good in her life. She told me that. Her mom was a bitch. Your dad is an evil fuck. His family is shit. They’re all rotten trash tearing her down. But she had you. In all the ugliness, she had one beautiful thing to give her hope. You’re why she didn’t give up.”

  “I thought t
he baby was dead today because I got something nice. I still do bad on tests.”

  “Kid, I did bad on tests too. Just ask my pop.”

  Rebel looks at my nodding father. His gaze returning to me, the boy tries to smile.

  “The only difference is that I had a good dad, and you had a shit one. But now, he’s gone. I know he’s your blood, but I can’t ever let him be around you or your mom. It’s too risky. Even if he finds Jesus and becomes a saint, I’ll always worry he’ll hurt you again. He has to stay gone.”

  “He has guns.”

  “So do I.”

  Rebel whispers, “Hart says you are a motorcycle man.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I say and smile. “It’s okay to feel bad about all the bad stuff that’s happened, but I don’t want you blaming yourself for what your father did. You’re not him. He hurt your mom, not you. He’s a Hegseth. You’re a Russo.”

  Rebel wipes his eyes. “I shouldn’t cry.”

  “Fuck that. I cry all the time.”

  Grinning at the thought of me crying, he shakes his head. “Is Mom sleeping?”

  “No, she’s in the living room with all the people eating all the food. Are you hungry?” When Rebel shakes his head, I ask, “Do you want to see your mom?”

  “Is my brother really okay?”

  “Yeah. Just like last week when he was kicking and looking weird and everything.”

  Rubbing his cheeks to make sure they’re dry, he stands up. “I better check on my mom.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I say and look at Pop. “Are we good here?”

  “You and I need to talk, but now’s not the time.”

  “And I assume you won’t come inside.”

  “I don’t think that’d be smart.”

  Normally, I’d make a snide comment about how being smart is never an issue with Pop, but I’m tired, and I appreciate him sitting with Rebel. Best to keep my mouth shut and razz him another day.

  Inside, Georgia and Rebel need my attention. I feel them pulling at me, and I don’t know what to say to my pop anyway. Telling him goodnight, I know he and I will handle shit another day.