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This way we can confront what she really feels so she won’t need to be in denial. It’s better to get this out in the open. She needs time, but I’d prefer to know where her head is at so I can harden myself to the truth.
She’s in denial because she doesn’t want a baby.
She’s panicking because she loathes that it’s mine.
“Okay. I agree,” she says, stepping out of the stall.
“Ready to go home?” I smooth my hands down my jeans and look everywhere but at Molly.
“Home?”
“I meant the clubhouse. My place.” I blindly reach an arm out, offering my hand now that she’s in a family way.
“I just puked a little in my mouth,” she announces and grasps my hand. “I have to tell my mother.”
“Right. Okay.”
Let’s just add horrible at my fucking job to the list of things wrong with me too.
I speed past the road sign about five minutes from the clubhouse. On our way out of the bathroom, I found a note taped to the gas tank of my bike. I only saw it under the light of the gas station, which is fucked up because I’m sure it wasn’t there when we left the fight club. The note is from Molly’s ex. Jett’s message says he’s been watching us and isn’t keen on how much time we’re spending together.
I went apeshit, searching the parking lot and looking around everywhere, but turned up nothing. At that point, Molly just wanted to go home. I couldn’t blame her at all. I want to punch something. The idea that he’s been close enough to catch is bad enough. And he’s touched my ride too? I should’ve done more. Maybe I could’ve found the bastard where Molly works. I let him slip through the cracks.
I park in a spot close to the clubhouse entrance as we arrive in the parking area. Turning off the bike, I help Molly off. Her hands are shaking. I lead her inside and don’t let on that her world has shattered into eight million pieces.
Because of me.
But at least one of us needs to be cool. If anyone looks at Molly, they’ll know something’s up. She looks like hell after that girl-fight, and now this.
“How do you want to do this?” I ask as we step inside.
“Rip off the Band-Aid.”
I eye the bar, intent on getting epically shitfaced after we tell the guys. Once they know, especially their old ladies, I can take a load off my mind. The less I remember about today, the better.
“Hey, look who it is,” Axe calls out from his spot behind the bar. “We were wondering if trouble found you. Any updates on the sick son of a bitch stalker yet?”
“We have all sorts of news…actually,” Molly says and takes a seat at the bar.
I immediately notice her staring longingly at the sack demons’ drinks. I think of the whiskeys she downed earlier and hope those didn’t already fuck up the kid. Fuck, that’s a sobering thought. If this is really happening I need to do a lot more research.
Axe notices the bruises on Molly’s face. “The fuck? Did your ex do that to your face?” He turns to me. “If I was the sole owner of our security firm, I’d fucking fire you on the spot. You let someone do this to her?”
“It’s not Tate’s fault,” she tells him. “This one’s all on me.”
“You had one job,” Axe says to me, ignoring Molly. “One fucking job.”
“Just pass me a drink and get the brothers out here.” I motion for the whiskey bottle in his hand. This is no time for moderation. He slides over the whole bottle. I knock back long gulps of the liquid. We’re about to share the kind of earth-shattering news that warrants less mental alertness.
Ten minutes later, Silas, Cole, Dean, and Axe are looking at Molly and me, waiting to hear what I have to say. A few of the officers and members gather around.
That doesn’t stop Molly from blurting shit out.
“I’m pregnant…” Molly throws it out there into the room. No taking it back. She rips that Band-Aid off, just like she said.
“That’s one way to do it,” I mutter, taking a huge burning gulp from the bottle.
The room goes dead silent. It sounds like the music stops too. I can’t tell if anyone moves an inch while I nurse my whiskey bottle.
