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Tears prick my eyes, and I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
“You’re safe and won’t have to worry about him again.” Her grave tone leaves me with no doubt as to what she’s implying.
“Jigsaw mentioned something…similar.”
“Oh, I bet he did.” Her expression remains serious. “Being a biker’s ol’ lady means if someone hurts you, the whole club hits ’em back. Hard.”
“I’ve gotten that impression.” I try to force a smile. “Truthfully, I’d rather not get hurt in the first place.”
“Well, truthfully, only someone stupid or suicidal goes after a Lost Kings girl.” She winks at me.
“You and Heidi make it seem so…normal. But I’ve never had anyone look out for me that way before.”
“I understand,” she says softly. “After my dad died, no one looked out for me either until…Well, the club will protect you.”
“I haven’t seen Wrath in action, but I’ve noticed Jigsaw’s just as ferocious as Rooster.”
“Yup, they’re all like that.”
“But to leave everything and run down here. That means a lot. Everyone has jobs and—”
“The club always comes first. Wrath and Murphy own a gym together. And trust me, my husband loves bossing their other partner around, so I’m sure he left Jake a lengthy list of instructions.” She chuckles. “I have my own business and a lot of it can be done remotely. Heidi’s part-time at her job so I think she just switched some days around.” Her mouth quirks. “Besides, they probably wanted some alone time to make a Baby O’Callaghan.”
I cringe at the idea of a baby anything.
Trinity bursts out laughing, curling her arms over her stomach and falling forward. “Oh, shit. That’s the same face I make every time someone asks me when Wyatt and I are having a baby.”
“Ugh. People are so rude.”
She straightens but laughter still sparkles in her eyes. “They have no boundaries for sure.”
“I can’t…Lots of girls I went to high school with already have kids and stuff. I can’t even imagine…It sounds like so much work,” I finish on a whisper.
“Being a mom is rough,” she agrees. “A hundred-and-sixty-eight-hour-a-week job. I adore my little nieces and nephews. And I’d straight-up murder anyone who tried to hurt them,” she says with a savage smile. “But babysitting them has never given me the urge to have my own. Like, never.”
“Good to know.” What a relief to find someone to talk about this stuff with. “People keep telling me I’ll get baby fever eventually. Why? Because I’m female? I knew when I was little, I didn’t want ’em.” A happy memory curves my lips. “Now, my little sister Hayley wanted babies. Lots of ’em. She was the sweetest, most patient kid. She would’ve been a great momma.” My voice falters on the last word. I miss her so much.
“I didn’t realize you had a sister,” Trinity says gently.
“She died when she was eight,” I whisper.
“Oh shit, Shelby. I’m sorry.” Trinity bites her lip and sits forward, resting her hand on my arm. “I didn’t know.”
“That’s okay.” I pick at the blanket. “Watching my parents go through that kind of pain…I couldn’t ever take the risk.”
She doesn’t offer any weak platitudes or sentimental words. None of the callous “God has a plan” bullshit people told me after Hayley died. Instead, she just quietly holds my hand for a few minutes.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
“No problem.”
Someone taps on the door and pushes it open. “Hi, Ms. Morgan. Doctor Landry asked me to stop by. Can we chat for a minute?”
Trinity stands and pats my hand. “We’re all down in the waiting room if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
I watch her leave, wishing I could follow. The new doctor closes the door behind Trinity and approaches the bed with sure steps.
I’ve been poked and prodded by a lot of different people since waking up. But this doctor seems different. I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s her slower manner. The way she carefully checks her charts and doesn’t seem to be in a rush like everyone else who has breezed through my room.
She holds out a business card. “Doctor Lola McDavis. I’m a consulting clinical psychologist with the hospital.”
“Oh.” I accept the card and briefly shake her hand. “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?” She smooths her skirt over her legs and perches on the edge of the chair closest to my bed.
“Hurting. Tired.”
“That’s understandable.” She nods to the door. “You seem to have a lot of friends and family here for support.”
My lips twitch into a sad smile. It’s been just my mother and me for so long, it feels strange to think of having “friends and family.”
“Mostly my boyfriend’s family but my mother is here too,” I explain.
“That’s good.” She makes a quick note on her chart. “I understand this was a stranger abduction? You’re a singer…and this was an obsessed fan?”
I shudder. A vision of the man’s ugly face, the acidic scent of tomato soup, and the relentless fear while he chased me through the dark, all press down on me like a thousand pounds of nightmares. “Yes,” I whisper.
