Cody gurgles, and she glances down at him and smiles. “He’s asleep, at last.”
Relief sags her shoulders, and she sways on her feet. I put out a steadying hand. “Are you sleeping?”
She sighs. “Sometimes. But not enough.”
The answer doesn’t fill me with confidence. I spent a lot of time last night online learning everything I could about newborn babies, and it was chilling. It seems all they do is eat and poop and take short naps and cry for no reason. They literally drain their mothers who don’t get enough sleep and forget to eat.
The thought occurs to me that Isla’s been awake for hours and probably had nothing to eat. “Are you eating?”
“I had a good meal yesterday.”
She’s not sleeping, and there’s no one to help with the baby. I thought protection was what Isla needs, but that’s only half the story. She needs sleep, and food, and help with the baby.
It’s Boxing Day, but I’m calling in an emergency club meeting.
But first of all, Isla’s getting a decent meal. “We’re going inside, and I’m making you a big breakfast.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. You’ve already done so much.”
I nudge her with my elbow, and she starts walking. “I don’t want to hear that again. You’re here as our guest, and I’m looking after you.”
She gives me a grateful look as we head inside.
Two hours later, I’ve cooked Isla eggs and bacon for breakfast. Danni is watching Cody, so Isla can take a shower and a nap.
I’ve called an emergency meeting, and now I face the grumpy faces of my MC brothers across the meeting room table.
“This better be good, Chariot. I’m hungover, and I haven’t had breakfast yet,” mumbles Snips.
Right on cue, Maggie bursts into the meeting room carrying a tray of crispy bacon. The smell wafts through the room, making the men sit up.
She’s followed by her son Benji, proudly brandishing two loaves of bread with a huge grin on his toddler face. Bettie, Danni’s oldest, carries the ketchup, holding it carefully in her chubby fingers.
“Bacon sandwiches to sweeten the sting.”
I swallow hard, hoping I’ve read my brothers right and they’re not about to turn on me and chuck me out of the club. I only got patched in a few months ago, and this is the first favor I’ve asked.
Still, calling a club meeting at nine a.m. on Boxing Day is a pretty bold move.
Maggie puts the tray in the middle of the table and the men attack the food eagerly.
I swallow nervously and glance at Raiden. The Prez has his arms folded and eyes me like my old Sergeant Major used to.
He agreed to call the meeting for me, but I’m aware ofthe risk he’s taking. He’s also away from his family, and his old lady doesn’t put up with any shit. I promised a week of babysitting duties if he’d hear me out.
I wait until everyone has a bacon sandwich and Maggie has herded the kids out of the room.
“Isla needs our help.”
Judge frowns and swallows a mouthful of sandwich. “Is that the woman with the baby who’s staying upstairs?”
“Yeah.”
“Seems we’re already giving her help,” grumbles Snips. He looks particularly rough this morning, and I’m reminded of the bottle of whiskey he insisted on finishing late last night.
“We’ve given her club protection,” Raiden says.
All eyes turn to Prez. He remains leaning against the wall, but the steely tone of his voice is a reminder to everyone what club protection means.
