Page 23 of Priest

I stand and point at her. “Get this through your head now. This is the last time I take you myself. Next appointment, a prospect drives. Or Max. Or one of the women. The club is taking care of you. Not me personally.”

Her mouth tightens, but she nods. “Okay.”

The drive is quiet at first. Then she tries to fill it with talk about traffic, cravings, how tired she’s been. It all washes over me. I keep my eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel, counting stoplights like they’ve personally pissed me off.

Then, uninvited, the thought slips in.

If Blue were pregnant with my child.

The image hits hard enough that my grip tightens. Blue in the passenger seat instead of Sadie. Her body changed in ways I never let myself imagine before. My hand on her knee. Us making this drive together.

I wait for the familiar reaction, the tightness, the instinctive recoil, the need to shove the thought away.

It doesn’t come. What comes instead is shock so electrifying the hairs on my arms raise. Then something worse. Longing so sharp it feels like grief.

At the clinic, I stay standing while Sadie checks in. Couples sit together in low conversation. One man’s hand rests on a woman’s knee, thumb moving slow, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

I look away.

As she comes back to sit, her eyes move over the room before they come to me. Not casual. Not exactly nervous either. She looks at the door, the hall, the faces waiting under fluorescent lights.

Like she’s searching for someone.

My spine prickles.

“You good?” I ask.

Her attention snaps back to me. “Yeah. Just nerves.”

A nurse calls her name a few minutes later, and Sadie stands, then hesitates.

“Come with me.”

“No.”

Her face falls. “Priest.”

“I drove you. That’s it.”

“Please.” Her voice dips low, urgent enough that a woman across the room glances over. “Doctors scare me. You remember that, don’t you?”

I stare at her. “I’m not your man or that baby’s father.”

“I know that.” Her eyes shine, and if it’s an act, it’s a damn good one. “I’m not asking you to be. Just keep me company. You can turn your back for any weird moments. I don’t care. I just don’t want to go in there alone.”

“Sadie.”

“Please,” she whispers, and her hand presses over her stomach. “Don’t make me beg in front of all these people.”

I look around the room. Too many eyes are already trying not to watch. She knows it. That’s why she does it here.

I step close enough that my voice won’t carry. “You pull anything in there, I walk out.”

She nods fast. “I won’t.”

I go in because making a scene in an OB waiting room is low on the list of shit I feel like doing today.

The appointment is routine. Measurements. Questions. Words like normal and healthy. When Sadie has to shift her clothes, I turn toward the wall and keep my eyes on a faded poster about prenatal vitamins until she says I can turn back around.