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“I’ll catch you later.” I wave and head toward my truck without waiting for an answer.
Someone’s boots crunch over the gravel behind me. Bet it’s Z. I don’t slow my pace, though.
At the truck, he catches up to me. “You going to look for Serena?”
“Yes.” I turn and pin him with a stare. “Alone.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances at the ground. Probably smirking. Asshole.
But when he finally lifts his head, his mouth is a firm, determined line. No dimples in sight. “If you find her, will you let me know? Send a text or whatever.”
“Yeah, brother. I can do that.” I hold out my hand. “Thanks, Z.”
“No problem.” He takes my hand but pulls me in for a hug. “Sorry for giving you shit back there.”
“Eh. I deserved it. Could’ve handled it better.”
“I get it, bro. You’re still adjusting.”
Yeah, and every time I think I’ve moved forward, I end up taking two steps back.
Chapter Eight
Serena
"The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any." -Alice Walker
* * *
After the emotional talk with Emily and the stress of waiting for a text from Grayson, I’m exhausted.
Emily curls her arm around my shoulders. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? You’ve been through a lot of emotional stuff in the last two days. And I bet you haven’t slept well.”
“I haven’t.” I yawn and stretch.
“Go on. If you’re not up by four, I’ll come wake you.” She flashes a wicked grin. “I’m not missing out on the meatloaf you promised.”
“Deal.”
Upstairs, I strip off my clothes and slip into a soft T-shirt I borrowed from Gray. His subtle scent is woven into the fabric and even though I’m the one putting the distance between us, it helps me feel close to him. I crawl under the covers, sighing as my head lands on the pillow.
A few minutes later, I’m still awake. I stare at the ceiling. A million questions and worries run through my head.
I need to make a doctor’s appointment. I tug on my T-shirt that’s gotten tangled around my waist. I’ll need maternity clothes at some point. Baby stuff. Emily’s offer is sweet, but I can’t stay here forever. I might need to take that job in Union if I can’t find anything else. I need health insurance for the baby. I should sign up for some sort of class or something too. Oh my God. How does any woman do this? It’s so overwhelming.
Eventually, I drift into an uneasy half-asleep, half-awake state.
A vision of chasing a little blue and white bundle through a choppy slideshow of different phases of my life takes over my mind. Every time I’m about to scoop the bundle into my arms, it disappears. I’m left running through my grandmother’s house searching for my baby. Then it switches to my mother’s apartment. My old high school. The roof of a building that I long ago considered jumping from. Hospitals. Downstate’s clubhouse. A jumble of other places I recognize but can’t name. Each time, no matter how careful I am, the baby disappears. I want to cry, but my throat is too tight. My voice stolen. I can’t call for help and my anguish goes unnoticed by the faceless people around me.
I startle awake, blinking at the ceiling. My heart hammers. I concentrate on what happened in the dream but the more I try to focus, the fuzzier the details get. The suffocating sense of helplessness remains, and I’m left with a hollow despair ringing in my chest.
With my hand over my heart, I sit up and drape my legs over the side of the bed. I love my baby so much already. I’m going to be a good mother. I may not have any family to help, but it’s not like they helped me through any other phase of my life. My mother set a terrible example growing up. Her actions were everything I don’t want to be as a mother. I’d never sacrifice my child’s safety for a man. Never.
The doorbell echoes through the house.
Not sure where Emily is or if she’s even still home, I shake off the last of my nightmare and pull on a pair of leggings. I stuff my feet into my favorite fuzzy boots and pad downstairs.
The doorbell rings again.
I bump into Emily at the foot of the stairs. My gaze drops to the gun in her hand.
“Emily, what are you doing?” Fear compresses my voice into a harsh whisper. “Who’s at the door?”
“Your gangster boyfriend.”
“Wait, what?”
She pins me with eyes full of annoyance. “After you went upstairs, I looked up the name of the club stitched on the guy’s vest yesterday. Lost Kings MC. There isn’t a ton of information out there but what I did find was terrifying.”
