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“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Oh,” she says, putting her hand to her stomach. “Everything’s fine. Baby is fine.”
Shame washes over me. Is that all I ever ask her about? Have I really become so tunnel-visioned?
“Megan?” I ask, reaching for her hand, keeping my touch feather light.
Her blue eyes flicker up to mine. “My mom was arrested.”
I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. She’s shaking, but not like she’s sad or scared.
“I don’t know what to do,” she says. “I have to go. Don’t I?”
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
She nods. Ainsley grabs her things from the blanket and brings it to us and I call an Uber.
“Does she need a lawyer?” I ask, trying to think through every contact I have in Vegas. One of our defensemen is from Vegas, and I think his dad is an attorney.
“I don’t think—I don’t have that kind of money, and I don’t—” She stops talking, looking frazzled. “Bee didn’t have the details. Just that she was handcuffed and put in the back of a car.”
“Bee called?” I ask, frowning.
She nods quickly, but I realize it’s because she’s shaking. Something is wrong, and I don’t think it has to do with her mom being in jail.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Ainsley hands me Megan’s purse.
We’re quiet in the car back to her place. Quiet as I make us a pot of spaghetti between calls to my travel agent. Quiet as she reads an email from a rehab center outside Las Vegas. Quiet as I confirm the airfare and rental, and then I put her to bed.
I try to be whatever it is she needs right now. But the not knowing part? It’s nearly wrecking me. And as I lie there, wrapped around her, the truth is that she’s the one holding me together.
CHAPTER24
MEGAN
Everything happens so fast.I’d only just gotten the email after dinner from the Nye County Rehabilitation Center asking me if I would consider joining them for a family counseling session—and now I’m not in Oregon anymore.
Apparently, Momma was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct and then tested positive for opioids. She didn’t have any illegal substances or paraphernalia on her, and there’s been some efforts in the county to help addicts instead of incarcerating them. Which is good for Momma.
I just wish Bee hadn’t given them my email address.
Of course, the only reason Bee was there because the sirens and lights triggered her dad’s PTSD. She missed out on a night of work to help.
And now the ball is in my court.
Oh, and I slept next to Derek. Again.
So, there’s that too.
Not that I’m touching it with a ten-foot pole. He was so sweet and supportive last night. And hard. I laid there for what must’ve been half the night, feeling him against my ass, my pregnancy hormones raging, cursing me for deciding to ‘take it slow.’ If my ovaries are slutty, then my pregnancy hormones are throwing a ticker tape parade to announce they’re open for business.
And still, he was the perfect gentleman. Not crossing any lines. Taking it slow, being respectful of the vessel to his fruit of his loins. God, the thoughts I’m having these days… it’s a terrible thing that alcohol isn’t good for pregnancy.
But it’s thoughts like that that have me worried that I’m going to spend the next eighteen years feeling my heart slowly disintegrate.
It didn’t help when I woke up and he told me he was coming with me to Pahrump so I didn’t have to do something like this on my own.
So that’s how we ended up on an airplane flying to Vegas in the worst sort of turbulence. It’s also the first time I’ve been on an airplane. So there’s that.
