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“What if you get her pregnant?” Sterling continues, and my stomach actually turns.
“No, man, I always pull the fuck out. Hell, I don’t want to be a father. She knows.”
“What the fuck,” I whisper, furiously blinking against the threatening tears.
“Shit, bro, that’s how Mom got pregnant with your crazy ass,” Sterling says before bursting out laughing.
“Shut up,” Navarone growls, pushing his laughing brother away from him.
I clutch my hands over my stomach. That son of a bitch!
I turn around and head outside to get some fresh air. Breathing in deeply, I try to get my nerves under control.
I look up and Frankie is helping Dad and Gunner remove some wood from the truck bed.
“Hey, Squirrel, you okay?” Dad asks.
Gunner smiles. “Yeah, sis, you’re kind of pale.”
Rolling my eyes, I tell them I’m going for a walk. I need to clear my head before I pull the rug out from under my life, and Navarone’s.
“Hey, wait up,” Gunner calls out, coming after me. “If you’re going that way I need some smokes.”
“You don’t smoke.” I look at the ground, dread filling me with every step I take.
“You don’t know everything about me,” he says, giving me side eyes. “Sure you’re okay?” He sounds concerned.
I stop in front of the fluorescent lights of the local convenient store. Night has fallen and there is a chill in the air, making me shiver. “I’ll be right back,” he promises. After a couple of minutes he exits the store and lights a cigarette holding the pack in my direction, “Want one?”
I shake my head, and lean against the brick wall.
“Allie, what’s going on? I can feel it. Man, I’ve been on edge the last couple days and I know something isn’t right.”
Swallowing hard, I meet his eyes. “I’m pregnant Gunn.”
Gunner burst out laughing. “Fuck yeah from last night’s dinner, me too,” he jokes slapping his stomach, before nudging me in my ribs.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Shaking my head, I continue to walk back home. “Fuck you Gunn.”
He grabs my arm, stopping me. “Allie?”
We lock eyes. “Did you buy a test to make sure?” he asks, sounding worried.
Clutching my head, I say, “I’m not stupid, I did that a couple weeks ago, and the doctor confirmed it.”
“A couple of weeks ago,” he yells, pushing the cigarette pack in his back pocket before taking out a wad of cash.
“Where did you get that from?”
“Been working,” he murmurs, counting his hundred-dollar bills.
“Working on what, Gunner? Please don’t tell me weed. You know it’s not regulated here. You can go to prison if they bust you.”
“Relax, I’m not going to get caught. We have a good operation going.” He holds the cash in front of my face. It must be at least a thousand dollars.
I cross my arms. “Who’s we?”
“You know Taser from the Devil’s Sons Motorcycle Club? We used to go to school together, and he knows how good I am at gardening so ...”
