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I twist the glass around in my hands. “I’ve been wanting to ask if I could do it every Sunday, kind of make it a tradition, maybe,” I say hesitantly.
“I think that’s a great idea,” he repeats. “I figure it’ll bring the club closer together. We’ll ask Prez about long term, but I know we can do this Sunday for sure.”
I smile at him, and he smiles back. “How would you like to ride with me to Whitefish next weekend? Just you and me.”
“Oh, Fist!” I clap my hands. “That would be wonderful! I’ve never been to Whitefish.”
“Best fishing in the state,” Bear comments as he drains his glass and puts it in the sink. He gives Mindi a wink and continues, “The club owns a lot of land in the area, with some hellacious lakes and rivers. Make sure Fist takes you fishing.”
“How much land?” I ask innocently as I add a few more items to my grocery list.
“A hundred thousand acers,” Fist replies, and I almost choke on my tea.
“What?” I gasp. “That’s insane!”
Fist shrugs. “The club is diversified,” he tells me, then grins. “We have some cabins scattered around all that property, some of them back in the woods. We’ll be totally alone, sweetness. Nobody for miles around to hear you scream.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I feel my pussy clench with need.
Bear laughs. “That’s my cue to leave,” he announces. “If you need any help cooking Sunday dinner, Mindi, let me know.” He strolls out of the room as I fan myself.
“Whew. Now I can’t wait until we get to Whitefish. Meanwhile, I need to go change out of these sweats and go to the store.”
Fist stands as I do. “I’ll go with you,” he tells me. “We’ll take my truck.”
I nod and scurry into our room to change. I pull on a light cotton sundress the color of ripe peaches. It has wide shoulder straps and swirls around the middle of my thighs. I slip my feet into backless tennis shoes, grab my purse, and I’m ready to go.
Fist and I sing along with the radio as he drives me into town, and when we hit the city limits, he turns off the radio and asks me what we’re having for Sunday dinner.
“Meatloaf,” I answer, “with mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, and homemade biscuits. Oh, and I thought I’d make apple and peach pies for dessert.”
“Fucking A,” Fist breathes. “I can’t wait. Here we are.” We pull into the grocery store parking lot, and he kills the engine. “Let’s load up.”
We walk in and grab a buggy then start walking the aisles so I can grab what I need. I check my list and tell Fist I’ll be right back. I forgot to pick up some sliced deli ham for sandwiches when we were in the deli aisle, so I’m going to run back and grab some. He nods and I turn the corner.
I step into the aisle and take three steps forward, heading for the serving counter. I put my foot down and feel it slide in a puddle of wet. I pinwheel my arms, trying to keep my balance, but it’s no use. I topple like a tree, crashing onto the floor belly first, landing with a breathless groan of pain as my forehead connects with the concrete floor.
There’s some yelling and feet pounding as I struggle to turn over and sit up. Fist is loudly asking a store employee why the hell a wet floor sign wasn’t up. I don’t hear the employee’s response because there’s a ripping, tearing, burning sensation in my stomach, and it spreads down to my thighs and up to my chest. I gasp out a breath of panic as I feel my panties become soaked in wetness. I glance down and notice the pool of red spreading across my lap and onto the floor.
“Fist,” I choke out. “Oh, God, Fist. I need an ambulance. Please.”
He turns to me at the sound of my voice, confusion in his eyes. When he looks at me, he goes pale. Then he’s screaming. “Call a fucking ambulance. Now! Now! Christ, man, get some help here. She’s hurt!”
He crouches down beside me, holding my hand. “Hang on, sweetness,” he whispers. “Help is coming. Just hang on for me.”
I can’t talk because the cramps are hard and vicious, and I know tears are streaming down my face. I’m in terrible pain, but it’s more than that. I’m terrified that I’m losing my baby, our baby, the baby I never told Fist about. I cling to his hand and sob.
After what seems like hours, paramedics rush to my side. They do their assessment and lift me onto the gurney. Fist is by my side as they wheel me out of the store.
“I’m riding with her,” he tells the ambulance driver.
“Fist, please,” I manage. “Come in the truck. We’ll need the truck.”
He hesitates but nods and runs to where we parked it as I’m loaded into the back of the ambulance, and they drive me to the hospital.
While we’re on the way, I look at the paramedic who is riding in the back with me. “I’m almost seven months pregnant,” I tell him in a shaking voice. “I’m afraid something is wrong with the baby, that I hurt it in the fall because of all the blood.”
He looks at me quietly, worry and pity etched on his face. “All right, try to relax. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. I’m going to start an IV line and monitor your vitals until we get there. Let me radio in a status update.”
Once he does that, it’s silent except for the sirens as we scream our way down the highway to the hospital.
