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Fiona exhales softly. “I want to go with you. Eagle is your life now. You said his voice makes you feel warm and safe. I’m curious about that.”
“The party might be fun.”
“Even if it’s not, I’ll know,” Fiona says and lifts her head from my chest and forces open her eyes. “I’ll do my best to avoid embarrassing you.”
“You’re wonderful, and I adore you.”
“I’m weird.”
“So am I. Did you hear how I stalked that biker?”
“Well, apparently,” she replies, grinning sweetly, “that biker is very handsome, has a great voice, and beautiful eyes, and is good in bed. How could younotstalk him?”
Fiona laughs at the idea and rests her head back on my chest. “Father says Thanksgiving is for losers. I think he probably just dislikes turkey. Men can be so stubborn.”
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t tell him about going.”
“He’ll know anyway. We shouldn’t be sneaky. He won’t trust me, just like he doesn’t trust Jimbo or Larry.”
Actually, I suspect the reason Todd Rogers is wary of his sons is because they’re large men with a reason to kill him. Meanwhile, Fiona is a defenseless creature that endures his bullying. Of course, he likes her best lately.
The next day, Todd Rogers gives me a dirty look when Fiona mentions Thanksgiving dinner. He doesn’t say a word to her, though. Just glares at me before ignoring us for the rest of dinner. Ashley fills the silence with her plans for Christmas. I try to nod at her babble, but my mind is mostly on Thanksgiving.
Having Fiona with me will distract from my own anxiety. I’ll focus on protecting her rather than making a good impression. Eagle mentioned something about Ruin’s sister and the other women in her “girl gang.” Those were the ones who slashed their enemies’ tires. I’m not looking to get on their bad side.
There will also be small children at the party. Wynonna apparently has a daughter around Owen’s age. One of the other bikers married a woman with five kids. A few are also my son’s age. I know seeing them will tear open old wounds.
However, babies will also be there. That might be a good thing. I feel disconnected to the child growing inside me. Soon, I won’t be able to hide my pregnancy any longer. What will it take for me to embrace motherhood?
With so many unknowns and my emotions all over the place, I wake up on Thanksgiving, feeling overwhelmed, panicked, and bloated. Since Fiona won’t be up for a while, I hide in the hot shower and cry away my worries.
Picking clothes proves impossible. Nothing looks right. I consider a dress before realizing my stomach looks enormous in it.
I’m not a vain woman. I don’t normally worry about my appearance. However, Eagle is effortlessly handsome. Blessed with a strong, tall build, he rolls out of bed with an easy sexiness. He just runs his hands through his hair, and it looks great.
His presence fills the sterile bathroom, warming the space and leaving me calmer.
I pick a pumpkin-colored sweater and corduroy pants. Looking sufficiently autumn-themed, I leave my hair down. Though I can’t imagine a biker Thanksgiving dinner, I doubt it’ll be fussy.
Fiona doesn’t refuse to get out of bed. She never says she won’t go. Instead, she remains a lump as I pick out her clothes for the day.
Her sullen mood tugs at my better one. I start doubting everything again. I imagine those big sexy bikers laughing at Fiona. I’ll hate them in a way that won’t be repairable. My dislike for Eagle’s friends will taint our future.
“Is Gatsby coming with us?” Fiona asks when I sit on her bed and sigh at how today is bound to be a disaster.
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’ll stick his head out of the car window?”
I smile when she giggles as the dog licks her face. Her amusement gets me moving. If I don’t have time to think, I can’t possible sabotage myself.
All through our morning, Fiona keeps messing with my face to see if I’m smiling.
“Are you feeling in a romantic mood?” she asks when I hand her the Xanax.
Studying Fiona, I realize she hasn’t mentioned the baby since the night when Jimbo attacked us. Is she in denial? Does she think I am?
“You’re frowning,” Fiona says, touching my face and scowling. “I don’t want to go.”
