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“I’ll stay,” I promise, looking up at his brother, who surprises me a little when he smiles at me.
“We can load him into my car, and I’ll drive up to the cabin,” I suggest, assuming they both rode their bikes here. Screwy nods back at me, waiting for me to open the back door before throwing his brother inside. Then he follows me up the dirt track to the cabins while Squealer lies across the back seat, mumbling words that make no sense.
I park outside their cabin, and before I have a chance to open my door, Screwy’s already aiding his brother out.
“Welcome to my ab-abo-abode,” Squealer stammers, his foot slipping off the first step of his porch when he tries to shrug Screwy off and steady himself.
“Before you step over the door, you should know…” He crushes me against the wall of his cabin with his huge body, his breath stinking of whiskey. “You… Did I tell you you were pretty?”
“You mentioned it.” I laugh. Drunk Squealer is much less of an asshole than sober Squealer.
Screwy opens the door and steps inside, turning on the lights, and Squealer takes my hand in his, kissing my knuckles before he leads me inside on stumbly feet.
“You wanna go straight to bed, darlin’?” he asks, already rushing us through the living area and to the last door on the right.
“I think that would be a good idea.” I look at Screwy and mouth him goodnight before I’m dragged into the bedroom.
“As you can see, I wasn’t expecting company,” he laughs to himself, crashing onto the bed and starting to remove his boots. He gives up after one, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. I take a calm, relaxing breath and a look around his room. There are clothes scattered all over the floor, a Dirty Soul’s flag pinned to the wall, and a few framed photographs sitting on the chest of drawers that are hanging open and spilling out with clothes.
I pick up the one of him and his brother when they were younger, with a girl and an older woman who I assume is their mother and sister. All four people in the photo are smiling, even Screwy. Then when I put it back down I notice something else, something that makes me smile to myself. There, next to all the things Squealer likes to keep on display, is a beer mat from the bar where he took me on our date.
I take off my shoes, hang my jacket on the back of his door, then slipping out of my pants, I lie on top of the mattress beside him. He shuffles sleepily to nestle his head into my neck, his strong arm wrapping around me
“I’m glad you're here,” he mumbles.
“Me too,” I whisper back.
I wake up the next morning feeling crushed by the arm hanging over my chest. When I open my eyes, that heavy notion of dread that I distracted myself from last night rushes straight back to my chest and activates the nerves in my stomach. I can’t put this off any longer, and after taking a deep heavy breath and pulling myself together, I steadily slide out from under Squealer and get out of bed.
I never knew I’d be staying here when I came last night, figured I’d just show my face and then get back home, but I liked that Squealer wanted me to stay so much that I ended up going with it.
I could wait to get home before I do this, I probably should, but not knowing is driving me crazy.
Slipping my shoes back on, I grab my purse from the chair and head straight for the bathroom, locking the door behind me and taking a seat on the edge of the bath. This is one stress I could really do without, and one that I should have seen coming. I open my purse and pull out the white paper bag with the pregnancy test inside. I’ve been carrying it around for a few days, and I’ve done everything to avoid having to take it.
And when I look up and catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I feel like such an idiot.
I’ve always been so responsible. I should never have got to the stage where I had to rely on a plan fucking B pill.
Bang Bang.
“You in there, darlin’?” I jump out of my skin and drop the box on the floor when the door rattles.
“I’ll be out in a second,” I call back, gathering up the box from the tiles with shaky fingers and reading the instructions on the back. I try convincing myself to shove it back in my bag and wait till I get home, but I will only find another excuse to jib out of this there.
“It’s now or never,” I whisper to myself.
Three minutes seems like a long time when you're counting out the seconds in your head. The white plastic stick I just peed on is balancing on Squealer's sink while I pace up and down in front of it, chewing my thumbnail.
If Danny could pick a moment to come back and haunt me, it would be this one. I can see him standing in front of me now, sniggering, asking me when I’m gonna tell Dad that I’ve been knocked up by an outlaw biker.
I take three deep breaths when I decide it’s been long enough, and my trembling hand reaches out to pick up the stick. My whole body instantly turns cold, and a shiver dances over my skin when I see the two very prominent pink lines in each window. And I don’t know if it’s out of shock and realization, or if this is the moment my body decides to confirm the news, but the contents of my stomach rush up to my throat, and I quickly make it to the toilet before I hurl.
“Fuck!” I sit back with my back against the bath panel, wiping my hand over my mouth while I think about what to do. I have to tell Squealer, even though there's no way I’m keeping this baby, he still has to know, right? Or does he? Maybe it’s best he doesn't know. He’s in a good place. We’re in a good place. A good, non-committed, no drama place. I’m having the best sex of my life. I’m getting closer to nailing Hawker, and I’m starting to feel freedom like I’ve never experienced. Telling Squealer will freak him out, and is it worth doing that over something that isn’t going to be a problem for much longer anyway.
“Alex, you okay in there?” Squealer calls out.
No, I’m not fucking okay. I’ve just found out I’m carrying your child!
