There, curled up in the tiniest ball imaginable, is baby Sadie Slade. Jonah named her Sadie because it means princess, and he swore he’d protect her like one. Thick black hair and the smallest face relaxed with sleep, she looks just like Raven. “Wow, she’s so small. What am I looking for exactly?”
“Just keep watching.” He angles his body so that I have a better view.
Little sounds, baby grunts and then . . . a smile and two of the deepest baby dimples punch through her chubby cheeks only to fade when her smile does.
“There, did you see them?” Jonah’s voice is laced with pride and a love I’ve never heard from my old friend.
“Yeah, she’s got a lot of her old man in her, huh?” I step back and watch him watch his daughter.
“She got her mom’s good looks.” His body sways back and forth slowly, almost as if unconsciously. “But she couldn’t escape the Slade dimples.”
I look around the room; familiar faces are all looking adoringly at Jonah and the baby. Raven’s on the couch with her mom and mother-in-law, surrounded by her friends, and it hits me that this little girl will never have to worry about being alone. God forbid anything happens to her parents, but she’d have a line of people who love her, waiting to take her in and care for her the way she deserves to be cared for.
Unlike me. And Gia.
Guilt socks me in the gut, and I suck back the urge to double over. I was so mad the night she left. She wouldn’t stop trying to explain, as if words could make right all that she’d done wrong. She’d said that they locked her in a closet until someone found her. She was only a kid. What happened to her during those years after I left? She must’ve been moved in with a family member? Living relative? Did I ever even stop to consider what she’s been through? I was so busy focusing on myself that I never thought to ask her.
Anything I learned about her was by accident: her fear of hospitals and small spaces, lack of friends or long-term connections. My head spins and I brace my weight against the back of the couch.
She wanted to tell me. I told her I never wanted to see her again, and she begged me to listen. Fuck. Why didn’t I give her a chance? I scrub my hands over my face. She deserved a chance to explain. If she had, would that have changed anything?
Fuck.
It could change everything.
*
Mac
I’m cold. My body curls into itself in an effort to get warm, but the movement makes me ache. The familiar throbbing in my head alerts me to the time.
Morning.
I fucking hate the morning.
It’s the one time of day that my mind comes back to life enough to fight me. It torments me until I cry: flashes, memories of the past, Rex as a boy and again as a man, the life I ruined . . . twice. Morning reminds me of new beginnings, sunshine bringing in hope for a different life. But that takes work, emotional strength that I lost a long time ago. I’m fucking sick of hope.
Everything hurts. My muscles feel as if they’ve been put out to stretch and dry. I lick my dry lips and crack open an eyelid. It’s dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s not morning. The thick curtains at the MC Compound are there to keep out the light of day.
“Thank God.” I reach up and finger through my shorter hair.
It took less than a day before I got fed up with Hatch calling me Snow White. I told him I’m a natural redhead, but with my lack of distinguishable hair it was hard to prove. Every time I looked in the mirror and saw all that black fucking hair, my mind would fall back to my memories. Thoughts of Mac led to better thoughts of Rex, but would ultimately end in tears.
With the help of a fifth of vodka, I put Mac to rest and colored my hair back to red. New hair color is one thing, but one thing I learned is you can’t resurrect the dead. Gia’s been gone for a long time, and a simple box of hair dye won’t raise her. The devastated little girl wouldn’t fit into Hatch’s world anyway.
So who am I?
Changing my hair was the last decision I made on my own. Now decisions are made for me. I belong to Hatch, property, and I can’t muster up enough sense to care.
He keeps me safe, fed, and fucked up. Living around bikers, the first is important, the second is a need, but the third is my key to survival.
After only weeks of being stuck here with Hatch, with no money or means to leave, I finally gave into my desperation. The liquor did the job until one day it didn’t. I drank until I blacked out, and still I was tormented by thoughts of Rex. I needed more, like the pills they forced down my throat when I was locked away from the world. The coke was the same, bitter going down, but sweet relief when it kicked in. It’s the numbness I crave; the memories get blurry and dull all feeling. I’ve tried to quit, go a day without using, but it’s become my closest friend, protecting me from the memory of losing him. Now, the drug is the only thing that tethers me to my sanity.