Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

“Were you protecting her when you went out in a lightning storm and almost killed both of us with a fucking chainsaw?” My words hit her straight on. I see it in the way the gray color of her eyes widen and her pupils dilate. I should let it go with that, but I don’t. I continue, giving her part of the anger that I’ve been carrying around for what feels like a lifetime. “I’ve seen women who care for their children. I know women who gave up everything to keep their child safe, lady,” I bark at her, my mind going to Beth. Hell, I don’t like Beth. I blame her and Skull for the loss of Annabelle, but I can at least admit that she did her best to protect her own child. She has my respect for that, if nothing else. “I’ve seen women who do that, and you are not that woman. You’re not even close.”

Those words are the ones that deliver a killing blow inside of her. I see it and somewhere under the anger it registers. Tears gather in her eyes, but she doesn’t cry. A few tears spill out and run down her face, but she doesn’t cry. There’s no sound. No heaving, gushing of the tears, no begging for understanding like women so often do when they’re called on their shit. No. She looks at me without replying. The bag in her hand drops to her feet and without another word she turns to leave, giving me the silence that I crave. Leaving me alone.

Exactly like I want.





14





Hayden





It’s been three days since my neighbor decimated me with his words. I can’t manage to even be mad. I mean, a lot of it was bullshit, and I’m used to closed minds. But, there was truth there. I can’t take care of my child like I want. Michael might be a major asshole, but he wasn’t wrong in that at least. And he was right again when he yelled at me for going out into the rain. In truth, I’ve been sick ever since. Being pregnant, they won’t really give me medicine, and even if they did, it wouldn’t really help. A cold just needs to work itself out of your system. So, I’m trying to tough it out and drink plenty of orange juice for the vitamin C. Would he think that’s wrong too?

Luckily, Charlie is understanding and she has made me stay off work for the last three days. I can’t really afford it, but since the run in with the jerk next door, I really can’t handle being in the public yet. I need time to recover. As a result, my mantra of being stronger tomorrow has been temporarily changed to being stronger next week. I figure that’s better than next year, which is what I really want to say at this point. That or…never.

Tomorrow, I need to do a lot of baking, but I don’t feel well enough tonight to tackle it. Instead, I’m lying on the couch watching horrible, romantic comedies. Kate and Leopold is the latest one. Why can’t life be like that? Your dream man coming to you from another time. A time when men were not such assholes and actually cared about women. Why? I burrow down under the cover. I managed to get a fire roaring in the fireplace, but the house is still cold. I probably have a fever, but I don’t have a thermometer. It takes too much energy to worry about it anyway.

I watch the movie, then another. By the next movie, I’m starting to think my plan to sleep it off won’t work. I’m feeling worse, and now I’m not cold. I’m burning up. I feel like I’m on fire. I’ve kicked off the cover, but I only grow hotter. I look around for my phone. I should go to the doctor. My head is spinning and my vision is kind of blurring. I might be panicking. You chill with a fever, right? You don’t get hot. I thought that was the way it went. I’ve not been sick a lot, so I can’t be sure. Crap.

This is one of those things a mother should know before she has a baby. She should know if her daughter is cold or hot and what that means. I don’t. I don’t know anything. Michael was right. Maggie deserves so much better than me. That’s when I start crying. I can’t stop, and I don’t want to. I continue to allow my misery, my doubts, my fears, and the hurt over Michael’s harsh attack wash through me and take over.





15





Beast





I refuse to label what I’m feeling as guilt. I was a fucking dick, I get that and hell, I own it. But a lot of that was Hayden’s fault. She shouldn’t have pushed me. Still, I saw pain in her eyes and it’s bothering me. Not a lot, but enough that here I am, three days later, showing up at the diner. It would have been easier to go to her house, but I couldn’t seem to make myself do that. Not when I picked up the bag of cookies she dropped that day, and not even after eating those cookies. Cookies, which I will admit, were better than anything I’ve ever tasted. They were peanut butter with chocolate in the center, and they had a salty-sweet taste going on that I had never tasted before. They were fucking good. I get that she was trying to be nice. Maybe she was hoping she could use me for something, I don’t know. It’s possible…more than possible. I’d say definitely. Still, I don’t know her, and I should have just walked away.

The diner is mostly empty when I walk in. It’s never extremely busy. I’m not sure how the place stays open. There’s no sign of Hayden and that’s probably for the best. I don’t know what to say to her, yet. I just know I don’t want to encourage her to talk to me.

There are three other people in here. There’s an old man, who is probably in his seventies, and a couple of men my age who are probably on their lunch hour. It’s the same three people that have been here each time I come in. Regulars I guess.

I sit down and wait for a waitress to come and take my order. I’m here a few minutes and no one seems to be coming over to me. There are two waitresses, one is standing at the table talking to the old man quietly. Every now and then she looks over here at me. I’m used to people staring at me. I don’t really care about that. But it’s clear that she’s not going to come take my order. The other waitress is actually sitting at the bar and she’s shooting me dirty looks.

Well ain’t that just a bucket of fuck. I bet the little bitch went whining to her co-workers. Which just means I shouldn’t feel anything, especially guilt. She’s conniving, exactly like all the other women I’ve come in contact with. That woman Charlie comes over, though I can tell she’d rather be anywhere else. It’s a feeling I know well.

“Pancake platter,” I order. “Coffee for the drink.”

Charlie glares at me, following the pointed look with the shaking of her head. “We’re out of pancakes.” My eyebrows raise at that, but whatever.

“Fine. I’ll take the Western Omelet.”

“We’re out of eggs,” Charlie answers just as quickly. There’s laughter in the corner where the waitress is standing. I pull my eyes away from her and back to Charlie.

“They’re eating eggs,” I tell her, motioning toward the men at the other table.

“We just ran out,” Charlie says, her face impassive. She hasn’t even taken out her ordering pad to pretend she’s going to take my order. So, I decide to push her.

“So, no more breakfast today?”

“Exactly,” Charlie answers, her arms cross at her chest and a look of victory comes over her face.

“Then I’ll order a burger,” I tell her.

“We’re out.”

“You’re out of burgers?”

“There’s a big cow shortage in the area,” Charlie answers, and everyone in the diner laughs at that. Everyone but two people—me and Charlie.

“I take it your friend came running to you about the other day.”

“She told me.”