“I’m fine.”
She’s not fine. Her movements are jerky as she twists the lid off a beer and thrusts it at me. I ignore it, instead studying her face. My eyes drop to her mouth when she bites down on her bottom lip. Thump thump thump goes my craving. I can’t even be around her for even a minute without wanting to push her up against a wall and fuck her until the hunger eases. But it never does.
“Take the stupid beer,” she growls, seeing the heat gathering in my eyes.
I huff and snatch it from her, setting it on the kitchen counter beside us.
“Mac, I …” I look away, swallowing, and rub a hand over the short buzz of hair on my head. Am I making a mistake by leaving? My shoulders sag. What choice do I have? My voice hardens as I face her again. “We need to move on. Build some distance. I can’t be around you …”
Because it wears me down.
Her eyes close and the bitterness of heartache folds me up in its cold embrace. I cup her jaw before I can help myself. The touch is everything. For one brief moment we’re connected and everything feels okay. But it’s all an illusion.
My hand slides away and her eyes flicker open. “You’re right. We need to move on.”
MAC
Present Day…
I’m heaving into the porcelain bowl. My stomach cramps and purges but there’s nothing left. I’m an empty husk of my former self.
The bathroom door opens quietly. I don’t hear it, but I do hear, “Jesus, babe. You okay? How much did you have to drink?”
It’s Kelly, come to see me brought low. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and rubs my back in slow circles that are oddly soothing. “Nothing,” I moan, positive I’m about to die. How are women expected to survive this?
The door opens again and someone else steps in. This makes me happy because there’s nothing I want more right now than a budding audience to witness my torture.
“Kelly. Come here often?” It’s Grace. There’s irony in her voice because she was sick earlier tonight, and Casey’s brother found himself nursing her through it too.
There’s a long pause.
“Shit,” Kelly mutters.
“You’re pregnant,” Grace breathes in utter shock.
They’ve found the test resting on the bathroom vanity. The one I purchased on the Uber drive here.
Kelly snatches his hand from my back as if he just discovered I have leprosy. Newsflash, biker dude, pregnancy is not contagious. I want to voice the catty remark, but I simply can’t. All I can do is hold tight to the porcelain bowl and pray my end will come swiftly.
“Who’s the father?” he demands.
I lean back, using the backs of my hands to swipe at the ghastly mascara tracks on my cheeks. Kelly and Grace both stare and the weight of it is too much. “Jake,” I rasp, my voice hoarse from puking. “It’s Jake.”
Of course it’s him. It’s always been him. Asshead.
I swallow as my revelation sinks in. For the first time in my life, I feel I’ve lost all direction. I’m having a baby.
“Are you okay?” Grace asks me softly.
“No,” I choke out and then notice her face is as pale as the frosty paint on the walls. “Did I wake you?”
She shakes her head. “Your phone did.” Grace plucks it from the pocket of her blue silk pyjama pants. Her brows furrow on the screen before she holds it out toward me. “Henry has rung you three times.”
Kelly snatches the phone before I can reach for it. It rings immediately in his hand. He hits the green button and puts the device to his ear, using his other hand to bat away my feeble attempts to snatch it from him.
“This is Daniels,” he answers.
I can hear Henry’s voice but can’t make out what he’s saying.
“She’s right here beside me,” Kelly says into the phone.
He pauses as Henry speaks.
“No you can’t talk to her. She’s not well.”
“Put her on,” Henry roars loud enough for me to hear. And Henry never roars.
Kelly offers me the phone. “Your friend is a dick.”
“I heard that,” Henry says as I put the phone to my ear.
“All men are dicks, Hussy,” I tell him, my voice rougher than sandpaper. “You know this.”
“Well your man is the biggest dick of all.”
“He’s not my man,” I retort, sagging into the side of the bathtub behind me. “And why is it you rang me a thousand times to tell me something I already know?”
Henry huffs sharply. “To tell you that he’s gone.”
“He’s gone?” My fuddled mind tries to make sense of what he’s saying. “Who’s gone?”
“Jake.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know where!” A muffled thunk sounds through the phone as if Henry’s kicked an empty box clear across the room. “He rang, saying he was quitting the band and leaving.”
Denial shuts me down. “He’s not leaving. He’s just having a tantrum.”
“He rang me from the road!” Henry shouts with frustration. “I checked next door. All his clothes are gone.”
My stomach rebels with horror, and the phone slips from my fingers. “Mac?” Henry calls out. “Mac?”
I lean over the toilet bowl, blinded with fear. “Oh Jesus,” I breathe. “Not again.”
“Mac, are you okay?” Grace’s soft palm lightly grasps my shoulder.
Kelly must have picked up my phone because I can hear him talking behind me.
“Jake’s gone,” I squeeze out as my belly heaves.
Not again.
Not.
Again.
He pushed me away once when I was pregnant. And now it’s happening all over again. He’s leaving again. I can’t do this. I literally cannot do this again.
“Mac, breathe.” My lungs expel a huge rush of air at Kelly’s command. “Pull yourself together.”
“Kelly,” I hear Grace rebuke.
“She’s spiralling.”
He’s right though. I am spiralling. This is not me. I don’t spiral. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I’m the tough. It doesn’t get any tougher than me.
My eyes blink open as a sense of purpose fills me. I scramble to my feet in an awkward, clumsy motion. Hands reach out to steady me and I bat them away. A brief check in the mirror confirms I’m still a mess. My hair is tousled, my smoky eye-makeup is smudged and my face pale. But I don’t care. All I care about right now is getting to Jake. I stare at my reflection, my mind racing. There’s only one way to catch him before he disappears from my life completely, and only one way I can pull it off.
Gathering what little strength I have, I race from the bathroom.
“Mac!” Kelly shouts. I don’t stop and turn. I also don’t notice his older brother, Casey, emerging from his bedroom in wild, shirtless glory, asking, “What the hell is going on?” in a raspy voice.
I head straight for the bowl. The very one all partygoers had to put their keys into at the start of the party early last night. One set remains. The keys to Kelly’s Harley.
What I’m about to do will likely get me killed, but I have no choice.
I grab them.