“I’m not killing it,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to kill it.”
“Then you won’t kill it,” she told me, her voice firm. “And if someone has a problem, you can send them to me. I’m the crazy one, remember? I’ll just cut them—problem solved.”
Then she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at me.
Suddenly I felt better.
This was scary—terrifying—but I didn’t have to do it alone. Jessica was here, and despite her crazy, flaky ways, there was one thing she never flaked out on. Kids. She loved those kiddos at the community center, put her heart and soul into teaching and mentoring them.
If I had Jess to help me, I’d be okay.
“I’m headed over to the jail today,” I said quietly. “Do you think I should tell him now?”
Jessica frowned.
“Do you have any idea how he’s going to react?”
“None. We’ve never talked about kids or anything.”
“Well, maybe you can feel him out today,” she said. “Get a sense for where he stands on the subject. If the moment’s right, tell him. Otherwise just wait until you’re ready. I know this probably feels like the end of the world, but you have months and months to figure things out. You don’t have to do it all today.”
She was right.
“Thanks, Jess.”
“No worries,” she replied, tucking in close to me. “You know, I always pictured this conversation going the other way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d always assumed I’d be the one who accidentally got knocked up,” she said with a laugh. “Although I’m glad it’s you. I’m not ready to go through pregnancy and birth and all that shit.”
“How do you always manage to say exactly the right thing and exactly the wrong thing, all at the same time?”
“Just a gift, I guess. Everyone has their talents.”
? ? ?
No matter how many times I went to see Painter at the county jail, I never got used to being searched—made me feel dirty. Like there was something wrong with me, because I was visiting someone inside that place where decent people shouldn’t go.
In the weeks since he’d been locked up, I knew the club was working to figure out what the hell had happened with his parole officer. If they had the full story, nobody was telling. Officially he was still on administrative leave, although I’d heard rumors that they might be pressing charges against him.
I just hoped Painter wouldn’t get caught up in it.
On the bright side, today was my last visit out here—they’d be releasing him tomorrow. According to Reese, none of this was normal and I shouldn’t worry about Painter.
Of course, he wasn’t the pregnant one.
By the time they finally brought him in to see me, I was so nervous that I’d started trembling.
“Hey, babe,” he said, his voice warm as he came to sit across from me at a table and stools painted bright orange. They were all bolted into the floor, presumably so none of them could be used as weapons.
Lovely.
“Hey,” I whispered, smiling at him. We weren’t supposed to touch, but sometimes he stretched his foot out toward mine under the table. “How’s it going?”
“I’m ready to get out of here,” he said, flashing me a smile. “I miss you. Miss riding my bike, too. Hell, I even miss that cockwad Puck. Fucker’s been down to see me twice a week. How’s that for rubbing it in?”
That got a laugh out of me, because I knew how much those visits meant to him.
“So I wanted to talk to you about something,” I started.
“What’s up?”
“About club life.” Hmm . . . how to say it? “Everyone says this isn’t the way things normally work—that this parole officer’s out to get the club or something. But I also know you have brothers who’ve served time. What about their families? I know most of them have old ladies and kids and stuff. What do guys like that do if they have to go to jail?”