“Yeah, if she means that much to you, we would have kept quiet.”
I know what Dallas means, but I can’t help glancing toward Rico, who’s remained focused on his task at hand, his brows furrowed either with concentration or irritation. Dallas and Knuckles follow my gaze.
Only once we’re all looking at Rico does he stop scrubbing. With a frustrated sigh, he rises to join us. “Of course, I wouldn’t ever say something about Winter. I mean, about that night. You might drive me up the wall with your rash decisions and alpha moodiness, but we’re blood.”
As we all stand together, speaking more directly about the topic than I’ve been willing to, I feel a sense of gratitude for my guys.
“And if you’re going to be all sensitive about it, we’ll stop saying shit about fucking Winter.” Dallas jumps back, a grin on his face as I growl.
“No, seriously, man. When you gave her to us, we thought you were done with her, that she was just gonna be one of the club girls to pass around—”
“I made a mistake,” I growl, clenching my fists. “No one gets to touch her from now on.”
“Hey, chill. We get it,” Dally says, putting up his hands in surrender. “We hear you loud and clear. We’ll stop talking about her like a club girl. Okay?”
Knuckles and Rico nod.
I take a deep breath and try to calm down. Rolling my shoulders, I force my hands open once more. “Thanks,” I say.
“We’re brothers, right? No pussy comes between us. ” Knuckles gives a broad grin, showing me he’s teasing.
I give him a playful shove, and just like that, the tension dissipates.
“Besides, there’s plenty of pussy hanging around the club,” Dally agrees.
“Let’s get back to work before Mark comes in and decides to make us clean something else,” Rico says.
Rather than razz him like I normally would, I take up my broom and start sweeping. No point in causing friction now when I finally feel like I’m on stable ground with the guys again.
The shed is a mess, and by the time we’re wrapping up the cleaning, we have two big bags of trash to throw away. It’s a long day of arduous work, and I’m sweaty and tired from the menial, time-consuming tasks. And we still have days of it ahead.
I pick up the large trash bags as the guys collect the rest of the cleaning gear to take back to the clubhouse, and we head inside together. It’s going to be a fight for the shower with all of us living at the club, but I’m kind of grateful that our punishment brought us back together. The tension and bitterness that had been building in me since the night I let the guys fuck Winter has diminished, and we’re back to our usual dynamic, for the most part.
“See you inside,” I say with a jerk of my chin as I part ways, heading toward the trash.
They grumble acknowledgment, as tired as I am, as they trudge through the back door.
I walk to the dumpster and swing the lid open, then glance inside as I hoist the full trash bags over the rim. Freezing before I even let the bags go, I stare down at the bottom of the dumpster at the bright-white strip of plastic at the bottom.
A pregnancy test?I frown, gently lowering the trash bags into the dumpster so they won’t disrupt my view of the white plastic. Then I lean in closer. It’s not just one pregnancy test. It’s two. And as I study them, I can see the pink lines indicating someone tested positive. My heart rate automatically kicks up a notch as I stand stunned, unable to fully process the meaning of it.
I consider who could have possibly gotten knocked up. It could be any of the club girls, but the guys are always really careful to use condoms with them, partially for this exact reason. And also because they’re passed around too much to not use a condom. We haven’t had any big parties recently anyway, so that seems less than likely.
A tremor runs through me as I’m struck with the sudden certainty that it’s Winter. It has to be. She’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me. Slamming the dumpster lids closed, I rush back to the house and to my room. I don’t waste time knocking. I wrench the door open. But the room’s empty. She’s gone.
An icy lump settles in my stomach as I consider what that might mean. Anxiety replaces my nerves, and I spin on my heel, dashing to the bathroom, just in case she’s there. But when I knock on the locked door, Rico shouts through the wood that he’s not done yet.
“Quit buggin’ me, Dally. I can take as long as I fucking want!” he hollers through the door.
“It’s Gabe. You didn’t happen to see Winter when you came in, did you?” I ask, pressing against the door and raising my voice so he can hear me.
“Nah, man,” he replies.
My anxiety ratchets up as I make my way down the hall and to the clubhouse. Tossing the doors wide open, I scan the room and don’t see her. But I do see Starla. I make a beeline for her and step up close, cutting her off as I interrupt her conversation with Taylor, Porky’s widow.
“Have you seen Winter today? Were you two supposed to do something together?”
Starla’s eyes widen slightly, and Taylor looks somewhat irritated, but I ignore her.