Knocking gently on the door, I wait. After a beat of silence, I call through. “It’s me. I’m coming in.” Pausing, there’s still no reply so I take it as her compliance.
With a twist of the knob, I’m greeted with her bright blonde hair in all directions, the down comforter cocooning her like she’s two days in with the flu. “You’re not eating,” I state and the covers shift. No doubt it was her shrugging. I know this woman as if she’s my own sister and she’s always been full of attitude. “Everyone’s noticed that you’re withering away, and shits gotta be serious if a bunch of men are picking up on it. You wanna let me in on what the fuck’s goin’ on?”
She blows out a breath and finally sits up. Still wrapped in the blanket, her puffy face and glossy gaze finds mine. It wordlessly pleads with me not to make her talk about it, but that’s not what this is. Things don’t work that way with me; I’ll let you stew a whole minute but eventually you better move on or speak the fuck up. “Not really,” she admits, her voice cracking from not speaking and crying too damn much. This is so unlike Princess it has us all fucked in the head. The bitch is nuts with a poker face like her pops and a set of lady balls that if she were a man, she’d be the baddest motherfucker around.
“Spill it.”
She inhales a deep breath, tears already spilling over her cheeks as she confesses, “I had a miscarriage.”
My brows jump, shocked at hearing about this. “Did this just happen?”
She shakes her head. “A few months ago.”
My sight becomes glazed, thinking of the lost nephew or niece that no doubt would’ve been just like my brother and me but without the baggage. It hurts, that’s for sure and I can only imagine what she must be feeling. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, P.” I mutter the useless words and she nods.
Her lips tremble. “He thinks it’s his fault.”
“What?” I instantly ask with a near whisper.
“Viking.” She sucks in another shaky breath, exhaling before continuing. “He’s rough with me,” she says, and I cut her off with a growl.
“He hurt you?”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. He’s rough with me, but that’s how it’s always been. I love that about him,” she clarifies, and I nod, her meaning clicking into place. I’ve seen the two of them, we all have. It’s like a tornado between her and my brother when they fight or fuck. “But he thinks he hurt me and that it’s his fault I lost the baby.”
“Idiot,” I breathe. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t you tell any of us?” My brother can be a damn dumbass sometimes. He should’ve told us about this.
“Bethany and Nightmare know.”
That’s understandable. Bethany is her best friend, but I’m a little jaded that Viking didn’t confide in me, his blood brother.
“And you know how he is. He doesn’t open up about anything,” she continues, making an excuse for him that he doesn’t deserve.
I know that Vike’s stubborn, but it still sucks.
“We had this big plan,” she laughs, but there’s no humor in her voice. It’s broken. “We decided to wait until we had an ultrasound. We were going to have a big party for the club and make our announcement.” Buckets of tears fall over her cheeks and it twists me up inside to witness her like this. “Then two and a half months in...I-I just lost it one day. The hospital says it’s common in early pregnancies.”
“Okay.” My brows raise. “Not to be insensitive, but can’t you guys try for another?”
“I know you’re not being insensitive, and others would probably think the same thing.”
I wait, breathing, trying my damndest to project calmness so she feels comfortable enough to keep speaking.
“We’ve been trying for five years to get pregnant and it had finally happened.”
“Fuck,” I murmur. It was meant for myself, but it comes out loud enough for her to hear.
“Exactly. There’s a chance it could be the only time I ever get pregnant.”
“I had no idea you guys were even trying. Does anyone else know you’ve been struggling with this? Doctors or anyone?”
“I’ve confided in Bethany, of course, and my dad. It’s why he finally got sober.”
Her father, Prez, is the original Oath Keeper. Ares is the president of their club now, but we still call Princess’s father Prez out of respect. And we’ve all noticed the change in him; he went from drowning his sorrows to one day coming into the clubhouse looking like a different man. We’ve each made him a tonic with lime at some point, noting that he’d cut alcohol out of his life completely. I had no idea what made him change, but it makes sense.
She swipes at the wetness coating her cheeks, using the blanket to attempt to dry the evidence the tears have left behind. “Viking is too stubborn. He says we don’t need help from anyone else, that we’ll work it out together.”
“And he’s off being an asshole.”