“I do,” I grinned again. “But lingerie doesn’t stay on or whole for long enough for Elden to appreciate how great I look in lingerie.” My body heated at the memory of his large, calloused hands ripping at delicate lace.
Sariah was gaping once more. “I have no fucking clue how you’re strong enough to distance yourself from a man who rips your lingerie off,” she quipped. “But you’re to stop doing what you’ve been doing. For your own good. I’m not watching you waste away.”
I glanced up at my friend when her voice shook a bit at the end. Her eyes were misty.
“Promise me you’re going to get yourself laid this weekend,” she demanded. “Promise me you’re going to get back together with your man, motorcycle club politics and stepfather be damned. Or I swear to God, I’ll fly up there and fight him myself.”
I grinned at that image.
Though I didn’t feel right about telling Sariah about the pregnancy before telling Elden, that I could tell her.
“I promise, I am going to get back together with my man,” I said dutifully.
“And have a cheeseburger,” she added.
My stomach heaved at the thought. “I’ll try my best.”
Though I intended on keeping my promises, I didn’t think I’d be able to handle the cheeseburger one since I’d thrown up five times during the plane ride here.
I didn’t look good. I looked pale, even more so than normal, I’d lost a couple of pounds I didn’t need to lose, my hair was a mess, and my face was dewy with sweat.
My mother clocked it all the second I met them at the gate, but luckily, I had a very small human excitedly waving his fists at me the second I got close enough. And then, he launched himself into my arms, and I got to use him as a buffer between my worried mother and stepfather.
It wasn’t until he was strapped in his car seat that my mother got to hit me with the questions.
“You look sick. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” My mother had turned so she could look at me in the back seat.
“I’m fine,” I told her, looking at my brother, landing kisses on his little cheeks.
“You are not fine,” she barked. “Tell her she’s not fine,” she addressed her husband.
“I’m not saying anything except when women say they’re fine, they rarely are.” Swiss’s eyes met mine in the mirror. They were twinkling. “I also know our girl is pretty darn tough and is also a college student. She’s probably hungover as fuck.”
“Swiss!” my mother exclaimed, smacking his arm. “Don’t swear in front of your son.”
“First of all, he’s a baby—”
“He’s a sponge,” my mother cut him off. “And I don’t want his first word to be …fuck,”she whispered theatrically.
“Second of all,” Swiss continued as if my mother hadn’t spoken. “He’s my son, so he’s going to swear eventually. Plus, a baby sayingfuckwould be fuckin’ hilarious.”
I grinned, or did my best to. I was still reeling over the ‘our girl’ comment. That and the warmth in Swiss’s eyes.
It settled wrong, rubbed against all of the secrets I was keeping.
But luckily, my mother and Swiss bickered pretty much all the way back to Garnett. Bickered with love and tenderness, with humor, warmth. With Swiss calling Mom ‘Countess’ and him with his hand on her knee before her hand up to his mouth.
Declan fell asleep beside me, and eventually, I followed suit, resting my head on my little brother’s car seat.
I only woke when Mom gently shook me the car stationary. I blinked rapidly, taking in the driveway we were parked on, the charming house and the crisp scent of lavender in the air.
“Honey, you want Swiss to carry you in?” Mom asked.
I was too bleary eyed and groggy to decipher whether that was a joke or not. “I still have use of both of my legs,” I muttered, pushing myself out of the car.
Mom lingered close to me, snapping when I attempted to grab my stuff from the trunk.
“That’s the entire reason I married a big, muscly biker,” she explained, directing me into the house.