Izzy lets out a little sigh and settles. Did she conk out? She's an eager eater, but it wears her out and her nap was short. Maybe I can get her back in the crib. I feel a little exposed talking to the guys this way.
God, this isn't how they’re supposed to find out. Obviously, they don't know she's theirs. Why would they? They probably think I have wild biker orgies every weekend. If I did it with them, why not with others? I just have to keep cool to keep this from becoming a disaster.
At the same time, I want them to know. I want them to sense the connection, because Izzy is the most amazing thing in the world. Would they hate me for it if I told them? They would have every reason to be mad. They deserve to know and I'm a horrible person for hiding it from them.
But I don’t know what would come after, and that terrifies me.
Still, I peel the little blanket back until Izzy's adorable chubby face pops out. “This is Isabella.”
Bear grins. “She's adorable,” he rumbles. “Look at those fucking cheeks.”
“How old is she?” asks Hawk suddenly. He's not looking at me, too busy checking out one of Bea's black and white photos that she took right after Izzy was born. “She’s got to be what? Seven, eight months?”
“Eight,” I say before I realize that I should probably have given them a different number—one that didn't align quite so well with our time at the club.
Viking snorts. “Eight fucking months, huh? Huh. I guess we must’ve been a last hurrah before you… wait.” He looks up a moment, doing math in his head. “That puts us really damn close to the weekend we fucked you silly.”
The accusation hangs right out there between us, even if he hasn't straight out said it.
“We used protection,” I say, barely above a whisper, guilt a heavy weight on my chest. I'm having a hard time finding the strength to keep up the lie, and they only barely got here. They deserve to know about the baby. It's theirs too. Well, at least one of theirs.
But if they were worried about a war with the Mafia before, well…
“We sure did,” says Bear. “But if you want to know how easily it can fail, ask my damn parents. I have six brothers and sisters. Then again, maybe they were just shit at using it.” He shrugs his massive shoulders and chuckles. “But I’m sure you have an explanation.”
I can't meet his eyes.
“Fuck,” says Viking. “It's ours, isn't it? One of us put that little girl in you.”
Snark's eyes light up. “I'm a daddy? Holy shit.”
“It takes more than fucking sperm to be a father,” says Hawk's cold voice. Ice cold. He's still turned away, but there's no ignoring his cold fury. I look to the others for support but there’s none to be found. “And she decided to make that decision for us.”
“I—”
Viking's thick brows knit into a dark frown. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like. Look me right in the fucking eyes and tell me it's not ours.”
The hurt and anger in his voice has my heart dropping into my stomach. There's a stinging at the corners of my eyes that I'm not used to. I've never been a weepy kind of girl. I knew I'd have a hard time keeping this secret if I ever saw them, but I never realized I'd fail this horribly.
“I tried to tell you. When it first happened. I swear.”
“Bullshit.”
“Viking, ease up—” starts Snark, but Viking cuts him off with a gesture.
“No. This isn't a little white lie. This is a fucking baby. Our fucking baby.”
I look between them. Bear looks hurt, his hazels huge as he watches me. Snark seems to be taking his cue from them, not sure how to react but somehow putting both excitement and anger in his expression at once. And Hawk still hasn't turned around, but it feels like the air around him just dropped by ten degrees.
“I tried to tell you. I swear. I went back to the clubhouse right after I found out.” I try not to get too animated so I don't wake Isabella, but my voice is cracking. I'm in the wrong here, but it's not just my fault. They have to at least give me a chance to explain. “They turned me away at the gate. Several times. Said that if I wasn't already someone's old lady, then don't bother. Sluts take their own risks, and the way they sleep around, who's going to know who their baby daddy is? Sound familiar?”
“Fuck,” groans Viking and runs a hand through his thick hair.
“I didn't have your phone numbers. I don’t even know your real names. What was I supposed to do? Go look up the number for a Mr. Viking, living at number one, Screaming Eagle Clubhouse Place? Spend all my time stalking your front gate in case you came out on your bikes? They wouldn't even let me talk to you guys. Your door guards chased me away.”