So I let them create my home.
And it was warm. It was tasteful. It was both of their personalities—my mom’s old school Southern Elegance and my sister’s slightly stiff WASP style—meshed together in harmony. There were even photos too, like Macy’s, but with fewer men in leather cuts.
But it didn’t feel like mine.
It didn’t feel like me.
But that made sense, because I didn’t feel like me.
My phone rang and I glanced down, smiling, wondering if my sister’s ears were burning.
“Linny! I’ve been calling you all week. I wanted to see if you can make it back for Archie’s christening.”
“Christening?” I repeated.
Sure, we were raised in a God fearing, church going town, but my parents never really pushed religion on us.
“Why are you saying it like that?” she demanded. “Do you want Archie to be in baby limbo if anything happens to him?”
My stomach lurched at the mere thought. “Don’t say things like that,” I snapped. “Nothing is going to happen to him.”
She tutted. “Of course not. But I’m getting him christened. I’ve already got the gown.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, if you’ve already got the gown, you’re all but trapped.”
The baby made a sound, cried out a little, then settled. But my sister’s ears heard everything, and now she was a new mother, she was likely attuned to such things.
“Is that a baby?” she demanded.
Shit.
“Yeah.” I moved the baby slightly in the crook of my arm. I probably should’ve put him to bed, but I needed the comfort right now. “I’m babysitting.”
“That’s better than stealing a child from the hospital,” she deadpanned.
I muted the TV, rolling my eyes. “Yes, and if the babysitting gig fell through, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”
“Whose baby is it?” she demanded.
I bit my lip. I couldn’t exactly tell her it was the president of the motorcycle club who were—kind of—holding me captive while I wrote my story on them. Oh, and that the president of that motorcycle club was best friends with a man named Jagger, the boy she knew as Liam. “A friend’s,” I said.
“A friend’s?” she repeated. “You have a friend that you know well enough that they trust you with their baby?” There was only a light amount of teasing in her voice and an ample amount of happiness. Hope.
My sister had a lot of friends. She always had. Head cheerleader, prom queen, sorority sister…all that. And now that she was married to a successful banker, she was one of the ladies in the top tier of the social circle. She lunched. Headed charities. She had friends. Some of whom were vapid and superficial, but a lot of whom were kind and genuine. I knew it bothered her that I didn’t have the same thing.
“Or they don’t know me well enough to trust me with their baby,” I joked.
“Seriously, Linny, you have friends there?” she asked, tears leaking into her voice. My sister was also a crier.
I looked around at the photos. Of Macy and Hansen. Of the club, past and present. “Yeah,” I whispered.
I heard delicate sobs over the phone. “Oh, Linny, that makes me so happy.” She paused. “But does that mean you’re settled there? In Arizona? That you’re not coming home?”
My stomach sank at the reality my sister was unknowingly thrusting in my face. Me, who lived in reality, who thrust it in other people’s face, and did it for a living.
Since we’d come back from Castle Springs, since Liam and I had become…whatever, I didn’t think past the next five minutes. I was living just like an outlaw, not looking too far into the future, not beyond my next orgasm at least, and hoping I’d survive.
But there was an end here.
Though some may stretch on for a long time—wars always ended. For better or for worse. Always for worse.
And this was gearing up for something. I wasn’t stupid enough not to see the change in things, the way the men all seemed tenser every day. Something was coming.
And not only did that fill me with fear knowing that not everyone—including me—would survive it, I was also terrified at what would happen if I did survive it.
After.
Presumably Hansen would let me go.
I’d more than proved my worth.
What happened when I stopped becoming a captive?
The opening of a door interrupted that thought and I tensed automatically, holding the baby tighter to me. Heavy footfalls had me looking toward the gun that Hansen had left me with.
I knew how to use it.
I was from the South.
I was moments away from holding a baby in one hand and a gun in the other when the owner of the footfalls rounded the corner.
Emerald eyes took me in.
“Hello? Linny?” my sister called.
“I’ve got to go,” I said. “I think I need to change a diaper.”
She laughed. “Good luck. Talk soon. Love you.”