OUR ACCIDENTAL BABY: Hellhounds MC

by Paula Cox

  He laughed. “No. I was hoping to have another chance to talk to you after we had a good night’s sleep.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He sighed. “May I please come in? My ass is starting to hurt from sitting on these concrete steps.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Alex, please. I really need to talk to you.” He made no threatening move or tried to force his way in. He didn’t even rise from the steps.

  I unlocked and opened the door in invitation. “Okay. But I have something to do later, so you are going to have to make it quick.”

  He grinned then rose and stretched his back with a couple of twists before stepping up to the door. “Thank you. You look lovely this morning.”

  “Don’t even try,” I warned. He was neat and put together, where I was bed tossed and dressed in baggy black and gold sweats with the Saints logo on them. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Coffee, if you have it.”

  “Not yet, but I was planning on brewing some.” I busied myself in the kitchen to get the machine going. “What is it you want to talk to me about?”

  “Me.”

  I blinked a couple of times as I mentally replayed what he had said to make sure I heard him correctly. “You?”

  “Yeah. You don’t know what you are getting into, but I do. I thought I would share some life experiences with you. I really do want to help you, Alex. And whether you believe it or not right now, you will need help.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  Cain pulled out a chair at my table and sat down, motioning for me to do the same. Once I was down, he began. “I thought over what has happened last night, and I realized that you could be my mother.” He held up his hand to silence me when I started to speak. “Just let me finish. Mom said I was conceived during a one night stand. Mom worked at The Lancaster Hotel in Houston. It’s a very upscale place catering to the rich and powerful. She was in charge of guest services, the concierge, everything to do with making sure the guests’ stay was pleasant, that sort of thing. Anyway, one night, this oilman came in and threw a lot of money around. Long story short, she ended up spending the night with him. Like you, she got pregnant. Unlike you, she was older and when she contacted him, she found out he was married and he denied everything. Rather than create a scandal, she just decided to raise me on her own. She is a lot like you. Determined, strong, and hard-headed.”

  “She told you all of this?”

  “Yes. When I was older. Everything except his name. Things went okay for a while. But when I was born, it got tougher. She started missing work because of me. Finally, they demoted her. Then she had trouble making ends meet and we started a slow spiral into poverty. One day her car broke down and she didn’t have the money to replace it. It took over a month to scrape together enough money to fix it, and she had to beg rides to work. That was the last straw and she was fired. Then she started working where and when she could. I was old enough to remember when she was fired. I hated how she cried all the time and I remember thinking that if I just ran away, she wouldn’t have to take care of me and she would be happy again. She was a proud woman. She didn’t like living on government handouts and charity. I can barely remember living in our house, then an apartment, but finally we ended up in assisted living. We never had anything. I remember for Christmas, when I was ten, I got a package of underwear, a package of socks, and a few pieces of candy. That was it.”

  I listened with rapt attention. Cain spoke softly and matter of factly, as if reading from a book. I could tell he wasn’t asking for my sympathy, but was delivering a cautionary tale.

  “At one point, I can’t remember how old I was, I remember that all we had to eat was rice for a while.” He had been staring into space as he spoke, reliving his memories behind his eyes. But then he looked at me and I saw him return from the past.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. But I wanted you to know how quickly it can all turn on you. My grandparents, I guess they helped as much as they could. I know I would go spend time with them when I was small, when things got really tough. As I got older, it got easier. But she would probably be the manager of the Lancaster by now and pulling down six figures, not managing a Best Western. And it was all because of me and the fact that she was too stubborn to go to court to force a paternity test and make the father take responsibility for what happened. She was afraid the scandal would cost her her career. In the end, it didn’t matter. She lost her career anyway.”

  “And you don’t know who your father is?”

  “No. She simply will not tell me. Not even his first name. Claims ‘it’s water under the bridge,’ whatever the hell that means.”

  “Is that how you became involved in the Hellhounds?”

  Cain shrugged. “As I grew up, I found out that I had the gift of gab, I guess you could say. I could talk anyone into anything. Or talk my way out of anything. When I was in high school, Mom was dating a Hellhound. I talked my way into the club. I started out washing their bikes for a little spending money. I was like their pet, I guess. Anyway, they sort of took me under their wing, and here I am.”

  “And what do you do, again?”

  Cain sighed. “Are we back on this again? Remember how I said I could talk anyone into anything? That’s what I do. I sell stuff for the Hellhounds. That’s it. No different than any other salesman.”

  I got up and poured up a couple of cups from the coffee flagon then turned and set one in front of him. “How do you take it?”

  “Black. Thanks.”

  Rather than beat him up about what I knew he wouldn’t tell me, I tried a different method. “Why do you work for the Hellhounds?”

  “Because I have no marketable skills. Because they gave me a home and treated me well. Because the money is good. And because I’m good at my job.”

  “If you are that good of a salesman, why don’t you find a real job?”

  I saw his lips tighten. “I have a real job.”

  “Sorry. Let me rephrase that. Why don’t you get a job where you don’t have to dance around what you do? Like selling cars for example, or something like that.”

  “I told you what we do, whether you believe it or not.”

  “Machined parts for a machine? A machine that isn’t illegal but you can’t tell me what it is?”

  “That’s right. And to answer the other part of your question, because I make more money now than I could possibly hope to make selling cars. Because the Hounds need me. And because I can’t put what I do on a résumé.”

  “Why not, if it isn’t illegal?”

  “Would you hire a guy that has worked the last five years for a motorcycle club?”

  “That’s my point, Cain. That’s what I’ve been saying all along. What you do is either legal or illegal. If you can’t put it on a résumé, why should I believe you that it is legal?”

  “Just forget it,” he sighed.

  “I can’t forget it!” I cried as I slapped my hands on the table. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t want to trade one problem for a worse one.”

  “And I’m telling you, it isn’t like you think! I have a right to be involved with this child. It’s my child, too! And whether you believe it or not, you are going to need some help. I don’t want him or her having to grow up like I did. I want to help you, Alex. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “How can I believe you? You won’t tell me what you do. You won’t even tell me what you do is legal. You walked out on me after one night without so much as a goodbye. Why should I trust you on anything?”

  I saw him go red in the face. “That’s not fucking fair,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “You knew what you were getting into. I made no commitments and no promises to you, and you fucking know it. You got what you wanted and so did I. So don’t hand me that shit. You’re just as guilty as I am. Do you really want to punish your child over something like that? Beca
use if you do, then you are one cold-hearted bitch.”

  “Fuck you, you asshole! Get out of my house!”

  He made no move to rise. “What? Does the truth hurt? You know what your problem is? You’re so fucking stubborn that you won’t listen to reason.”

  “Get out!” I screamed.

  He rose to his feet. “Fine. I’ll go. But we’re not done with this, Alex. Not by a long shot. I’ll come back later when you have had time to cool off. You might take this time to think about what’s best for our baby, and try to forget your stupid pride.”

  “I won’t be here later. I’ll be at the doctor’s office, then work. So you can just get on your fucking motorcycle and ride your ass back to Dallas.”

  “I’m not leaving here until we get this resolved.” He paused a moment as he looked at me. “What doctor’s appointment?”

  “None of your goddamned business. Get… out!”

  “If it is a prenatal visit, it is most certainly my business.”

  “Well, I’m not telling you. Now are you going to leave or do I have to call the cops?”

  “I’ll leave if that is what you want. But if you are going to the baby doc, I’m going.”

  “You don’t know where it is.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll just follow you there then. Won’t that be fun?” he said turning in a slow circle and waving his hands about. “You making a scene in the doctor’s office, trying to keep the father of your child from finding out the results of your tests. I’ll demand a paternity test right then and there, to get on record as the child’s father. Is that what you want? It’s not what I want, but I’ll do it, and you know I will.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Cain stared me in the eyes and smiled, and I knew he wasn’t bluffing. “Try me.”

  ***

  We walked into Crescent City Physicians about ten minutes before my appointment. I wasn’t happy about having Cain along, but when I finally backed down he had been nothing but helpful and gracious. He was pissing me off because he was making it damned difficult to stay mad at him and I could feel my resolve softening. Damn him.

  I filled out all the paperwork and filled in Cain’s name when he rapped on the clipboard with a finger when I skipped Father’s Name the first time. When I finished the paperwork he took the clipboard from me and returned it to the nurse’s station where he spent a few minutes talking with the nurse.

  It didn’t take long before he had her smiling and nodding and he passed what appeared to be a business card to her. She took the card and clipped it to the paperwork then smiled brightly at him as plucked the single fake rose from the holder on her desk and handed it to her. I fumed as she giggled, took the rose as if to smell it, and then returned it to the holder.

  “What was that all about?” I asked as he sat down again.

  “They’re going to call me and let me know when your appointments are scheduled and if they change.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can be here.”

  “All the way from Dallas?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  He said nothing as he smiled at me. I sat back and stared at the television running a loop about caring for yourself during pregnancy. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying it, but I was slightly touched that he would make the effort to be here for my appointments. But I wasn’t ready to give him a pass just yet and would wait and see how long it lasted.

  Chapter 6

  “You want to get something to eat before you leave for work?” Cain asked as he opened the passenger door of my car for me.

  I sighed in resignation. He had wrapped the female doctor around his little finger and she had spent more of the visit talking to him about what was coming up, and what he could do to help me, than she did talking to me. “If I say yes, will you leave after we eat?” I asked hopefully.

  “Maybe,” he replied as he shut my door. He looked up as the sky rumbled then squeezed into my car. He reached behind him and pulled the top up and latched his side as I did the same on my side. He didn’t look at all comfortable in my little car and I looked out of my side window to hide my smile.

  “Where to?”

  He had fixed us a simple lunch of sandwiches and sodas while I showered, but that smoked turkey hadn’t set all that well. “I’m not that hungry. What do you want?”

  “Well… we could try that place you stormed out of. What was the name of it? Lord Have Mercy?”

  “Lard Have Mercy,” I corrected.

  “Yeah. That place. I would still like to try the beignets and chicory coffee. I left in a bit of a hurry last night and didn’t have a chance to actually try them.”

  I flushed at the mild rebuke, but he was grinning playfully at me. “Okay. That will be fine.”

  “Will you actually stay and have dinner with me this time?”

  I wanted to snap at him for being an ass, but I guess I deserved that, and it was obvious he was just needling me. “So long as you aren’t an asshole, yes.”

  “Fair enough. How do I get there from here?”

  I gave him directions and we arrived just as it began to rain, big drops that promised there was a toad strangler was on the way. He pulled up and stopped close to the door so I could hop out and dash under the covered front door to wait for him. He found a spot at the far end of the lot just as the heavens opened up and I had to giggle as I watched him squeeze out of the car ass first. MX5s weren’t designed for big, muscular, Americans, especially with the top up. He plodded, hunch shouldered, through the rain and then ran his hands through his hair when he stepped under the covering to squeegee the water out of it. Damned if it wasn’t a sexy move and I wondered if he did it on purpose.

  “You ready?” he asked as he opened the door for me.

  I stepped in and the smells I normally like so well assaulted me.

  “What?” he asked as I stopped.

  “I need some air,” I gasped as I stepped quickly around him and back outside. I took a couple of deep breaths and the queasiness began to fade.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he joined me, taking me gently by the elbow.

  “Wow! That turkey sandwich is kicking.”

  “What?”

  “Lunch isn’t sitting that well,” I explained. “When I walked in there, the smells got to me. I thought I was going to puke.” I took another deep breath. “I’m feeling better now.”

  “Are you sure? You want to go home instead?”

  “No. I’m fine now.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Kind of early for that, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me. One of the old ladies in the club used to carry a plastic trashcan around with her after she got pregnant. She was puking all the time, almost from the time she found out. We called her the barf-a-tron. Not in front of her, of course.”

  “Weren’t you sweethearts,” I said flatly. “I’m feeling better. Let’s try this again,” I said as I stepped out of the way of a couple that was leaving.

  We enter Lard Have Mercy again. At first I thought I was going to be okay, but then the nausea hit me like a punch in the gut. I shoved Cain out of the way and made it out of the door before I embarrassed myself. I was bent over, hands on knees, gasping as I fought against my stomach when I felt his hand gently caressing my back.

  “As soon as you feel better, I’ll take you home.”

  It took several long moments of panting before I felt well enough to stand up straight. “I’m better now,” I said as I straightened, enormously proud that I hadn’t actually puked in front of the restaurant.

  “Wait here,” he said as he stepped from under the cover.

  He walked out in the pouring rain and brought the car up in front of the door. I was just about to make a dash for it when I saw him squeezing out again and I waited, not sure what he was doing. I hoped he didn’t want me to drive because I really didn’t feel like it. Out of the c
ar he walked around to the passenger side and held the door handle. I ran out into the rain and he jerked the door open for me and shut it behind me before he trudged around the front of the car and squeezed in. He was soaked to the skin and the windows immediately began to fog.

  We drove through the rain, the wipers thumping out a steady rhythm as they fought to clear the windshield. As we waited at a light, he reached into his vest and pulled out his phone. After a couple of touches he placed the phone against his ear.

  “Mom! It’s Cain. Good. Listen, I have a question. I have a friend that is suffering from morning sickness. No. No.”

  He was juggling the phone as he drove and shifted gears. Sometimes I could hear a buzzing voice from the phone, but with the hiss of the tires, the rain roaring on the canvas top, and the wipers, I had no hope of making out what was being said.