Long Ride The Slayers MC #3)

by Tara Oakes

  Normally I’d ask if she was sure, but in this case, she’s not going to get an argument from me. In her condition, I’d prefer her not to climb high on a carnival ride.

  “Here you go,” the attendant hands two empty burlap potato sacks over to me and gestures for us to climb the wooden stairs.

  “Stand at the bottom so I can see you, Maw!” Sasha screams excitedly over the railing down to Angel as we wind our way up and around the nearly spiral staircase.

  Angel throws a thumbs up sign before disappearing into the crowd.

  Once we reach the top, a pimply-faced teenaged boy holds out his hand like a bar to prevent us from taking the platform until the waiting rider has pushed himself down the shoot.

  “Dawson! I’m scared!” Sasha waits until now to voice her fear.

  Great.

  There’s no way down other than by sliding, so I’m not sure how to handle this.

  The attendant looks at her, to me, and back again. “We’ve gotta keep the line moving.”

  Well, actually, there is another way off this thing and that punk teen is about to find out when I throw his ass overboard.

  “What if we go down together?” I bend down and ask Sasha. “I’ll hold you tight and you can close your eyes the whole way.”

  She looks unsure. “Uhm. I guess.”

  “Here,” I toss the extra potato sack over to the employee.

  He barely catches it. “Actually, sir, you can’t do that. It’s against the rules. Only one person at a time.”

  I ignore him. What’s he gonna do? He’s lucky if he weighs a buck twenty.

  “Actually,” I correct him, “You can go screw your rules.”

  I sit down and cover the bottom half of my legs in the bag and help Sasha down to my lap. She’s trembling, full of fright.

  My arms wrap tightly around her. “Here we go sweetie. Close your eyes now. We’ll be down at the bottom in a second.”

  “Don’t let go, Dawson!” She pleads.

  “Never gonna happen, kiddo. I’ve got you.”

  ~*~

  ANGEL

  The fireworks are set to begin any minute now, with the rides quieting down as everyone comes to gather in the middle of the soccer field to watch.

  Sasha has been looking forward to this all day, and has been driving me insane with her endless questions about how much longer to wait. Now that Dawson is here, I think it’s only fair he answers her just like I’ve had to for the last few hours.

  “I’m going to go hit the little girls room before the show. Be right back.” I’m on my feet and yards away before anyone has a chance to respond.

  “Angel! Wait! No!” I hear Dawson call out and turn my head to see. He’s ready to follow me, but held back by Sasha tugging his arm, not wanting him to leave and miss the show, too.

  I don’t know why he’s getting all worked up. I’ll be back in two minutes, tops. I mean, I can’t help it that his kid is pressing on my bladder and making me have to go more than a damned race horse.

  It’s sweet that he’s so protective and all, and I know it shouldn’t aggravate me. I mean, I realize how lucky I am. Really, I do. I’m grateful to have him here and by my side through all of this. I know some people aren’t as lucky.

  Take Baby for instance. She had to do all of this alone, by herself.

  I know I could if I had to, but I sure am glad I don’t.

  If I have to put up with Dawson being a little overprotective and domineering, then it’s a small price to pay.

  The portable toilets are all lined up in a row near the haunted house, but as I get closer, I can see the line formed and my bladder tells me I can’t wait. Ugh. If only I were a man at a time like this. All they have to do is unzip, point, and go.

  “Hey Angel!” Trixie spots me. “You havin’ fun?”

  I nod, cross my legs at the ankle and hug my knees close together. “Yup. Say, do you have another bathroom around here? I’m not gonna last if I have to wait on that,” I point to the line.

  “Oh, hun. You don’t want to use that anyway. Especially not after a long day like this. I’m sure they’re a mess. Uno’s got our trailer parked around back. Got a bathroom in there you can use. Come on.” She’s a lifesaver.

  I use all my energy to concentrate on controlling my Kegel muscles and thoughts to prevent having an embarrassing accident in front of dozens of people.

  I wish I had known about their trailer the other five times I’d gone to the ladies’ room earlier. Trix is right, it wasn’t pleasant and I’m grateful I don’t have to do it again.

  “See? Right there, behind the dunk tank.” Trix points beyond the carnival booths.

  The gleaming white camping trailer peeks out from in between the fabric covered attraction tents.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Trix!” Not being much of a runner, I didn’t think I’d be able to get much speed, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.

  Thankfully the door is unlocked and the bathroom close to the entrance. I make it with absolutely no time to spare and take a deep sigh of relief.

  The water from the tap is warm, and I lather up my fingers and hands well, knowing I’ve touched way too many germs today despite the buckets of hand sanitizer that had been used.

  Relieved and refreshed, the trailer is left behind just as I hear the first firework go off. I need to get back to Dawson and Sasha before I miss too much, so I pick up the pace. Trix is visiting over by Uno, helping him dry off from the latest dunk. She looks busy and if I stop to thank them again for the use of the trailer I know I’ll miss even more of the firework display, so I wave my arm high until I catch her eye instead.

  We nod to each other and I move again to return to my family.

  Everyone seems to be heading in the same direction, with the same idea as me, pushing and shoving from all sides. I don’t know why, but I turn around having an overwhelming feeling wash over me that I’m being watched.

  It’s not the first time.

  I felt it earlier at the slides and then again while we were setting up the picnic blanket to watch the fireworks. It’s odd because there are hundreds of eyes around here tonight, so why do I feel paranoid that some of them might be on me?

  It must be a hormonal thing, I convince myself. That seems to be the politically correct thing to do these days. Blame everything on pregnancy and hormones. At least that’s what my doctors seem to think.

  Every little thing I mention, and they chalk it all up to being preggo. Even Cat’s started doing it. My doctor’s are starting to get fed up with office calls looking for explanations for all the little changes that are happening.

  So, nowadays I do the next best thing. I call Cat. Only she’s beginning to sound just like them. I called her this morning, telling her that I think my little toe is starting to grow. Guess what she said? Yup. Pregnancy. Apparently, it can cause your feet to flatten out and look like they’re growing. Who would have thought?

  I’ll bet tomorrow when I call her and tell her that I’m growing paranoid, thinking someone is following me, that she’ll say the same thing.

  Regardless, I can’t shake the feeling and look behind me at least two times. That coupled with the constant moving around me of people running by and the loud noises crashing from the sky as soon as the latest firework goes off, is starting to get overwhelming. Things start to look like the inside of a dance club, with a strobe light effect every time the brightly lit sky changes color.

  The screaming from the rides, the whooshing of the roller coaster as it passes by, the loud explosions in the sky up above and the quick moving of my head back and forth to check the empty space that my gut just won’t seem to ignore, is all proving to be too much.

  My head begins to spin. Or is it the earth that’s spinning? The sky? Maybe all three?

  Heavy eyelids threaten to close and I feel pins and needles in my limbs before a ringing in my ears begins to grow louder.

  My knees weaken and then suddenly feel as if they’re gone, miss
ing.

  In my head I know I’m falling, but it doesn’t feel like it. Instead, it feels like I’m sinking in quicksand, melting into a puddle where I once stood. That is, until the hard ground meets my bones, sending an unwelcome greeting that jolts me.

  “Molly!” I hear through a tunnel-like speaker.

  I see feet gather around me in a circle as bystanders realize what’s happened.

  “Molly! Are you all right?” A pair of denim covered knees land inches from my face and I feel hands check the skin of my forehead.

  I’ve only fainted once before. In the ninth grade, I was the captain of the field hockey team and we had a drill sergeant of a coach. She’d make us practice in ninety-five-degree heat, sweating our asses off, doing drills before class.

  Anytime we’d complain or ask for a water break, she’d scream at us and make us run a lap around the track, calling us weak and saying how she was doing us a favor by toughening us up.

  The only favor she ever did me was causing heat exhaustion that got me sent home from school for two days, where I missed an Algebra midterm because I’d fainted during homeroom from dehydration.

  What I’m feeling now is eerily similar to what I felt then, even though it was so many years ago, I’d never thought it possible to remember the sensation.

  I remember seeing flying unicorns holding field hockey sticks, dancing around the desks of the classroom as I was lying on the floor.

  I guess delusions come standard with fainting.

  This time, I see my sister sitting, cradling my head in her lap.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BABY

  He’s kissing ass.

  I know that’s what he’s doing.

  Doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna enjoy it while it lasts.

  The house smells of bacon and coffee so I’m not surprised to see both on the kitchen table, but am taken aback when I see what else is there. Pancakes. Fruit. Orange juice.

  Oh, and did I mention a bathed and fed infant napping in her automatic swing?

  “Mornin’.” Stitch hands me a mug of Joe.

  I rake it. “Mm hmm.”

  I’m gonna drink his coffee. I’m gonna eat his pancakes and bacon. And then? Then I’m going to leave him with the dishes and the baby while I go shopping with Angel.

  That’s the plan and I’m sticking to it.

  “Good?” he asks when I swallow the first batch of homemade griddle cakes.

  I could be a bitch right now and tell him I would’ve rather had Belgium waffles, but I don’t want to be cruel. “Mm hmm.”

  “You sleep all right?” He tries another approach.

  Different question, but same answer. “Mm hmm.”

  He’s getting the point.

  I wonder if I can squeeze a couple of loads of laundry out of this? After what he pulled last night, he’d better have the laundry done and the bed made. That is, if he hopes to sleep in it tonight.

  I’ll admit, I got a lot of satisfaction from putting him in his place last night, but I was spiting myself just as much as him. He may have had to sleep alone on the pullout bed in the nursery, but I had to sleep alone in our king-sized memory foam bed.

  I’ve already slept alone in that bed far too many times and swore to myself many many nights ago that I’d never take his sleeping body next to me for granted again. He deserved every drop of what he got last night, but, in the end I’m only hurting myself as much as him.

  After furiously attacking my pancake, I leave the half empty plate in place and push away from the table, chugging the last of my orange juice. The coffee was good, but I leave it mostly untouched as I’m already running late.

  I can stop at the drive-through and pick up a latte on the way to Dawson and Angel’s.

  “You leaving?” He asks, watching me kiss Lu on the cheek before picking up my handbag from the table nearest the door.

  “Mm hmm,” I give him the same two syllable non-word answer as before.

  “Have a good time. See you when you get home,” Stitch smiles.

  “Mm hmm.”

  ~*~

  “How’s she feeling?” Dawson answers the door and immediately I ask him about Angel.

  He looks tired, as if it’s much earlier than ten o’clock in the morning. “She’s in the kitchen. Won’t listen to me and stay in bed. Won’t listen to anyone. See if you can take a stab at it.”

  Yeah, I’m not getting in the middle of this. I know I wouldn’t have listened to anyone back when I was in Angel’s position. But, I can casually mention that maybe we can skip the planned shopping trip to the mall and just go grab some lunch and a pedicure instead. Keep her off her feet.

  “Hey girl,” I let my heavy handbag fall on the kitchen counter.

  Angel’s dressed in a light cotton shift-dress and some sandals, sorting through some mail on the table. “’Sup? There’s coffee in the pot and travel mugs up in the cupboard, if you want to take some to go.”

  Perfect. I stand on my tip toes to grab one of the silver metal thermos looking mugs.

  Dawson reaches around me and helps, whispering so Angel can’t hear. “Cancel. I don’t want her gallivanting around till she sees the doc.”

  I clear my throat to signal that I’ve heard him.

  “You look nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before,” I pretend to check her out like a dude would. “Sexy mama.”

  It’s true, I’m jealous of how she fills out the grey cotton dress. I know I’ve got a few more pounds of baby weight to lose, but even then I won’t have legs that look like Angel’s.

  She scoffs. “Don’t get used to it. I can’t fit into any of my pants anymore and this is all that would fit. Thank God we’re going shopping.”

  That was the plan. But, we planned the shopping trip before she fainted last night.

  “Actually,” I pretend I’ve just thought of something. “I just found a really great new online boutique. Great maternity clothes and half the price as in the stores. Free shipping. Free returns, and cute! Much better than any of the muumuu’s and tents they sell down at the mall. I think you should try that. I can give you some of my old elastic waist jeans to get you through until the shipment gets here.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Dawson pipes in, leaning against the fridge with his arms crossed over his chest. “You always said you hated how the clothes in those stores are too frumpy.”

  Angel scowls at him. “You just don’t want me to go shopping. Because you are a paranoid control freak and don’t believe me when I say I’m fine.”

  “You are not a doc,” he quips back and I do a double take at him. This is not the approach to take with Angel, and he should know better. She’s too stubborn to take something like that lightly and is probably going to try and spite him by doing what she wants anyway just to prove him wrong.

  A fat white envelope is dropped from her fingers to the table. “And you are not a pregnant woman. So pipe down over there.”

  Well, this is awkward.

  “Actually Angel, I was really hoping we could just go get our nails done and grab a bite to eat later. Some shit went down at the house last night and I just need to chill today.” The metal lid screws tightly on the top of the cup of freshly poured coffee in my hands.

  Dawson perks up. “Everything okay?”

  I nod, blowing him off. “Yeah. Just need to bitch to a sympathetic ear about what assholes you boys can be sometimes.”

  Angel throws her hands up as if I’m confirming something for her. “Tell me about it. Fine. We can check out the website from my phone while we’re there.”

  Sold and done.

  I like Angel well enough. She’s probably one of the closest friends I have, but I would never talk about the private shit going on at home with Stitch with her. It’s nothing against her, but I don’t really want to talk about it with anyone right now.

  She straightens out her legs and wiggles her toes. “Well, I could use a good massage and the
nail tech down at the salon spends extra time on my calves. Okay. I’ll grab my purse and meet you out front.”

  Once she’s up the stairs as evident by the footsteps sounds coming through the ceiling, I turn to Dawson. “You owe me.”

  He arches his brow and nods, knowing full well that I’m right, swaying to stand straight from his perch against the fridge. “You’re the best.”

  Before I have a chance to pass, he’s stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and taken out a small stack of dollar bills. “Nails and lunch on me.”

  I wouldn’t dream of taking cash from anyone other than Stitch, but given the circumstances, I feel vindicated in making an exception.

  If I have to talk about my private business to keep his Ol’ lady preoccupied today, then he’s at least gonna pick up the tab.

  “Damn right you are, buddy.”

  ~*~

  “Maybe I should drive?” I casually mention as we’re walking down the driveway toward Angel’s parked car.

  She stops short. “Not you too! I’m fine! I can walk, and I can drive.”

  I hold up my hand in a sign of defense. “Whoa! I never said you couldn’t. But, my flip flops are in my trunk and I’m gonna need them if we go to get our nails done. That’s all. I swear.”

  Angel looks as if she feels guilt for jumping down my throat. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sick of Dawson watching me like a hawk all morning.”

  I jingle my keys out for her to see. “Don’t mention it. I understand. Now, let’s go get pampered.”

  This worked out great because Angel drives like a speed demon and I usually find myself clutching onto the seat for dear life.

  “So did you tell your doctor what happened last night?” I casually work into the conversation as we stroll along down the road toward town.

  Angel slides her sunglasses on. “Yeah. She wants me to come in tomorrow morning. Probably nothing.”

  She’s right. It is probably nothing. But, better safe than sorry.

  She begins to make excuses. “My blood sugar was low. It was hot out all day. And, I was making myself dizzy by constantly looking behind me.”