by Gina Azzi
"Goodnight, Sierra."
I toss the phone down on the island and exhale a large breath, releasing the heaviness of our conversation like air leaking from a balloon. I've got a lot of shit to sort out and a short amount of time to do it.
October
9
Sierra
He's both comfortable and at odds in the crowded streets of Manhattan. I see him before he sees me, standing outside of Grand Central Station, his worn leather jacket hugging his biceps, and his hair pulled back in a messy man-bun. Women's heads turn as they pass him, their eyes raking over his body, their mouths parting at the bad boy vibe Denver Kane emits like potpourri gives off perfume. It's ridiculous really. But what's even crazier is he doesn't seem to notice. Glancing up at the skyscrapers with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Denver seems oblivious to all the extra attention he's earning.
I bite my lip as I study him, wondering how things will be between us. Will he kiss me hello? Sleep in my bed? Hold me at night like he did in Georgia, even after he fell asleep? The weight of Denver’s hand on my lower back was grounding and comforting in a way I never anticipated. The scent of his cologne, the scrape of his stubble against my cheek, the warmth of his chest beneath my ear, it rushes back as I watch him and my anxiety spikes, knowing these next few moments are a lot more important than two “friends” meeting up in New York.
"Denver!" I call out when I'm a quarter of a block away from him.
He turns toward me expectantly, his lips twitching when his eyes find mine. He begins walking in my direction and when we meet, standing just inches from each other, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into the warmest, strongest hug I've ever been swept up in.
"You okay?" His low voice rumbles in my ear.
I nod into his shoulder, my hands gripping at the leather of his jacket as tears well in my eyes, burning behind my nose.
Goddamn pregnancy hormones.
But if I'm honest, I think it may be more than that. The entire past week, I've felt like a shipwrecked hot mess deserted on an island. With nothing but my painting and the desperate, searching eyes of my grandmother staring at me, watching me, on canvas after canvas, I've felt helpless. And now, Denver Kane strides over, pulls me into his warmth, and shoulders some of the weight that's been crushing me like it's the most natural thing in the world and I'm...relieved.
"Hey." He pulls back, his eyebrows dipping and a frown twisting his perfect lips. "What's wrong?"
"It's nothing." I snort, wiping the backs of my hands over my eyes. "Ignore me. I'm super emotional. Pregnancy hormones."
Den watches me closely for a long moment before nodding slowly. "It's going to be okay, Sierra."
"Okay."
"I mean it." His eyes are black as coal, somber as midnight. Serious.
"I know," I say and I mean it. Now that he's here, standing before me, I know he's telling me the truth. My reality shifts, and it seems like for the first time since I peed on the stick, things may actually turn out all right.
He rakes his teeth over his lower lip and watches me for a long moment. Then the corner of his mouth ticks up and he dips his head to mine, pressing a sweet kiss against my lips.
I close my eyes, melting into him. I’m not even embarrassed when a groan falls from my mouth and I feel Denver’s chest rumble with a chuckle I never hear. His tongue swipes across my lips, gaining access to my mouth and I lose myself in the moment, not caring that we’re on a crowded street in Manhattan, not paying any attention to the hordes of people shuffling around us. Right now, I can’t focus on anything except Denver and the way his presence simultaneously excites and steadies me.
After a moment he pulls back, his gaze heated, his expression almost tender. “I promise.” He says the words earnestly and I step into him, resting my head against his leather-clad shoulder.
“I know.” I repeat. And I do.
As much as I want to show Denver around the city, tiredness slams into me like a freight train, and I struggle to keep my eyes open.
"You tired?" Denver asks me, popping a French fry into his mouth.
I nod, smiling sheepishly, as I pick at my sandwich. My appetite has all but left me the past few days, until it suddenly surges forth with a vengeance I've never experienced. Not even after smoking a joint and getting the munchies.
"Let's grab the check and get you home. You should rest," Denver says, his eyes scanning the restaurant for our server.
We're at a casual place I frequent, about two blocks from James's penthouse and I nod in agreement, knowing I'm not going to be able to stay awake for much longer.
Denver signals for the check and when our server approaches our table, he hands her his credit card.
"Den, you don't have to—"
He holds up a hand, cutting me off, and nods to our server who hurries away to close out our table. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" I ask, my fingers clutching my wallet.
"I'm never, and I mean never, going to be able to provide you or our baby with the type of life you're used to, Sierra."
"That's not—"
"But I can feed you. And make sure you sleep when you're tired. And be here for you. For our baby. So, let me take care of you, yeah?"
I give a slow nod, a lump forming in my throat at his words, at the earnest, almost tender expression on his face. I wish I could tell him that this gesture, his truth, means more to me than a brand-new car or custom closet, but I know he wouldn't believe me. "Thank you," I say instead.
He nods, slipping his credit card back into his wallet once the server drops it at our table. "Come on." He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, lacing my fingers with his.
He holds my hand the entire time to James's apartment, and while I'm sure the presence of the doorman and the size of the penthouse must have been a shock to him, I'm too tired to gage his reaction.
In fact, I'm too tired to do much of anything except let Denver tuck me into my bed.
And smile when I feel his lips brush against my forehead.
"I feel you, man. I know it won't be easy. Or cheap. But I just need to know what I'm up against. Understand the process."
Pause.
"Yeah, I know. It’s just things are different now. So, if you were me, where would you start?"
The sound of Denver's voice and the one side of the conversation I catch wake me God only knows how many hours later. I squint into the dusk of my bedroom, my walls darker than they were when Denver pulled my comforter up over my shoulders earlier. Squinting, I pull my cell phone off my bedside table and nearly drop it as the time glares at me.
6:07 PM.
Crap! I've been sleeping for more than four hours. Groaning, I drop my head back against my pillow and scroll down the long list of notifications I've received while playing Sleeping Beauty.
One missed call from Daisy. Three from Lachlan. One from Finlay.
Ninety-seven new likes on Facebook.
Forty-three comments on the new painting I posted on Instagram.
One email from my grandmother.
Nothing from my father.
A stupid amount of text messages, the most important ones:
Daisy: Miss your face. What's going on these days? I've barely heard from you. Call me.
Lachlan: Stop screening your calls. It's weird. Just call me already, so we can talk.
Mom: Hi Sisi. It's Mom. Lachlan says you're not answering your phone, but we really need to speak with you. Let's FaceTime?
James: Sierra, give me a call. I want to discuss your new position.
Lachlan: Seriously, stop acting like a child and call me.
Finlay: Lachlan is drinking Scotch and being a total wanker to the hot birds at the pub. Call him already before I curse you for ruining any chance I have of getting laid tonight.
Lachlan: Sierra??? R u OK? Tlk 2 me.
Finlay: You're ruining my life.
I close my eyes and feel my iPhone slide from my fingers, landing with a soft thu
d next to me on the bed. I’ve never avoided my family like this before, not even when I first contacted Dad and was nervous about how my mom and Lachlan would receive the news. Of course, they were supportive and understanding of my desire to build a relationship with my father. Mom more so than Lachlan. But this, dropping a pregnancy bomb, is completely different.
Will they be disappointed? Will they judge me for being so careless, becoming pregnant after one night with a man I’m not even really dating? Will they be hurt? Cut me off financially? Revoke the offer to work at the PR company?
My hands grow clammy at the thoughts swirling in my mind, creating a dark vortex that I know if I fall into, I’ll have to claw my way out of. I shake my head, deciding that for now, ignorance is bliss and it’s best that I continue to avoid the world. Like the adult I am.
Yawning, I stretch and force myself to sit up. My stomach grumbles, and suddenly I'm ravenous. Like starving for carbohydrates.
Shoving my feet into my slippers, I slip into the bathroom to sort myself out and make sure I look, well, somewhat presentable, before pushing out of my bedroom and stubbing my toe as I stop short.
Pacing back in forth in front of the television is Denver, his phone pressed against his ear, his face twisted by anger and pain.
But the aroma stops me short. Oh God. The delicious, heavenly scent of food. Garlic and basil and bread. A bubbling pot of pasta sauce simmering on the stove. An unopened box of penne sitting off to the side. A can of Coke, the tab popped, next to the sink.
I breathe in deeply, enjoying the scent of deliciousness until my stomach revolts wildly, and I clench my abdomen, leaning forward at the waist.
Holy crap. I'm going to—
"Sierra! I'll call you back." Denver's footsteps move closer as I drop to my knees and vomit, just missing his bare feet.
"Oh God," I murmur, my eyes squeezing shut as I feel dizzy and mortified and... hungry. What the hell?
"It's okay, babe." Denver drops to his knees by my side, pulling me into his frame and lifting me off my feet like I'm a feather. Ha! Let's see if he can do that seven months from now.
"Denver, I'm so sorry."
"Shh," he quiets me, placing me on the couch before disappearing. I hear the clink of ice and the faucet being turned on. Then he's back, wiping my mouth gently with a wet cloth and pressing a cold glass of water into my hands. "Take small sips. Want some crackers? I didn't even think that the smell…" He shakes his head, his eyes wide and wild. "I'm so sorry."
My stomach grumbles again. "Don't be. I don't know what happened. But I'm actually starving."
He eyes me skeptically and I laugh. "I'm serious. I'm really hungry."
"For pasta?"
I nod again. “I just need to brush my teeth first.”
"Okay. Well, sit tight, and I'll have a plate for you in about ten minutes." He stands up from the couch. "Do you need anything?" He gestures toward the remote control on a side table as I stand and walk back toward my bathroom.
"Nope, I’m all good.” I answer honestly as I escape into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Taking a few cleansing breaths, I rest my hand on my abdomen and glance down at my stomach, confused as to how I could feel so ill one moment and fine the next. Weird.
Making my way back to the living room, I collapse on the soft cushions of the couch and flip on the TV.
Denver’s hard at work in the kitchen, the sounds of someone else being here, of being with me, is comforting in a way I never anticipated.
Smiling to myself, I let Denver take care of me. Of us. And God, does it feel good.
10
Denver
"Who were you talking to before?" Sierra asks me as the pasta cooks.
I stall, gazing across the massive penthouse, my eyes lingering on the built-in ovens, that's right, ovens, and wine cooler. I'm way out of my league here. I could never give this, provide this, with a record hanging over my head. But can I tell her the truth?
A truth that no one except me, my sorry excuse for a father, and Griller, the President of the Devil's Shadows MC, knows.
"Denver?"
I blink, forcing my gaze to meet hers.
Sierra stands before me, her fingers twisting together nervously, chewing the corner of her mouth. She sighs, "Look, you don't have to tell me. It's just, I don't know. It sounded important and like you were upset, so if you want to talk about it, I'm here."
"I want to clear my name," I blurt, wincing as soon as the words are in the space between us.
"Clear your name?"
I nod, swallowing, trying to sort out the mess of thoughts ping-ponging around my brain. "The baby, you think he or she will take my last name? Be a Kane?" I swipe my palms against my jeans, suddenly nervous for her response. Why would she want the baby to be a Kane? To be associated with me and the Devil's Shadows MC and all the stupid shit I’ve done over the years? Why would she want any of that when our baby could have a name connected to a family with built-in ovens and penthouses in Manhattan?
"Of course, the baby will be a Kane. You're the father."
I nod again, curt and brisk. My head swims with new thoughts and an endless maze of questions.
"What's going on?" she asks, taking a step closer.
I walk over to the massive dining table and pull out a chair for Sierra before sliding onto the seat across from her. This is a serious conversation, and I want to treat it that way.
"About eight years ago, I got out of prison. I served two years.”
She nods again, eyeing me curiously. Of course, she knows I've been locked up; Daisy would have told her that. But she doesn't know the full story. She can't. Because no one does, not even Daisy.
"I was charged with a simple robbery of a gas station. The clerk was also assaulted.”
Sierra inhales sharply, her eyes never leaving mine, although they seem to widen and darken, a flash of nerves rippling through them.
I lean forward on the table, reaching for one of her hands, and I'm relieved when she doesn't pull away or flinch.
"I didn't do it. I swear to you, I didn't do it."
"Then why did you go to jail?" she asks after a few beats of silence.
I blow out a deep breath, kicking back in my chair again.
"My dad. He set me up. Sort of. He and Griller, the president of the Devil’s Shadows MC, would have been implicated and the whole MC would have taken a huge hit if Griller landed in prison. Especially with all of his priors. The gas station, it was a robbery in a series of robberies, and while the police couldn’t prove that I was involved with all of them, if they dug for more information, they could have started linking the MC and putting the pieces together. But the MC has a lot of cops in their pocket, throughout the state and beyond. Dad and Griller pegged me, set me up as the one to take the pinch.”
"And you agreed to that?"
I shake my head, a bark of laughter dying on my lips. “No. I’ve maintained my innocence from the beginning. At the time, I was confused, bulldozed really, by my own father’s betrayal. I never anticipated I’d be sentenced to serve time. But my dad and Griller offered the police a few anonymous tips, paid some witnesses off to corroborate the story they wanted. The video footage from the gas station mysteriously went missing.” I shrug, reaching up to tug on my hair. “In the absence of evidence and coupled with my shitty reputation of being an MC hang around, desperate for Club access, the jury found me guilty.”
Sierra swallows and watches me curiously. I can tell there are a million questions running through her mind but when she opens her mouth, she asks, "Why now? Why is it important to clear your name now? Hasn’t it bothered you all of this time?"
“Of course it’s bothered me all this time.” I lean forward again in my chair, exasperated at my inability to explain the swirl of anger and failure bubbling in my chest. “I just, fuck it’s stupid, but I figured what’s the point? I live in a small town where perceptions are the reality. My reputation is my reputation now and I doubt clearing my nam
e would change that. But ever since you told me you’re pregnant, everything changed. There’s gonna be a kid running around with that association, with the Kane name. I don't want that for him or her. Do you?"
"Not really." She tilts her head to the left, as if considering something. "But I do want the baby to have your name, whatever the outcome of clearing it. Because you're the father, and our baby will be proud of you no matter what."
I bite down on my tongue, hard, to keep the swell of emotion clogging my chest at bay. I didn't expect Sierra to say that. Hell, I didn't expect her to even feel that way. But it means a lot, more than I thought it would, and more than she probably realizes. Jesus, could we make this work? My heartrate picks up at her compassion, her empathy, further solidifying that she’s too damn good for me and making me want her even more than I already do.
"Thank you."
She reaches out and squeezes my fingers with hers. "We'll figure it out, Den. All of it."
"Yeah."
"Thanks for telling me."
"I haven't told anyone."
"What about your brothers and Daisy?"
"Nah."
Her grip on my fingers intensifies, forcing me to look up. "Why not? That's, I mean, you let them believe that—"
I shrug, cutting her off. "Easier that way."
"Wow. All these years, I just thought Daisy didn't want to talk about it or dwell on her old man, but turns out she really doesn't know much of the story, does she?"
"We kept her out of things as much as we could. She was just a little girl when Mom passed. I made a lot of mistakes with her, with my brothers. But I don't want to repeat them. I don't want to do that with our kid. So, I'm here, yeah? And I'm going to clear this mess up."
"I know you will."
"How? How do you know that?"
"Because you're a good man, Denver Kane. Better than you think or believe."
I don't say anything. I can't because this girl is leveling me without even trying to. "You hungry?"