by Lane Hart
“I knew I shouldn’t have fucking crossed that line,” I mutter, stabbing my fingers through the front of my hair. “But what’s done is done, and I really want to see her. Shouldn’t it be up to Hannah if she wants to see me or not?”
“Her poor decisions are what led her here to our treatment program.”
Fuck.
“Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?” I ask.
“I can tell you that she’s doing very well. We’re making progress with the twelve steps, but she still has a long road ahead of her because of her deep-seated trust issues.”
“Trust issues?”
The therapist opens her mouth and then closes it again. “I’m sorry, but I need to get to an appointment.”
“I can’t just walk away from her,” I blurt out when she turns around to leave. “Please reconsider.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” she starts when she turns back around. I’m ready to say yes before I even know what it is. “If you can give me ninety days with her and you still want to see her, then I’ll consider reevaluating the situation.”
“Ninety days? That’s nothing. I can wait ninety days.”
“The three of us can meet before she leaves the program. After that, it will be Hannah’s decision anyway.”
“Great, thank you!” I exclaim, wanting to pick her up and hug her out of gratitude for giving me the possibility.
“In the meantime, good luck to you, Conrad.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply, thinking it’s ironic that the therapist’s last two words to me were the same ones I said to Hannah. Now I realize just how condescending they were and hate myself for saying them.
But I also can’t stop thinking about what the therapist let slip about Hannah’s trust issues. Like a broken record, I can hear her saying she trusted me. Even after only a few days together, Hannah trusted me.
And I should’ve trusted her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hannah
* * *
Three months later…
* * *
I can’t keep my eyes off the clock on the wall as it ticks down the final hour of my last day of rehab.
After ninety days I couldn’t tell you if the program worked or not because I haven’t even thought of taking a sip of alcohol since the first month I was here.
Even when my twenty-first birthday came and went during my stay, I didn’t wish for a drink to celebrate.
Come to find out, a surprise pregnancy was the one thing that could keep me sober. Now I have no choice but to finally stop grieving, grow up, and take responsibility for my life. It’s like I’ve been given a second chance, and this time is going to be different. I won’t let anyone take this baby away from me, especially not my father. Or a dependency on alcohol.
From the second I threw up the first morning and realized my period was late, I knew I was pregnant and didn’t need a test to prove it. Those early signs were quickly followed by my breasts growing to twice their normal size and becoming more sensitive. And finally, more recently, my lower stomach started swelling so rapidly that I couldn’t wear any bottoms with buttons or zippers. That’s when I knew without a doubt that I was carrying Conrad’s baby.
I kept it a secret, though, and haven’t told a soul – not my rehab roommate, Diane, or my therapist, Barbara. Since my father is paying for my stay, I didn’t want to chance having someone tell him and have him do something else drastic.
First, I need to tell Conrad.
Not because I want to trap him into a relationship but because he’s a decent guy who I think will help me get prenatal care to make sure the baby is healthy. He’ll also keep my father from hurting his son or daughter.
Won’t he?
This is a huge, life-altering event, and Conrad doesn’t do well with even small changes to his plans.
Will he be angry and throw shit?
What if he doesn’t believe me? Or even worse, what if he’s no different from my father and wants me to terminate the pregnancy?
By now, Conrad could have moved on, found a woman who loves being his to tie up or whip. If so, then I’ll just ask for his help with the doctor appointments and finding a place to live until I can get on my feet, nothing else.
Wanting him to be a part of the baby’s life is a lot to ask. Hopefully he’s up for it. Even if he’s not, I think I can do this on my own. I will be a good mother no matter what it takes.
Since my attorney in California was able to get my cases dismissed with proof of my ninety-day detox and rehabilitation program, I’ll be getting a fresh start. I’ve even been making plans again for the first time in over four years.
I’ll start off trying to get a job at a daycare, as a nanny or even just babysitting, then, when I’ve saved enough money, I can go to a local university at night or online to finish my degree so I can become a teacher.
But the degree can wait. My first priority is the baby, and it’s already been three months without seeing a doctor. I did ask for vitamin supplements to get plenty of folic acid to help with the baby’s development during my stay.
“All right, that’s it for the day. And for some of you, that’s it for the program,” Billy, the counselor in charge of today’s presentation, says. “Let’s all give Roger, Lauren, and Hannah a big round of applause and wish them the best of luck on their life’s journey.”
Everyone claps like we’re children who finally completed their grounding for being bad. And I guess I was acting pretty childish when I first got here. If I could go back and do things differently with Conrad, I would. I was just scared of being under my father’s thumb again, remembering how badly he hurt me before.
But I can get my life straightened out without him being a part of it as long as I stop blaming him for wasting the last four years of my life drinking and partying. Those were the bad decisions I made, and it’s on me to stop the self-destructive behavior.
Once everyone says their goodbyes, I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulder before walking up to Billy.
“Thanks for everything,” I tell him.
“You’re welcome,” he says. “If you ever need anything, even to just talk, you have my number.”
“I do, yes,” I say since it’s on a list the center gave me this morning. “And I sort of need a favor now.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Could I maybe sneak out your side door? With my dad being the chief and all, running for mayor, I would hate for anyone to get my picture coming out of here or whatever.”
“I don’t know…” he starts. “Will your family be waiting for you in the lobby?”
“I can text them and tell them I’ll come to the car.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am,” I tell him.
“In that case, take care of yourself and remember your steps,” he says.
“I will. I promise,” I agree before he leads the way to the door that’s usually locked. The jingle of his keys in his hand reminds me of Conrad.
God, I can’t wait to see him.
I just hope he will want to see me too.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Conrad
* * *
I show up at the rehab facility a few minutes before noon after waiting for what felt like ninety years instead of ninety days to finally see Hannah, feeling sick to my stomach.
Now that Hannah is sober, she may blame me for taking advantage of her during the road trip home, knowing she was in a fragile state. What if I was the topic of conversation with her therapist in a negative way, as the man who restrained her every day for the entire eight-hour drive, only letting her free when they stopped at night. Did she tell her I would push the bed in front of the hotel door to prevent her from escaping?
I sound like a fucking nightmare now that I think back on it.
Is that how Hannah remembers our short time together?
Either way, I want to see her and find out.
The receptionist page
s her and her therapist to the lobby a second before the front door opens and in walks a uniformed police officer. He has the usual high and tight shaved head with his wide chest puffed out, way too proud of himself. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around town before. The shiny tag on his uniform says his last name is Walters. I think his first name may be Larry. He eyes my leather cut as he strolls up to the front desk with his hands on his belt like he’s filming an old western movie. His gaze lowers to the bouquet of colorful flowers in my hand and then my waist like he’s trying to figure out if I’m carrying and we’re going to have to challenge each other to an old-fashioned gunfight. My Glock isn’t on me, but it is locked in the saddlebag of my bike. While Larry may think his gun protects him, I’m pretty sure I could beat his ass with the flowers in my hand.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he grumbles, fingers hovering over his unbuttoned pistol holster now. “One of your biker buddies can’t hold their liquor?”
Right, like I would bring flowers to one of the guys in the MC. What a genius. He’ll never make detective.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here and maybe I’ll do the same,” I mutter.
“What I’m doing here is none of your goddamn business,” he responds. And he’s so fucking disrespectful that I have to grind my back teeth together to keep from responding or pummeling him with flower petals and stems.
Thankfully, the cop immediately looks like an idiot when the receptionist asks who he’s there to see and he either has to tell him and let me overhear it or fuck off.
He glares at me like it’s my fault the people in charge of the place ask him questions he has to answer. Then finally says, “I’m here to pick up Hannah Bailey.”
Are you fucking kidding me? The chief sent one of his minions to give his daughter a ride home from rehab after three months? What a dick.
I start to speak up and tell him I’ll give her a ride when the receptionist cuts his eyes to me and then back to the officer. “I’ll call her down.”
Great, so I guess we’ll all three have a reunion with her therapist.
But fifteen minutes later, Hannah still hasn’t come out. Her therapist finally does.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting,” Barbara comes up to me and says. “We’ve been looking all over for Hannah, and it seems she’s already left.”
“She left?” I exclaim.
“Wait, Hannah Bailey?” the eavesdropping officer strolls over and butts in.
“Ah, who are you?” the therapist asks him.
“I’m her ride home.”
“Well, then your services are apparently no longer needed. Hannah told one of the counselors that her family was parked and waiting in the parking lot.”
“Goddamn it,” Officer Asshole says before he storms out the door.
When he’s gone, I lay into the therapist. “How could you let her leave? You promised me nearly three months ago that you would sit down with us first!”
“I’m sorry. That was my plan. I guess I should’ve informed Hannah of our meeting earlier.”
“You didn’t tell her I came by the first week she was here, and that we made plans to talk today?” I shout at her.
“No.”
“Fuck! Now there’s no telling where she is or what she’ll do!”
“She’s with her family,” the therapist reiterates.
“No, she’s not. That dickhead in the uniform was here to give her a ride home,” I say while pointing to the door. “Do you think her father would have sent him if her family was coming?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” I tell her before stomping out the door to see if Hannah is still in the parking lot or walking down any of the nearby roads on foot.
But after riding around on my bike for over an hour, she’s nowhere to be found.
What the fuck is she thinking?
Hannah
* * *
With the last twenty dollars I have leftover from my extra snack account at rehab, I take an Uber to the Harley Davidson dealership, hoping Conrad is working. If not, then I am so screwed because I don’t know where I’ll go next.
The car pulls up right outside the big gray building with an angry, snarling skull king painted on the side, just like the patch Conrad wears and the tattoo on his entire back.
There’s just one entrance at the front double glass doors. I walk through them with my bag over my shoulder, heart racing, and immediately my eyes start scanning for my blond Viking. Not that he’s mine or will want anything to do with me after he dumped me off at the rehab facility, but I still have to talk to him.
At first, all I see are a few roughneck guys perusing the bikes, but then I hear a door shut and heavy footsteps coming from a side office. I see the top of his golden hair first over the rows of leather jackets and T-shirts, and then he’s in the aisle, heading right for me in his usual black leather Savage Kings cut and jeans, an enormous smile on his face.
Wow. He looks really happy to see me, which is such a huge relief.
“Hello there, beautiful,” he says cheerfully and rather loudly when he comes closer, making me warm all over like the sun is finally shinning on me after years of darkness.
“Hi,” I reply, face flaming red, feeling like an awkward teenage girl again now that I’m finally here in front of him.
Then Conrad asks, “What can I help you find today?”
“Ah, w-what?” I reply in confusion.
“Are you browsing different bikes, or do you have your eye on a Harley?” he asks when he goes over and runs his palm over the handlebars of a shiny black motorcycle.
“Is this some sort of joke?” I ask him indignantly, crossing my arms over my – ouch – chest before I remembered my boobs are big and sore.
“Ah, I’m not sure what you mean,” he replies, blond brow furrowing slightly as he stares me down. I wait for him to stop acting like a jerk, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“I’m here to talk to you, you jackass!” I exclaim.
“Oh,” he says as he straightens and grins at me again, his chest swelling up like a cocky rooster. “That’s even better.”
“What is wrong with you?” I ask in annoyance.
“Well, it’s a short list, really,” he answers. “I don’t take anything seriously, I stay up too late partying most nights, and, um, well, I am known to be a ladies’ man.” At that pronouncement he only grins even bigger, like he’s proud of himself for being a player. And since when does Conrad party? Not to mention he took everything seriously when we were together!
My patience has all worn out with this strange act of his, so I decide to get to the point of why I’m here. “I’m pregnant.” I blurt the words out and get it over with.
Those familiar blue eyes dip to my stomach and back up again, pausing momentarily at my chest, before he says, “Congratulations are in order, I guess. But that means you won’t be able to hop up on a motorcycle anytime soon…”
“It’s yours!” I shout at him.
“Ha!” He barks out a chuckle, then spins around in a circle. “Where are the cameras? That’s a hilarious joke, really. Would’ve worked a little better if I had actually ever slept with you.”
“You did! Three months ago, you asshole!” So much for being more of an adult, but I just can’t with whatever bullshit denial game he’s playing at right now.
Finally, his brow furrows again as if in thought while studying my face and slowly the rest of my body. Then he shakes his head. “Nope. I definitely would remember fucking you.”
“Oh. My. God,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead that’s starting to ache because I never expected this scenario in all the times I imagined coming here and telling Conrad I was pregnant with his baby. The straight up denial is just wrong, and incredibly mean on so many levels. It’s not like him at all. Growing angrier by the second, I say, “How about I refresh your memory?”
“Please do,” he says, now crossing his arms over his
broad chest. “But I stand firmly by my original statement that we’ve never met, therefore I have never fucked you.”
I grumble in annoyance and then proceed to remind him. “It was the last night of the trip home. You left me restrained and put me on my stomach. After you ate me out from behind you fucked me the first time. I thought you pulled out and came on my ass at the last second, but I guess it wasn’t the last second after all. Or maybe it was the second time when I was on top…”
His handsome scruffy jaw is left gaping open comically as he stares at me unblinking for so damn long that I try snapping my fingers in his face, but he doesn’t flinch. “That ringing a bell now?” I huff.
He finally shuts his mouth when the actual bell at the front door dings, and then he’s holding out his arm and pointing his finger at something behind me.
I turn around to see what it is and have to do a double take.
“Hannah?” the second blond Viking asks when his feet come to an abrupt stop like he ran into an invisible wall.
“Holy shit,” I mutter. “You’re twins. Identical twins.” I look back and forth at the two men who are dressed exactly alike. Their faces and builds are eerily similar, but it’s immediately obvious that the one I’ve been talking to is definitely not Conrad. Which explains why he was so confused and didn’t remember me because he’s right, we have never fucking met before. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a twin?” I exclaim, turning back to my blond Viking.
“I…I told you I had a brother, didn’t I?” he asks quietly as he gawks at me like I’m the one with a freaky body double.
“You didn’t say he looked just like you!”
Finally, Conrad, the real Conrad, starts back into motion, marching up to me and his brother, whose name I still do not know. “What are you doing here?” he asks.