11. Rose
Rose
Six Weeks Later
The bile rises in my throat again, a now-familiar burn that has me scrambling from my bed to the small ensuite bathroom.
I barely make it to the toilet before heaving violently, my body expelling what little remains in my stomach.
The cold porcelain against my palms grounds me as wave after wave of nausea crashes through me, the acid taste lingering in my mouth long after there's nothing left to bring up.
It's been weeks since that night with Cipher. Six weeks, to be exact. Fortunately, he’s been gone most of that time, having just returned last night from some kind of club business with the Renegade Kings, so at least I’ve been spared his glowering gazes, or having to pretend not to notice how fast he leaves rooms I enter.
I’ve spent six weeks trying to convince myself that what happened meant nothing, that I'm over him, that my heart isn't still shattered into pieces too small to ever reassemble.
And now this.
I rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
I already know what I'll see—pale skin, shadowed eyes, a girl trying desperately to hold herself together while her body betrays her in the most fundamental way possible.
My breasts ache constantly now, tender and swollen.
Certain smells—coffee, fried food, cigarette smoke—send me running for the nearest bathroom.
Exhaustion drags at me like lead weights attached to every limb, making even the simplest tasks feel monumental.
I may be naive, but I’m not stupid. All the signs point to one terrifying possibility.
A knock at my door startles me from my thoughts.
When I open the door, Rash's eyebrows immediately furrow with worry.
"Holy shit, little sis, you look like death warmed over.
" The blunt assessment would be offensive from anyone else, but from him, it's just honest concern wrapped in his usual lack of filter.
"Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear," I attempt a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. I sink onto the edge of my bed, suddenly exhausted again. "Just haven't been feeling great."
Rash studies me for a long moment, his expression shifting from concern to something more calculating. He leans against my dresser, arms crossed over his chest. "How long?"
"What?"
"How long have you been throwing up every morning? And don't bullshit me. I heard you from the hallway."
I look down at my hands, twisting nervously in my lap, picking at a hangnail until it bleeds slightly. "A couple weeks, maybe."
"Morning sickness?" he asks quietly, the words hanging in the air between us.
My head snaps up, eyes wide. "How did you?—"
"I have four sisters, two nephews, and three nieces.
I know the signs—the puking, the way you've all of a sudden been avoiding the kitchen during meal prep, how you nearly gagged when Hawk lit up a cigarette near you yesterday.
" He sits beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"Plus, I know what happened between you and Cipher. "
Something crumbles inside me—the last wall of denial, perhaps. Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them.
"I don't know for sure," I whisper, voice catching.
Rash's presence beside me is solid and reassuring, his leather cut creaking slightly as he shifts to face me better. "But you’re pretty sure."
It's not a question. I nod anyway, a tear escaping to trail down my cheek.
Rash wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him in a brotherly half-hug. His familiar scent of leather and mint gum is oddly comforting. "Does he know you suspect?"
I shake my head, another tear falling, then take a shaky breath that hitches in the middle. "I bought a test three days ago. I just... I've been too scared to take it."
“Do it now. While I’m here for support.” His usually joking demeanor is completely serious. He squeezes my shoulder. "Sometimes it's easier not to be alone for this stuff."
Moving as if on autopilot, I retrieve the pregnancy test from its hiding place beneath my socks in the dresser drawer. The pink box seems to mock me with its cheerful color and promise of "Results in three Minutes!" My hands tremble so badly that I nearly drop it.
Rash gives me an encouraging nod as I head to the bathroom.
The test instructions are simple enough, though my shaking hands make the process more difficult than it should be. When it's done, I set the plastic stick on the counter and open the bathroom door, unwilling to wait alone for the result that could change everything.
"How long?" Rash asks, eyeing the test in my hand.
"Three minutes." My voice sounds distant to my own ears, like I'm hearing it through water.
We sit side by side on the bed, the silence stretching between us, broken only by the ticking of the small clock on my nightstand. Rash doesn't try to fill it with empty reassurances, and I'm grateful. There's nothing to say that will make this less terrifying.
"What if it's positive?" I finally whisper, staring at my hands. "What do I do?"
"Whatever you want to do," Rash answers without hesitation. "And whatever that is, you'll have support."
"I wouldn't force him?—"
"It's not about force," Rash interrupts, voice fierce. "It's about doing what's right. And if he can't see that, then fuck him. You'll have me. You'll have all of us. Shadow Reapers take care of their own."
The timer on my phone chimes, startling us both. Three minutes.
I wipe sweaty palms on my leggings, walk to the bathroom, take a deep breath, and pick up the test off the counter, turning it over to see the result window.
Two lines. Clear as day. Positive.
I step back into the bedroom, the test clutched in my hand like a ticking bomb. One look at my face must tell Rash everything.
He stands, pacing the small space between the bed and the wall. "What do you want to do?"
The question pulls me from my shock. What do I want to do? Despite the fear, despite the circumstances, despite Cipher's rejection, I know one thing with absolute certainty—a clarity that surprises me with its immediacy and strength.
"I want to keep it," I say, my hand instinctively moving to my still-flat stomach. "It's my baby."
Rash nods, relief visible in his expression. "Then?—”
Before he can say more, a loud knock on my door makes us both jump.
"Rose,” Luna's voice carries through the wood. "Open up. We have plans to discuss!"
Panic shoots through me. I glance at the pregnancy test still in my hand, then quickly toss it into the small wastebasket beside my bed as Luna, Sophie, and Angel burst into my room.
“Hey, we have plans today,” Luna throws her arm over my shoulders, her perfume making my stomach roil threateningly.
"Plans?" I glance at Rash, who gives me a subtle nod. He'll keep my secret.
“Ladies night out tonight, ” Angel announces triumphantly, spinning in a little circle that makes her dark hair fan out.
"I don't know..." I hedge.
"No excuses," Luna says firmly, her tone brooking no argument. "We're taking you to Shadow's Edge, a dance club downtown. It’s the perfect place to cut loose for a night."
"A club? But I’m not old enough?—”
“No worries. Diesel set us up with fake IDs.” Sophie waggles her brows. “Besides, the MC owns the club, so there won’t be any problems.”
"I don't have anything to wear to a club.” I gesture to my leggings and oversized sweatshirt.
Luna grins, her eyes lighting up. "That's part of our plan. Shopping trip first, then makeovers at my place, then the club. The complete transformation package."
"I really don't think—" I begin.
"Rose," Angel interrupts, her expression softening as she takes my hand. "One night. That's all we're asking. Don’t ruin ladies' night, please.”
Put that way, how can I refuse? The women look so excited, and it feels really good to be included—to have friends for the first time since I was in fifth grade.
"Okay," I concede. “Let’s do ladies' night.”