Chapter 7
SEVEN
CHLOE
Life is the same old routine as before he left, nothing has changed. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s steady, and that’s what I need. Every morning, I wake up in my little she-shed in the backyard of Tank and Sophie’s place. It’s small but cozy, my own safe space. Most days, I hang out here with a cup of coffee, scrolling on my phone or reading, until Sophie inevitably texts me to come inside and keep her company.
I help out with whatever she and Tank need around the house—it’s my way of saying thanks for letting me stay here. At night I head to work at Perdition where I waitress and sometimes bartend. The job pays my bills, and I’ve even managed to stash some extra cash for little things I want. The best part is I feel safe. I know the Iron Reapers won’t mess with me, and they won’t put up with anyone else messing with me either. I feel like I’ve got my feet under me.
But this morning, everything feels wrong.
I wake up with my stomach churning and a dull ache behind my eyes. Groaning, I throw off the blanket and stumble to the bathroom, but as soon as I make it inside, I’m on my knees. I throw up, my body wracked with heaves until there’s nothing left.
Sitting back against the wall, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and take a shaky breath. The nausea eases, but the unease lingers. Something feels off .
Then it hits me.
I can’t remember the last time I got my period. My breath catches as I try to count back the weeks. One, two, three... oh God.
“Shit,” I whisper, my voice cracking. My hands start to shake as the realization settles over me. Could I be... pregnant?
The night with Dagger flashes in my mind. We were both tipsy, caught up in the moment, throwing caution to the wind. I don’t think we used a condom. No, I know we didn’t.
Panic sets in, and I scramble to get dressed, pulling on leggings and a sweatshirt without even looking in the mirror. I grab my keys and head straight to my car, driving to the grocery store on autopilot.
Once inside, I make a beeline for the aisle with the pregnancy tests. My hands tremble as I grab several boxes, different brands to be sure. I toss them into the basket and head for the self-checkout, hoping no one will notice me.
But luck isn’t on my side.
“Chlo?” Jenny’s voice stops me in my tracks.
I turn and see her standing a few feet away, her eyes flicking to my basket. Her brow arches slightly, and a knowing look crosses her face.
“Hey,” she says casually, though there’s a hint of curiosity in her tone.
“Hey,” I mumble, clutching the basket tighter.
Jenny doesn’t press me, just nods and moves on, but I can feel her gaze linger as I turn back to the register.
Back at my she-shed, I sit on the bathroom floor surrounded by the tests. My heart pounds as I rip open the first box and follow the instructions. I set the stick down, waiting for the result, but I can’t even breathe as the seconds tick by.
The first test: positive.
I open another, then another.
The second: positive.
The third, fourth, and fifth: all positive.
I sit back against the wall, staring at the pile of tests scattered around me. My hands shake, and tears stream down my face. This can’t be happening.
Grabbing my phone, I call Sophie, my fingers fumbling as I hit her name.
“Chlo?” she answers, her voice concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you come to my place? Now? Please, I need you,” I manage to get out, my voice breaking.
“Of course! I’ll be right there,” she says without hesitation.
Minutes later, I hear her running down the backyard. The door bursts open, and Sophie stands there, out of breath, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene.
“Chloe...” she whispers, her gaze darting to the tests scattered around me. She rushes over, dropping to her knees beside me.
I clutch at her like a lifeline, my tears coming harder. “What do I do?” I choke out.
Sophie wraps her arms around me, holding me tight as I cry into her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, honey,” she says, her voice steady and soothing. “I’m here. Tank’s here. You’re not alone in this.”
“I’m so scared,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“I know,” she says softly, rubbing my back. “But listen to me. This baby is a blessing, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. You’re going to be okay, Chlo. You’re strong, and we’ll help you every step of the way.”
I nod against her shoulder, clinging to her words. For the first time since this morning, I feel a glimmer of hope. I don’t have all the answers, but with Sophie by my side, I know I’m not alone.
Sophie pulls back slightly, her hands still on my shoulders. “How far along do you think you are?” she asks gently.
I wipe at my face, sniffling. “I don’t know. Two months? Maybe?”
She tilts her head, her expression thoughtful. “Two months? That would make sense. Wasn’t the wedding about two months ago?”
I shrug, feeling overwhelmed. “I guess. Hell, I don’t know, Soph. I can’t even think straight right now.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice calm and steady. She pulls out her phone, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen. “Let’s figure this out.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her.
“Pregnancy due date calculator,” she says without looking up. “Give me the date of your last period.”
I hesitate, but then the memory surfaces. “Uh... mid-September? Like the 14th or 15th, I think.”
“Got it,” she says, typing it in. “How long is your cycle? Like, 28 days? 30?”
“Twenty-eight, I think,” I say, rubbing my temples. “At least, it used to be regular.”
She inputs the information, and after a few seconds, her face softens, and a small smile tugs at her lips. “According to this, you’re about ten weeks along. Still in your first trimester.”
“Ten weeks?” I echo, the reality of it hitting me all over again. I press a hand to my stomach, the weight of everything settling in. “I guess I need to go to the doctor, huh?”
She nods firmly, her hand covering mine. “Yeah, you do. And I promise you, Chlo, I’ll be there for every single appointment. Whatever you need, you’ve got it. I’m officially aunty Soph now.”
Her words make my throat tighten again, but this time it’s not from fear—it’s from gratitude. I throw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says, her voice steady and warm. “We’re in this together, okay? You’ve got this, Chloe. And I’ll be right here every step of the way.”
Perdition is buzzing tonight, packed with the usual crowd of club members and regulars who come in for drinks and good company. I’m behind the bar, pouring a round of shots for Tank and a couple of the guys while keeping an eye on the other patrons. It’s a normal night, or at least it should be, but my stomach is not cooperating.
I set the bottle of tequila down and press a hand to my stomach, trying to ignore the queasiness creeping up on me.
“You okay, Chlo?” Hawk’s gruff voice cuts through the noise as he leans against the bar, watching me closely.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just need some water.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go as I grab a glass and take a sip. For a while, I think I’ve got it under control. I focus on mixing drinks, sliding beers across the bar, and chatting with the customers who call out for me.
But then, without warning, my stomach flips, and I feel the wave of nausea hit hard. My eyes widen as I slap a hand over my mouth and bolt from behind the bar.
I barely make it to the back hallway before I’m hunched over a trash can, emptying what little is in my stomach. The sound of the bar fades, replaced by the pounding in my ears and the sour taste in my mouth.
“Chloe?” Hawk’s voice rumbles behind me.
I glance back to see him standing there, arms crossed, his expression a mix of concern and suspicion.
“Go home,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’ve got the bar covered. You don’t look like you should be here right now.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and shake my head. “I’m fine,” I insist, even though I know I’m anything but.
He raises an eyebrow, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. “Fine? You just ran outta here like your hair was on fire. Don’t bullshit me, Chloe.”
“I swear, I’m okay,” I say, standing up straight and forcing a smile. “It’s probably just something I ate.”
Hawk narrows his eyes but steps back, giving me space. “Alright,” he says gruffly. “But you pull that stunt again, and I’m sending your ass home. Got it?”
“Got it,” I mutter, brushing past him and heading back to the bar.
For the next hour, I do my best to keep things running smoothly. I pour drinks, joke with customers, and try to pretend like I’m not on the verge of losing it again. But deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time.
Sure enough, the nausea hits again, stronger this time. I grip the edge of the bar, my knuckles white as I fight to keep it together.
“Chloe,” Hawk says sharply, catching my attention.
I shake my head, mouthing, I’m fine, but he doesn’t buy it.
“Go,” he orders, jerking his chin toward the hallway. “Now.”
I don’t argue this time. I make a beeline for the bathroom, barely managing to hold it together until I’m kneeling in front of the toilet.
When I come back out of the bathroom, Hawk is waiting for me, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. The bar is still running smoothly—some of the regulars are laughing, and a couple of the guys are shooting pool—but his attention is locked on me.
“You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he asks, his tone softer than before but no less direct.
“I told you, it’s nothing,” I say weakly, avoiding his gaze as I try to brush past him.
He steps in my way, blocking my path. “Chloe,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t lie to me. This isn’t just ‘something you ate.’”
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat.
“I’ve been around long enough to know what that kind of sick looks like,” he says, lowering his voice. “Are you pregnant?”
The blood drains from my face, and my head snaps up to meet his gaze. “What? No! I mean—” I stop, stumbling over my words, unable to lie convincingly.
Hawk studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then his lips press into a thin line. “It’s his, isn’t it?”
I freeze, my chest tightening. My silence is all the answer he needs.
Hawk exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Dagger,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Of course it’s his.” He looks back at me, his gaze softer now but still intense. “Does he know?”
I shake my head quickly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “No. And he can’t—not yet. Please, Hawk, don’t say anything.”
He rubs the back of his neck, letting out a long sigh. “Chloe, this ain’t something you can hide forever. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He stares at me for a long moment before finally stepping aside. “Go home. Get your head straight. Whatever you decide, you need to take care of yourself first. And don’t worry—I won’t say a word. But you gotta deal with this sooner or later.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak, and grab my bag. As I head for the door, his words follow me.
“Take care of yourself, Chloe. You’re not in this alone, whether you believe it or not.”
The cool night air hits me as I step outside, and I feel the weight of the evening pressing down on me. Hawk knows. And now I have to figure out how I’m going to face everything—and everyone.