Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Meghan
The espresso machine hisses and sputters as I tamp down another shot, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans filling my nostrils.
It's been three weeks since Tor and I arrived in Atlanta, and I've settled into a routine at this quaint little coffee shop.
It's not exactly glamorous, but it pays the bills.
"One vanilla latte for Sarah!" I call out, sliding the steaming cup across the counter.
As I wipe down the milk frother, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished chrome.
My ashy blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame my face.
The light sage green of my eyes seems dulled by the fatigue of early mornings and late nights.
Tor's voice echoes in my mind from this morning: "You don't have to do this, Meghan. We can figure something else out."
I shake my head, pushing the thought away.
This job might not be perfect, but it's mine.
Hell, it's normal, it's safe.
"Hey, new girl!" my coworker, Jake, calls out. "Can you handle the register for a bit? I need a smoke break."
I nod, forcing a smile. "Sure thing."
This asshole takes a smoke break every fifteen minutes.
As I move to the front, I can't help but think about how different this is from my life back in Tallahassee.
There’s no leather-clad bikers rummaging about, no constant threat of danger.
Just the steady stream of caffeine-deprived customers and the rhythmic clinking of ceramic mugs.
A tattooed arm reaches across the counter, startling me from my thoughts.
For a split second, I tense, my mind flashing to the clubhouse.
But it's just a hipster with sleeve tattoos, not a member of the Raiders of Valhalla MC.
"Large cold brew, please," he says, oblivious to my momentary panic.
As I ring up his order, I wonder if I'll ever truly feel at ease again.
Will there always be a part of me looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop?
Nausea hits me like a freight train, sudden and violent.
I barely make it to the employee bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
My hands shake as I grip the cold porcelain, my body heaving even after there's nothing left to bring up.
Jess, one of my coworkers, calls through the door."Meghan? You okay in there?"
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my throat burning. "Yeah, I'm?—"
Another wave of nausea cuts me off, and I retch again.
The door creaks open, and Jess's concerned face appears. "Jesus, girl. You look like hell."
"Thanks," I croak, attempting a weak smile.
She hands me a damp paper towel. "Look, why don't you go see a doctor? This isn't the first time you've been sick this week."
I press the cool towel to my forehead, closing my eyes. "I'm fine, really. It's probably just a bug."
Jess crosses her arms, giving me a look that brooks no argument. "Meghan, go to the clinic. I'll cover for you. Come back when you're feeling better, okay?"
I nod, too exhausted to argue.
As I gather my things, my mind races.
What if it's not just a bug?
What if it's something more... permanent?
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in a sterile exam room at the local clinic, my legs swinging nervously off the edge of the paper-covered table.
The doctor, a kind-faced woman in her fifties, enters with a clipboard.
"Okay, Meghan," she says, smiling. "We're going to run a few tests. Nothing to worry about, just standard procedure."
I nod, my throat tight. "Okay."
Soon enough my blood’s drawn, a urine sample given, and they’ve taken my temperature.
Each test feels like another nail in a coffin I'm not sure I want to open.
When the doctor returns, her face is unreadable. "Well, Meghan, I think I know why you've been feeling under the weather."
I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest.
"You're pregnant," she says gently. "It's likely morning sickness you've been experiencing."
I don’t know how I knew, but something deep in my gut told me this wasn’t really something temporary.
I’m pregnant.
The words echoes in my mind, a thunderclap that drowns out everything else.
I clear my throat, looking directly into her eyes. "Are you one hundred percent sure?"
The doctor nods, her voice kind but firm. "The tests are quite clear. You need to see an OBGYN to determine how far along you are."
The rest of the appointment passes me by and I’ve checked out, walking up to my car.
I slide inside, hands trembling as I grip the steering wheel.
My stomach lurches, and for a moment, I think I might be sick again.
"Fuck," I whisper, leaning my forehead against the cool leather. "This is fucking nuts."
As I pull out of the parking garage, my mind racing.
Tor and I never planned this.
We were careful, weren't we?
Traffic crawls by as I make my way back to our apartment.
Each red light feels like an eternity, giving me more time to spiral into panic.
"If I tell Tor," I mutter to myself, "he'll want to go back to Tallahassee. Back to the club."
Images of my father flash through my mind—the violence, the fear.
My hands tighten on the wheel until my knuckles turn white.
"I can't let my child grow up like that," I say firmly, blinking back tears. "I won't."
As I pull into our complex, a heavy realization settles in my chest.
To keep this baby safe—to keep it away from the life I ran from—I have to end things with Tor.
The thought makes me feel hollow inside, but I have to do this.
I take a deep breath before opening the apartment door.
Tor's there, his green eyes lighting up when he sees me.
The thought of really doing this breaks my heart all over again.
"Hey, babe," he says, concern creasing his brow. "How was your day?"
I force a weak smile. "Tor, we need to talk."
He furrows his brows for a second. “Sure. What’s up?”
I take a shaky breath. "Tor, I... I think you should go back home."
His face falls, confusion and hurt etching into his features. "What? Meghan, where is this coming from?"
I bite my lip, fighting back tears. "I love you. I do. But we can't keep doing this. It's not fair to either of us."
Tor takes a step toward me, his hands reaching out. "Babe, whatever it is, we can work through it. I told you, I'll do anything?—"
"That's just it," I interrupt, my voice cracking. "You shouldn't have to give up everything for me. The club, your brothers... it's a part of you."
"You're a part of me too," he argues, his green eyes intense.
I shake my head, tears finally spilling over. "It's not enough. We want different things, Tor. Deep down, you know that."
He stands there, stunned, as I brush past him.
I can't bear to look at him anymore, can't stand to see the pain I'm causing.
I hurry to my bedroom, closing the door behind me with trembling hands.
My legs give out and I slide down to the floor, my back against the door.
The sobs I've been holding back finally break free, wracking my body.
I pull my knees to my chest, trying to hold myself together as my world falls apart.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, though I know he can't hear me. "I'm so fucking sorry."
My hand drifts to my stomach, still flat but now holding a secret that changes everything.
"It's for the best," I tell myself, even as my heart breaks. "It has to be."
The apartment door slams shut with a force that rattles the walls, and I flinch.
Tor's gone.
The finality of it hits me like a punch to the gut, and fresh tears spring to my eyes.
I press my palm against my lips, trying to stifle the sobs that are starting to overwhelm me.
My hand shakes as I reach for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find Starla's name.
I need to talk to someone, anyone, before the weight of what I've just done crushes me completely.
The phone rings once, twice, and then Starla's voice comes through, warm and familiar. "Hey, girl! What's up?"
"Starla," I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."
There's a pause, and when she speaks again, her tone is serious. "Meghan? What's wrong?"
I take a deep breath, steeling myself.
"I ended things with Tor."
Starla's completely shocked. "What? Why?"
"It’s complicated," I say, my free hand unconsciously drifting to my still-flat stomach. "I'm pregnant."
The silence on the other end of the line is deafening.
When Starla finally speaks, her voice is filled with confusion and concern. "Meghan, honey, you're not making sense. Start from the beginning."
So I do.
I tell her everything—about the threats, the fear, the pregnancy, and the impossible choice I've had to make.
As I speak, the words tumble out faster and faster, as if by saying them aloud, I can somehow make sense of the chaos in my head.
"Jesus, Meg," Starla breathes when I finally finish.
"That's... that's a lot. Are you sure about this?"
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the door.
"I don't have a choice, Star. I can't let my child grow up in that world. I won't put the baby through the same shit I endured."
"But Tor?—"
"No," I cut her off, my voice firmer than I feel. "He can't know. None of them can. Starla, you have to swear to me. On your life, you won't tell anyone."
There's a long pause, and I can almost see Starla's conflicted expression. "Meg, you're putting me in an impossible position here. Tor's like family."
"I know," I whisper, guilt gnawing at me. "I know I am, but please. I need you, Star. I can't do this alone."
Starla sighs heavily, and I can hear the creak of her chair as she shifts.
"All right, Meg. I'll keep your secret," she says finally, her voice a mix of resignation and determination. "But I have one condition."
My heart skips a beat. "What's that?"
"I'm not going to stop being your friend," Starla states firmly. "This isn't some deal-breaker where I cut you out of my life. It's more like... a term of our friendship, I guess. I'll keep your secret, but I'm sticking by you through this whole mess."
Relief floods through me. "Star, I?—"
"No arguments," she interrupts. "You need someone in your corner, Meg. And let's face it, you're hopeless on your own."
A watery laugh escapes me, and I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. "You're not wrong," I admit, thinking of all the times Starla's been there for me. "I don't deserve you."
"Damn straight," Starla says, but there's warmth in her voice. "So, we agreed? I keep your secret, and you let me be there for you?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision.
It's not fair to put this on Starla, to make her lie to people she cares about.
But the alternative—facing this pregnancy alone, with no support—is unthinkable.
"Agreed," I say softly, closing my eyes. "Thank you, Star. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Let's hope you never have to find out," she replies. "Now, tell me what you need. Have you seen a doctor yet? Do you need me to come out there?"
As Starla's voice washes over me, filled with concern and practical questions, I feel a tiny spark of hope.
I’m going to be the best mother I can for this baby, even if it means pushing its father away to keep us all safe.
I’m going to be the mother mine never was.