Chapter 31 Wren
WREN
I must have a bug or stress, lack of sleep, or whatever mess the guys have me cleaning up. I’ve been dragging myself along the last few days. Tired without sufficient reason. At least, not to feel this rundown.
I don’t want to complain, though. It’s embarrassing. They do so much all the time. Work tirelessly to protect people.
They’ve let me in a little more on what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. It’s not at all what I thought they did. Not exactly. But I’m not sure how I could have imagined they did anything else.
They’re good men. Maybe they do some bad things, but it’s all to protect others. Like the story Pixie told me.
It took them a little time to decode the thumb drive Mom snuck me on my childhood bunny. A ribbon necklace and a charm with a hidden purpose. There are loads of pictures, schematics, plans… Evidence I can’t even fathom packed onto that tiny drive.
It has to be all from my brother. There’s no one else who would dare. No one else close enough that could get it.
He told me he’d find a way to help me. Instead of it making me feel safe, it has me worried about him. What kind of trouble could he get in if Grant found out he had all of this? That Mom got it to us?
Would Dad keep them safe?
I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts as I push the roast around my plate at the end of the bar. It’s quiet today, and Pixie keeps trying to feed me, but I swear I’ve been sitting with my lunch for nearly an hour. I just don’t have an appetite.
I’m definitely getting sick.
My thoughts twist again.
Can Judge use the evidence without implicating my family or himself? Can he do anything with it at all, something that would actually put a dent in Grant and his father’s empire? In their power?
The impossibility weighs on me, but the stories I’ve heard of the things they’ve done… I’m ready to believe if anyone can pull it off, it’s Sanctuary. It’s the very men who have been protecting me since I arrived.
I don’t know what they’re going to do with it, but I trust their judgement.
Stabbing a cooked carrot, I nibble on it. Better than the meat, which is so odd. The cook does a good job. But everything has tasted off the last few days.
I rub the butt of my palm across my forehead, pressing it into my eye. When I lift my head again, Pixie is frowning at me. She slides me a fresh cup of coffee, and I smile weakly.
Caffeine will be my savior. It has to be.
But I gag on my first sip. Did she make this with tar?
Pixie lifts her brow at me. “What is going on with you?”
I groan lightly. “I don’t know.”
A waft of smoke hits me from across the room, and my stomach churns.
“Babe, you look like a Victorian ghost. You good?”
I wave her off. “It’s probably just a bug.”
My mother would probably tell me when I kiss too many boys, I’m bound to catch something. I shake my head and feel the little food I’ve gotten down form a protest. It might turn into a full revolt soon.
Pixie slides closer. “Quick question. When was your last cycle? And don’t lie—I track the moon phases. I can track you.”
My cycle? Panic jolts in my chest, and I’m going to puke. I swear to Christ. There’s no way. Right? It’s only been a couple of weeks…
Can it happen that fast? Truly?
Pixie must see the micro-panic in my expression because she softens her tone. “Girl. I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out.”
“I’m going to busy myself somewhere not here, around the smoke.” I swallow hard. “And food.”
She pats my hand. “There’s a few loads of laundry waiting. If you think you can manage. Afterward, go grab some fresh air.”
I nod and slide off my stool.
For some reason, doing laundry calms my anxiety. The easy motion of setting the washer, moving the clothes over, and folding them in the same small squares soothes. It’s orderly and methodical.
It doesn’t take long, so I do as Pixie suggested and go outside. But I don’t go far. I’ve learned that lesson. Besides, I always have a shadow. Today, it’s Doc.
The back door opens at a five second delay, and there he is, gaze steady as he takes me in.
I run my hands through my hair and shake it out. The back of my neck is damp from sweat, but the fresh air fills my lungs and the breeze cools my skin. Still, a fluttering in my guts has me off. Usually, I would take a moment to tease Doc, and I simply don’t have the energy.
He leans against the club house behind me. I can feel him watching as I walk in small circles. I take another few deep breaths.
When I face him again, he’s more stern than a moment ago. His silence is unnerving. He’s always asking me questions, making small talk or teasing me. Has he noticed something’s wrong with me?
Is he suspecting the same thing as Pixie?
God, I hope not.
I lift my brow at him, and his look shifts again, curious or simply less worried.
My head clears enough for me to head back in, and I keep my head down for the rest of the day. Staying behind the bar, washing glasses, working the laundry, drinking soda water with a little lemon after the ginger ale Pixie poured me had me nearly retching.
I pour a couple of beers and wipe down a few tables when she goes on her break. It’s slow, but Doc switches out with Sin, who’s stationed at the corner table against the wall. His gaze never wavers from me, and you’d think I’d be used to it, but it builds a tingling heat along my spine nonetheless.
He follows me to the laundry room, hovering in the hall as I hum and fold.
The way his head tips forward makes his gaze more intense. I swear it’s more affectionate than I’ve ever seen it. Am I turning him into a softie?
That thought makes me smile. Sin, a softie, is a ridiculous notion, even if he’s soft with me.
I traipse my fingertips across his chest as I walk by, and his smirk turns deadly.
Pixie is back twenty minutes later, her bag shifting off her shoulder to a cubby behind the bar. She pulls a tiny paper bag from it and presses it into my hand before shooing me off to the bathroom. “Go. Pee. I’ll keep the wolves busy.”
She rounds the bar with me, blocking Sin from following me into the hall. I hear her knock into him.
“Why are you always making a mess on my floors?”
“I’m not making a mess on your floors.”
“What do you call that?”
I slip into the bathroom and lock the door, leaning against it to slow my breathing. No more panic.
Inside the package is a pregnancy test, and I actually have to read the directions before I take it. What a fucking joke. A twenty-six year old virgin turned the center of a three-man harem in a matter of weeks, and I might be pregnant.
I pace the small bathroom, each circle making the space feel like it’s closing in on me, so I sit on the closed toilet seat, staring at the test as a plus sign forms. My lungs stop working. I can’t breathe, and then air rushes in so fast that I might hyperventilate.
A tiny swelling in my chest terrifies me more than the danger outside.
This isn’t happening. There’s no way. I’m not ready.
I wrap the test in the paper bag and bury it in the trash before walking back out.
Pixie reads me immediately. She’s marching to me and swinging me into the storeroom. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath. We’ll figure this out.”
I do as she says, but everything inside of me is still wobbling off axis. “They can’t want this. This life isn’t made to include kids.”
“That might be true, but you got a whole damn army who’ll burn the city for you and your baby.” She hugs me tightly. “You can do this. Let’s go back out there. I’ll get you a special drink, and you’ll act normal. Sharing this with them is on your terms. Okay?”
I nod because keeping this a secret doesn’t feel right, but I’m too scared to say anything.
I follow her back to the bar, where she pours out a bottle of beer and fills it with apple juice. Sipping from it actually eases my stomach. Go figure.
Pixie also passes me prenatal vitamins in a mint tin. That woman is a genius.
As day turns into night, the bar gets more rowdy and the guys are more jovial. Pixie takes my shot as the men party and swaps our glasses.
She distracts the boys from noticing my nausea.
But my men are acting off. Doc watches me more closely, holding my gaze like he knows I have something to confess.
Saint is acting more protective, touching me more, snapping at people for getting too close. He’s hovering at the side of the bar like a king hoarding a conquest. He tucks my hair behind my ear as I pass by with three fresh bottles for a table.
Sin is at my back when I turn around, nose to my hair then my neck. “You smell different.”
I shrug out of his grip and send him what I hope is a playful wink. “New deodorant?”
He frowns, eying me more suspiciously.
I did get a new deodorant when I met my mother at the dollar store, but I doubt that’s what he smells. Can you smell hormone shifts? Isn’t it too soon for those changes to be so noticeable?
The smoking and vaping overload my senses, and when I shoot a glance at Pixie, she nods me off.
I slink to the bathroom again, half retching and hovering over the bowl until my stomach settles. Then, I pee and flush, creating an easy diversion. But when I’m done, Doc steps in front of me, blocking my path out to the bar and lounge.
“Wren…something’s not right.”
I freeze.
“You’re hiding something.” He grabs me when I wobble, hand at my wrist, in doctor mode. “Why is your heart rate elevated? If you’re sick, I need to know.”
“It’s probably just something I ate.” Which amounts to a few pieces of toast.
His brows furrow, and I know he doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t understand why I’m keeping it from him.
“No, bird…something’s going on. And I’m gonna figure out what.”