21. Alice
21
ALICE
I hurl my guts into the toilet for the second time this morning.
My eyes haven’t even properly opened yet.
Blindly, I grab my phone from bathroom counter and read the time.
5:33 AM.
I guess I can officially call myself an early riser now.
Tick that item off my bucket list.
What wasn’t on that list, however, was this—embarrassing myself in front of a motorcyclist who shrivels me up and knocks all the air from my lungs.
And that’s when I’m not even doing anything embarrassing.
Today tells a different story.
“Alice? Are you Okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not.
Wiping sick from my lips with tissue, I continue, “Just feeling a little unwell, that’s all.”
Stress is what I’m putting it down to—nothing else.
The P-word won’t be mentioned, because having a child isn’t in my five-year plan.
“Can I come in?” Brander calls.
“No!” I whip around. Didn’t even have time to lock the door. “Stay where you are.”
My eyes catch the shower. Just over a week ago, I was bent over in there wearing a butt plug as all three of them finished inside. And a couple weeks before that, there was the time in the doctor’s office, and they all came inside me that night too.
Inside, inside too.
They were deep.
Especially Brander.
At one point, it felt as though his dick was rearranging my intestines.
I bang my head against the bathroom wall as if it’s gonna magically wash away the sickness. Déjà fucking vu. I’m back in the Venetian again with a headache, alcohol in my bloodstream and a four-carat diamond wedding ring on my finger.
I wish it was a Venetian bed I was waking up in.
Not Brander’s spare one.
Considering everything that’s happened these past few weeks, it’s no shocker that I woke up with the sudden urge to vomit. My dreams last night were pretty wild, involving a pink knife being slashed across Daddy’s neck. He was bleeding out this black sludge-like liquid that somehow transferred onto my hands. It was awful and gooey, and then I woke up seconds before the first round of bile shot out of my mouth.
Bizarre.
But that explains all.
I glimpse myself in the mirror, no longer feeling the urge to retch, and dip my hands under the cold water to buff some color into my cheeks. Even snow doesn’t look as white as the current color of my skin.
I open the door to Brander’s very concerned-looking face.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, and I am this time. “I just had a bad dream.”
“Tell me next time, yeah? You can come and sleep with me.”
Maybe I’ll lie about the nightmares next time so I can crawl into his bed.
Ever since I’ve been staying here, he’s been adamant on me remaining in the spare bedroom. “You need your own space,” is the explanation he keeps on giving me, but something tells me it’s more than that.
I see how he looks at me.
He tenses his jaw and tightens his lips every time I bring up sex. He wants to fuck me. The proof is in his pants—leather only conceals so much.
We had a conversation the other night about him admitting his love for me. The timing was strange, given that he was about to shove a plug up my ass and call me a good girl, but it was true what he said. He meant every word.
I’m the love of his life.
At the time, I responded with a hug, but looking back I realize I should’ve said something more. Times are uncertain at the moment. Sometimes, it feels like my life is hanging on by a thread, so I should’ve said something back in case I don’t get the chance.
But it scares me. Love isn’t a word that should be tossed around lightly. It was with Levi all the time. I would sign off each text message with a little “Luv U,” and I think being so outward about it is what turned things sour. I gave him the ick.
The last thing I wanna do with these three gorgeous specimens is put them off.
So I simply hugged him, said, “Awwww, that’s really sweet,” and moved on.
I want to avert my eyes from Brander but I can’t help it. Something about them makes it so easy to get lost. To forget where you are and what day it is. The world stands still when I look into any of their eyes, but mother nature herself stops breathing when Brander looks at me.
Living in close proximity with him, I’ve noticed a few slips in his character. He’s more vulnerable than he lets on. The night we first met, his eyes were sharp and the dark color of them shone more of a black. These days, they’re softer. A warm, welcoming kind of brown. He reminds me of a grizzly bear.
To a stranger, he might look terrifying, to be honest. The broad build and cold, calculating eyes make you second-guess him, but his reputation precedes him. He hugs me tight and kisses me respectfully on the temple when I go in for his lips. Every night before bed, he tells me, “Goodnight, sleep tight,” and wishes me good morning with hot lemon tea in bed. Apparently Brander used to detest that flavor before I walked into his life.
“Once, that Pepsi can didn’t used to be crushed,” he said to me that first night after the shower when the other two left. We were sitting in the living room, and he caught me staring at it. That’s when he opened up to me about his childhood. Moving in and out of different foster homes became a dance he knew better than the back of his hand, apparently.
At eighteen years old, after a month and a half of living on the streets, he got caught shoplifting. One can of Pepsi was all he managed to successfully smuggle. He cracked it open a couple blocks away and was about to take a sip. That’s when some shop assistant whipped it from his hands, flattened it under his shoe. It dripped down the curb, and Brander lapped up what was left.
Orphaned and homeless, it’s no wonder the guy looks like a bully when you first meet him. To be honest, my problems felt insignificant after he told that story. They still do. Daddy might’ve dipped his finger in the wrong company ink, but he’s still my father. Still family. He still tries to protect me.
I look at Brander, register the stoic demeanor, and somehow feel more comfortable acknowledging the P-word, at least to myself.
Childhoods don’t get much worse than Brander’s.
If he’s been through hell, I’m sure he’d do everything in his power to ensure a child doesn’t go through the same.
“Keep your voice down.”
“But it’s so fucking terrifying, Ali.” Rachel inserts the straw of her drink into her mouth like it’s a pacifier, then turns back to me, eyes peeled wide open. “I can’t believe they kidnapped you. Threw you in the back of a trunk. What the fuck? Your dad needs to end the campaign before it gets too much out of hand.”
“I know,” I say, “but he can’t. Apparently, according to Lifesaver, he doesn’t want to either. They killed my mom, remember?”
“Yeah!” Rachel says, “but that’s because he approached them first.”
Tammy takes the straw from her mouth. “Couldn’t he just lie? Take out the campaign and still go ahead with his evil genius plan?”
Of course she’s the one to bring that up. All she did throughout college was lie. Lie about not doing the reading because a grandparent (all were dead) had fallen down the stairs. Lie at the bar with fake smiles and compliments to guys she didn’t find attractive, just to score a free drink.
“Lying only gets you so far, Tam.”
“Plus, we’re talking about Russians here,” Rachel says. “Not stuck-up-their-own-ass university professors and drunk boys.” She goes back to sipping her drink.
A shopping mall is where we decided to meet up today, and I chose Chick-fil-A for food. I can imagine Russians sticking their noses up at trashy, American fast-food places like this, which means we’re in the clear.
Chicken strips have been calling my name for days.
I dunk one into ranch sauce, reveling in the satisfying crisp that comes when my teeth break the crispy exterior.
“So you’re coming around, then?” I ask.
“Huh?” Tammy tilts her head.
“About the boys? Brander, Match, and Lifesaver? You hate them…less?”
“Well, it sounds like they saved your ass,” Tammy says.
“Good.” I dust off my hands. Lower my voice. This next bit will be fun. “Because I have a feeling I might be pregnant.”
“ALICE!”
“Shhhh!”
“Alice!” Tammy hisses more quietly.
Rachel removes the tray of chicken from my grasp. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” I begin, “is that I woke up at hell o’clock this morning feeling sick.”
“And you threw up?” she asks.
“That’s one word for it.”
“Alice.” Tammy slaps her hands down on the table like she means business. “You need to do a pregnancy test.” Her lips twist into a grimace. “Oh my god, what if you’re pregnant? Is there a chance it’s Levi’s?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Given the date of my last period, and the fact that Levi and I hadn’t had sex for a few weeks before the bachelorette, there’s no way it’s his.” And isn’t that a relief.
“Well, that’s good then.” Rachel bites her lip. “But then whose would it be?”
“Easy,” Tammy says. “Which one has the biggest dick?”
“Christ, Tam.” I almost choke on the chicken. “I don’t think it works like that.” I feel a blush heat my cheeks.
“She’s flustered! Look at her.” Tammy’s smile widens.
“Okay.” Rachel stands from the table. “Come on. Let’s find you a pregnancy test. ClearBlue, where are you?”
“You wanna announce it for China to hear too?” I yank Rachel’s hand and sit her back down, running a hand through my hair. “I dunno what to do, guys.”
Tammy frowns. “What do you mean?”
“They’d all make great fathers, all three of them—that’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
I look over my shoulder. “Something beginning with B and ending in A.”
“Good point.” Rachel scowls.
“It’s risky. I’m constantly on guard as it is. What the hell will it be like if I birth a child into the world? That’s four pairs of shoulders I’ll have to keep looking over.”
Rachel rises from her seat again. “We’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it.” She closes my box of chicken and drops it into my bag. “Finish eating later. Let’s go get you a test.”
I kinda wish the CVS was at the other end of the mall, not directly opposite the Chick-fil-A. I’ve never been good at ripping off the Band-Aid and getting on with it. Procrastination is in my nature. It’s why I aced my exams—the knowledge was fresh in my head from revising the day before. Sometimes, leaving things until the last minute pays off. It allows you to be content for as long as possible. I don’t wanna see that nasty wound. I want it buried underneath a Band-Aid so I can forget about it and enjoy my life.
Tammy and Rachel purchase the test, and I anxiously wait outside, bending back my fingernails to give my mind something to focus on. A cold sweat greases my palms, and my pulse drums in my ears, overtaking the sound of echoed chatter ringing through the mall.
I walk to the bathroom with no recollection of doing so.
Slide the lock across the closed stall door with chattering teeth.
I want to take off.
A flight to Bali sounds appealing.
Instead, I remove the packaging and pee on the stick.
“Is it coming out?”
“What the fuck, Tam?”
“What?! Sometimes when you’re nervous, it doesn’t!”
I slide open the door and run to the sink, anchoring my hands there to stabilize myself for a moment. The test rests next to me on the counter. I can’t even look at it.
Tammy sets a two-minute timer on her phone.
I want each second to stretch out for as long as possible.
“Jeez, Ali. Are you okay?”
Rachel curls an arm around me. “Does she look okay?”
“I definitely don’t feel okay.”
“Tell us what’s running through your head,” Tammy instructs.
I lean back into the sink. “I was supposed to be a nurse practitioner before I got pregnant. I was supposed to have my own place, somewhere nearby, like Henderson or North Las Vegas, somewhere close to my father before I started thinking about children.”
Rachel’s eyes soften. “And let me guess? Levi would be the father?”
“No.”
Tammy and Rachel glance at one another.
I say the word almost reflexively. Having kids with Levi was something that never crossed my mind. He was always good with kids and cradled a baby in his arms once, but my ovaries never melted and thought, “ Fuck. Quick! Better release an egg.”
The two-minute timer buzzes.
“So you’d be happy with Brander, Lifesaver, or Match as the father?”
“I’d be happy with them all,” I say.
“Good.” Rachel turns the pregnancy test around.
Two pink lines stripe across the window.
“Because you’re growing one of their children.”
I stagger off the bus, thanking the driver.
I can’t even straighten my voice.
Fuck.
Warm air greets me, a nice change from the air conditioning that was starting to goosebump my skin.
How am I supposed to feel?
How am I gonna tell them?
The timing couldn’t be worse.
But at least I’m in six capable hands.
Shades of orange and pink merge together in the sky, goldening Summerlin.
Ping!
A message.
I slip out my phone.
Lifesaver: Your location says that you’re walking. Alone.
Me: That’s right.
Brander: It’s sundown too. What are you playing at?
Me: The bus stop is a five-minute walk from my dad’s
Lifesaver: Then hurry up.
Anxiety clots in my stomach, pulse drumming erratically in various arteries. For now, I’ll keep the pregnancy to myself. After all Daddy has done, he doesn’t deserve the gift of a grandchild.
But I can’t tell him anyway, because the next question will be “Who’s the father?”
And the answer will be plural.
Plus, he still doesn’t know that I broke up with Levi.
Pregnant? I can’t be. Too much shit is happening right now for me to process the fact that there’s currently a child developing inside of me. One I have no idea how to look after. For God’s sake, I don’t even know how to care for myself, never mind an infant who will require my attention every waking minute of the day. I can say goodbye to sleep. To pert breasts and that ID card with the words “Nurse Practitioner” in bold.
My future is maternity.
Caring for a child.
But how can I care for a child with my life at risk?
Aside from the blowing trees outside and the humming refrigerator, home is silent. I wander into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water, and gulp it down like it’s gonna wash away the drama of today.
It doesn’t.
I slam the empty glass down on the table feeling just as anxious as before. Is it nerves cramping my stomach or the baby stirring within me?
And whose will it be?
I try to relax my breathing, but it shallows. A well-functioning respiratory system isn’t in the cards for me anymore.
I shut my eyes. Grip the edge of the countertop to stabilize myself.
One, two, three, I count in my head, but it’s not numbers I see.
It’s them. All three of them playing with the newborn. They’re smiling. Brander curls his finger around the child’s—it’s four times the size of the baby’s—and Lifesaver flashes a smile that warms my heart. Match is the one holding her. It’s a girl, and he can’t take his eyes away.
I reopen my eyes.
My breathing regulates. It’s steady again.
I wipe a hand across my sweating brow.
This is fucked up.
Imagining Match, Brander, and Lifesaver as fathers isn’t supposed to make me feel content. Outlaw bikers shouldn’t be good paternal figures, but in my head they are. If they can care for and protect me, surely between the three of them they’re more than capable of protecting a newborn.
A slamming door jolts me back to reality.
Stalls my breathing.
Most likely it’s Daddy returning from work. He’s probably been tied up in the office all day working himself numb. Maybe he even took a stroll down the strip for a dose of praise to make himself feel better.
Nerves twist my stomach.
How am I supposed to look him in the eye?
I guess we’ll find out.
“Daddy? Is that you?”
Silence.
I let two more seconds pass before I push off from the countertop to head to the hallway. Walking through the house doesn’t feel the same anymore. The Tiffany Wisteria lamp perched on the coffee table, the brown Sorrento Leather corner-couch decorating the living room, the expensive collection of ceramic mugs imported all the way from Tuscany painted with blues and yellows to represent Italian skies and lemons. None of it is real. Blood money bought every piece of furniture in this house. The palace-rose paint in my bedroom—the shade that Daddy bought for me as soon as he was elected mayor, because I always said I wanted a pink bedroom, and he always said he didn’t have enough money to renovate my room.
He could only afford to redecorate my room because he indirectly killed two innocents.
A life based on lies isn’t a life.
It was pretend happiness, all of it.
But this is real life.
And real life fucking sucks.
But it sure as hell sucks slightly less having my three motorcyclists around.
“Daddy?”
Still no reply.
I creep closer.
Maybe it isn’t daddy. Maybe it’s somebody else.
The Bratva.
My nerves twist into knots as I approach the hallway.
Relief floods through me.
“Brander?”
He stands in front of the door looking like my own personal bodyguard. Silver hair sweeps back from his face, and his eyes, two brown-colored marbles, glow in the evening sun as he stares at me. The frown imprinted across his forehead suggests he’s not impressed I walked two minutes alone from the bus stop to my house.
Talk about overprotective…
Although it is kinda hot.
“You scared me,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s getting late.”
“No.”
“It is.”
I slide my phone out of my shorts pocket, click on the device and show him the screen. “Seven PM isn’t late. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
His eyes stare at the floor.
“Brander?”
Still staring.
“Are you okay?”
His brows pinch together. “Is that a pregnancy test?”
My heart stops. My plan was to keep the pregnancy to myself, just for now. To keep it a secret from the boys and Daddy, at least for the foreseeable future.
But none of my plans seem to be manifesting at the moment.
It’s like somebody has hexed me. It’s one disruption after the next.
“Uh.” A lump forms in my throat.
“Alice?”
His eyes find mine.
I could swoop the thing up and shove it back into my pocket. I could lie and say it’s negative, but my body turns paralytic. My arm wants to reach out and pocket the contraption, but it’s heavier than lead. My legs too.
The only thing moving is my heart, and it’s about to leap out of my chest.
Brander reaches for the test and examines it.
I watch his eyes. They zigzag back and forth. There’s two , is what I know he’s thinking. Two is positive but the situation is anything but.
He should say something.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
“Brander?”
“You’re pregnant?”
My head nods involuntarily.
That’s when he reaches for his phone and speed-dials the others.