Chapter 2 – Sarah
Two months later
I clutch my coffee mug tighter as Emily slides into the booth across from me, her eyes wide with that look she gets when she's about to launch into a lecture.
"Sarah Collins, I cannot believe you've been hiding this from me for three whole weeks!" Her accusatory tone carries just enough concern that I can't be mad at her.
The diner around us buzzes with Sunday morning patrons, but all I can focus on is the pregnancy test results burning a hole in my purse. Positive. Unmistakably, undeniably positive. And not just one test. Three of them, taken over the past two days, each delivering the same life-changing news.
"I wasn't hiding anything," I say, stirring my decaf absently. "I just needed to be sure before I told anyone."
Emily leans forward, lowering her voice. "And you're absolutely certain it's the biker's?"
"Ryan," I correct her automatically. "And yes, I'm certain. There hasn't been anyone else in... well, longer than I care to admit."
The memory of that night floods back. How we'd ended up leaving the bar separately after that almost-fight, only to run into each other again at the 24-hour diner on the edge of town.
How one cup of coffee had turned into conversation that flowed easier than anything I'd experienced before.
How his green eyes had softened when I told him about my first-grade classroom.
How his fingers had brushed mine across the table. How he gripped my thigh underneath it.
And then the motel. God, the motel.
"Earth to Sarah," Emily says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "You're doing it again, that dreamy-eyed thing whenever you think about him."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Sorry."
"Have you told him yet?"
I shake my head, the anxiety I've been tamping down threatening to surface again. "No. I don't even know how to find him."
This isn't entirely true. I know exactly where to find him—the Outlaw Order clubhouse on the outskirts of Pine Haven.
Everyone in town knows where it is, even if most people give it a wide berth.
But the thought of walking into that lion's den, pregnant with one of their members' babies. .. my stomach churns at the mere idea.
"You have to tell him, Sarah," Emily says gently. "Whatever happens next, he deserves to know, and you deserve whatever support he can provide."
I take a sip of my coffee, grimacing at the taste. I've always hated decaf. "What if he wants nothing to do with me or the baby? What if he thinks I planned this somehow?"
Emily reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Then you'll know exactly what kind of man he is, and you can move forward accordingly. But what if he surprises you?"
The rest of my coffee sits untouched as Emily's words echo in my mind. What if he does surprise me? What if behind all that danger and swagger is someone who might actually want to know his child?
"You're right," I finally say, straightening my shoulders. "I need to tell him. Today."
Emily's eyebrows shoot up. "Today? As in right now?"
"If I don't do it now, I'll lose my nerve." I pull out my wallet and drop a ten on the table. "Sunday morning is probably the safest time to find him, right? Before they're all... doing whatever bikers do."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Emily asks, concern etched across her face.
I shake my head. "This is something I need to do alone."
Twenty minutes later, I'm driving my sensible blue Honda along the dusty road that leads to the Outlaw Order clubhouse.
Each mile makes my heart pound faster, my palms sweatier on the steering wheel.
I've rehearsed what to say at least a dozen times, but the words feel hollow and inadequate for the magnitude of what I'm about to do.
The clubhouse comes into view—a sprawling building with motorcycles lined up outside like soldiers at attention. The place looks quieter than I expected, though several men in black leather cuts mill around the front, some smoking, others working on bikes.
I park my car at a distance, taking a moment to check my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I'm wearing a simple pink sundress. My teacher clothes, as my students call them.
My brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and I've applied just enough makeup to hide the evidence of my sleepless nights.
Next to those men in black, I look like I've wandered onto the wrong movie set.
"You can do this," I whisper to myself. "For the baby."
With one hand over my still-flat stomach, I step out of the car and approach the clubhouse. The conversations die down as I get closer, and I feel their eyes tracking my movement. One heavily tattooed man with a thick beard steps forward, blocking my path.
"Can I help you?" His tone isn't threatening, but there's a wariness there that makes me worried to be out here all alone.
"I—I'm looking for Ryan," I manage to say. "It's important."
The man's eyebrows furrow. "Ryan?"
"Ace," says another voice from behind him. A tall, scarred man, I recognize from the bar that night. Viper, Ryan had called him. "She's looking for Ace. Bar girl," he adds.
I nod, feeling increasingly out of place among these hard men with their leather and tattoos. "Please. I really need to talk to him."
Viper seems to debate internally before jerking his head toward the clubhouse. "Follow me."
"Thank you," I say, genuinely grateful. As I follow Viper around the building, I notice the other men watching us with curious expressions.
The back of the clubhouse opens to a fenced yard with picnic tables, a fire pit, and what looks like a makeshift shooting range at the far end. And there, working on a motorcycle engine laid out on a tarp, is Ryan.
He's shirtless, his lean, muscled torso on full display except for a white bandage wrapped around his left shoulder. His blond hair is slightly longer than when I last saw him, falling across his forehead as he concentrates on the mechanical parts in front of him.
Viper clears his throat. "Ace. Got a visitor."
Ryan looks up, and when his green eyes lock onto mine, time seems to stop. He stands slowly, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Sarah," he says, my name rolling off his tongue like he's tasted it before and never forgot about it. "What are you doing here?"
Viper raises an eyebrow between us.
"I'll leave you to it," he says, backing away but not before giving Ryan a look that clearly communicates some unspoken warning.
Once we're alone, Ryan takes a step toward me, wincing slightly at the movement.
"You're hurt," I say, my eyes going to the bandage.
He shrugs, then immediately regrets it based on the slight grimace. "It's nothing. Occupational hazard."
"Another bar fight?" I can't help but ask.
A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Something like that. Look, not that I'm not happy to see you, but this isn't exactly a social call, is it?"
My rehearsed speech evaporates. Standing here, looking into those impossibly green eyes, all I can think about is how his hands felt on my skin that night, how he whispered my name as we moved together. And now I'm carrying his child.
"I need to tell you something," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. "And I don't want anything from you, but I think you have a right to know."
His expression changes, growing guarded. "Okay..."
I take a deep breath and decide to just say it. "I'm pregnant, Ryan. And it's yours."
His face goes completely blank, like someone's wiped every emotion clean off it. For a terrifying moment, he doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares at me with his mouth closed.
"Say something," I whisper.
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I remember from our night together. "Are you sure?"
"Three tests sure. And yes, I'm sure it's yours."