Chapter 3 - Ace
Pregnant.
The word hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking the wind out of me more effectively than the bullet that grazed my shoulder days ago.
Sarah stands before me in that pretty pink dress, looking like everything I've never deserved, waiting for me to respond. But my brain is short-circuiting, trying to process what she's just told me.
"How—" I start, then realize what a stupid question that is. I remember exactly how.
Every breathless moment of that night is burned into my memory. Her curves under my hands, the way she trembled when I touched her, how she looked at me like I was something more than the piece of shit I know myself to be.
"That night after the bar?" I manage instead.
"Yes," she says, her hazel eyes never leaving mine. "About seven weeks ago."
Seven weeks. Christ. Seven weeks and she's been carrying my kid without me knowing it. My eyes drop to her stomach, still flat beneath her sundress, and something primal stirs inside me. My child is in there.
A child. My child.
My father's voice slithers into my head: You'll never amount to anything, boy. Just like me. It's in our blood.
I push the thought away violently. "And you're... keeping it?" The question comes out harsher than I intended.
Her face hardens slightly. "Yes. I am."
"No, I didn't mean—" I step closer, then stop when I see her tense. "I just needed to know what you want. What your plan is."
"My plan was to tell you," she says simply. "Beyond that, I haven't figured everything out yet. But I wanted you to know."
I run a hand through my hair, aware that I'm covered in grease and sweat, standing half-naked in front of the mother of my unborn child. The mother of my child. Jesus.
"Let me clean up," I say abruptly. "And we can talk somewhere that's not... here."
She nods.
"I'll be quick. Five minutes." I gesture toward a picnic table away from the clubhouse. "Wait there?"
Sarah nods again and walks toward the table. I watch her for a moment before I snap out of it and head inside.
I take the clubhouse stairs two at a time up to my room. One of the few private spaces in this place. It's sparse but clean, with just a bed, dresser, and my few possessions. I grab a clean t-shirt from a drawer, slowly not to disturb my bandage as I pull it over my head.
My reflection in the small mirror above my dresser shows a man I barely recognize. Same green eyes, same face my mother used to call "too pretty for your own good," but there's something different in my expression now. Fear, maybe. Or something deeper.
"Pull it together," I mutter to myself, splashing water on my face from the bottle by my bed.
A knock at my door breaks my thoughts.
"Yeah?"
Viper pushes the door open, leaning against the frame with his massive arms crossed. "Everything alright?"
"No." I sit on the edge of my bed. "She's pregnant."
To his credit, Viper doesn't look shocked. He just nods slowly. "Yours?"
"Yes."
"You sure?"
I look up at him sharply. "Yes."
He holds up his hands. "Had to ask. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I stand, suddenly restless. "She's waiting for me outside."
Viper steps into the room, lowering his voice. "This complicates things, Ace. With everything going on with the Vultures MC—"
"You think I don't know that?" I snap. "It's not like I planned this."
"No one ever does." He sighs. "Just be careful what you promise her. And what you tell her about club business."
The implication stings. "She's carrying my kid, Viper. Show some respect."
A flicker of surprise crosses his scarred face before he nods. "Fair enough. Just remember where your loyalties lie."
"I know exactly where my loyalties lie," I say, pushing past him toward the door. "But this is my blood we're talking about."
He doesn't stop me as I head back outside, my mind racing with possibilities and fears I've never had to face before.
Sarah sits at the picnic table, her back straight as a ruler, hands folded primly in her lap. She looks so out of place here—too clean, too good for this world of violence and brotherhood I've chosen. And now I've dragged her into it.
I slide onto the bench across from her. "So…"
"So," she repeats, a small, nervous smile making her lips tremble.
"You really didn't have to come all the way out here," I say. "You could have called."
"With news like this?" She shakes her head. "That didn't seem right."
I stare at her face, searching for signs of what she wants from me. Money? Support? A ring? The thought makes my palms sweat. I'm nobody's husband material.
"I meant what I said," she continues when I don't speak. "I don't expect anything from you. I just thought you should know."
"Because it's the right thing to do," I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Her eyes flash. "Yes, actually. Because it is the right thing. Because despite what you might think, I believe people deserve to know when they're going to be parents, even if they choose not to be involved."
Is that what she thinks? That I'd walk away from my own child?
"Who do you think I am?!" I say, the words coming out before I can stop them.
"I'm still not sure...."
"You don't know me, Sarah." I lean forward, suddenly desperate for her to understand. "You don't know the things I've done, the life I lead. But I am not the kind of man who abandons his kid."
"What kind of man are you, then?"
It's a simple question with a complicated answer. What kind of man am I? A criminal. A fighter. A brother to men who would kill or die for me. A son who couldn't save his mother. A man who's never loved anyone because love makes you weak, makes you vulnerable.
But looking at Sarah, I know one thing for certain.
"I'm the kind of man who will protect what's his," I say finally. "And that includes my child. And you, as its mother."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Ryan—"
"Let me finish," I cut in. "I don't know what this means for us. I don't know if there even is an 'us.' But I will be there for that baby. Whatever it needs. Whatever you need to take care of it. That's a promise."
She blinks a few times, and I realize with horror that she's fighting back tears. Shit. I've never known what to do with crying women.
"Hey, I'm sorry," I say, reaching across the table before thinking better of it and pulling my hand back. "I didn't mean to upset you."
She shakes her head, a watery laugh escaping her. "I'm not upset. These are hormones. And maybe a little relief."
"Relief?"
"I thought you might tell me to get lost," she admits. "Or accuse me of trying to trap you or something."
The thought had never even crossed my mind, which surprises me. In my world, trust doesn't come easy. But something about Sarah has always felt genuine, from the moment I saw her in that bar.
"I wouldn't do that," I say quietly.
She nods, wiping at her eyes. "Well, thank you. For not being what I feared."
The irony of her words isn't lost on me. If she knew half the things I've done for the club, she'd be running in the opposite direction.
A motorcycle roars to life nearby, reminding me where we are. "Look, this isn't the best place to talk. Let me take you somewhere quieter."
She hesitates. "I should probably get home. I have lesson plans to finish for tomorrow."
"You're a teacher, right?" I remember her mentioning it that night.
"First grade," she confirms with a small smile. "At Pine Haven Elementary."
An image flashes in my mind. Sarah surrounded by little kids, patient and kind. It fits her perfectly. And now she'll have her own child to teach. Our child.
"We need to figure this out," I say. "Make some kind of plan."
"I know." She stands, smoothing her dress. "Maybe we could meet for coffee sometime this week?"
I stand too, towering over her. "Tomorrow? After you finish work?"
She looks surprised at my eagerness but nods. "Okay. The coffee shop on Maple? Around four?"
"Here, please. I can't tell you why yet, but it's for the better. Believe me," I watch as she gathers her purse, looking like she can't wait to escape this place. I can't blame her. "Can I walk you to your car?"
"Here, then. And that's not necessary—"
"Please." I'm not sure why it matters, but it does.
She relents with a nod, and we walk side by side around the clubhouse to where her little blue Honda sits. The brothers hanging around out front watch us, but no one approaches. They know better.
At her car, she turns to face me. "Thank you for not freaking out."
"Who says I'm not freaking out?" I attempt a smile. "I'm just doing it internally."
That gets a small laugh out of her. "Fair enough. I did my freaking out yesterday in my bathroom."
And then there's an awkward moment where neither of us knows what to do. A handshake feels ridiculous. A hug too intimate. A kiss unthinkable, despite the fact that this woman knows every inch of my body.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she finally says, breaking the tension.
"Tomorrow," I agree, stepping back as she gets into her car.
I watch her drive away, standing in the dusty lot long after her car disappears from view. When I finally turn back toward the clubhouse, Viper is waiting by the entrance.
"Well?" he asks as I approach.
"Well what?"
"What's the plan?"
I brush past him, suddenly needing a drink stronger than coffee. "I don't know yet. But I'm not walking away."
Inside, a few of the brothers are playing pool. Ghost looks up as I enter, his perceptive eyes taking in my expression immediately.
"Everything okay, brother?" he asks.
No. Nothing is okay. My whole world just shifted on its axis. In seven-ish months, I'm going to be responsible for a human life. Me—the guy who can barely keep himself alive sometimes.
"It will be," I say instead, heading for the bar and the whiskey I know is kept beneath it.
As I pour myself a double, my phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from a number I don't recognize.
*This is Sarah. Figured you should have my number. See you tomorrow.*
I had given her my number but I never texted back. I stare at the message, at the neatly typed words from the mother of my child. My child. The reality of it hits me all over again.
I'm going to be a father.
The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it does nothing to quiet the voice in my head, my own father's voice, telling me I'm going to screw this up just like he did. That it's in my blood to fail.
But as I set the glass down, a different voice emerges. My own, fierce and determined.
Not this time. Not with this. I will be better. I have to be.
For the baby. For Sarah. And maybe, finally, for myself.