23. Harmony
CHAPTER 23
Harmony
T he officer holding me against the car jostles me toward the back door as the other officer holds it open. I get in willingly and don’t dare mutter a word. I’ve had enough training from band publicists to know what to do now that I’m no longer in fight mode. Who knew I had that in me?
Plus, what if he pushes me again and hurts the nug? With my arms pinned between me and the hard backseat, the handcuffs bite into my skin and induce a pinching pain to spread over my skin. My wrists hurt terribly, my shoulders burn, and my stomach… God, I hope he didn’t hurt my baby. A sob wracks through me.
My baby. What was I thinking?
The drive to the station is a blur. The next thing I know, I’m in an area where a female officer instructs me to disrobe so she can search me. “I’m pregnant. Please, just let me go. I didn’t mean any harm. She wanted to go to the beach, so I took her before I brought her home.”
She just gives me instructions on what to do in a cold-hearted detached voice. I follow them to a T. I’ve learned my lesson—this is not the situation to stand up for myself.
The cool air blows out of the vents in the ceiling, inducing a chill to set into my now bare skin as I stand here exposed in front of a stranger and fight the quiver of my lip. After searching me and cataloguing my tattoos, she pats down my clothes and returns my pants. She gives me a shirt that isn’t mine. My jewelry goes next, including the subtle purple stud from my nose and the lip ring that matches my dad’s.
“Do I get a phone call?” I whimper.
“You’ll get your call after the nurse evaluates you.” She leads me to an empty cell where I sit and wait.
I wait for what seems like forever. A different female officer eventually comes in and escorts me to the nurse’s office.
There’s a lady there waiting for me, an older woman with a hardened face and emotionless eyes. “I’m a nurse with the correction’s system. Says here you claim to be pregnant?”
I snivel, wiping my nose on the back of my hand because I don’t have anything else and nod. “Dr. Jones-Teetering is my doctor.”
She types into a handheld tablet. “Do you take any medication or drugs?”
“No. I’m pregnant.”
“Nothing at all?” Her eyes narrow at me and then I understand. It’s because of the hair and tattoos. Talk about being judged unjustly.
“I take a prenatal vitamin but that’s it. Not even an acetaminophen since I found out.”
My gut tells me she doesn’t believe me. No one here does. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? I’m not even sure what I did wrong.
She offers me a pregnancy test that I have no choice but to pee on while a female officer hovers in the bathroom with me.
Then, I’m escorted back to my cell. “My phone call?”
The officer rolls her eyes and takes me over to a bank of phones and inputs a code. “You have five minutes.”
I dial the one person I need. I should be calling my parents. But I don’t want to wake and worry them or let them know what an utter disappointment I am. Gibs picks up after the second ring.
“Mony, what’s wrong?” There are no pleasantries exchanged because he knows I’d never call this late unless it was important. I would text instead, but they took my phone.
I can almost see the wrinkle in his brow when he expresses his concern straight off. It’s one I’ve seen on his face since he was young and worried about this or that.
“I’m in trouble.” A sob bubbles out of me. “I’m in jail, Gibs.” Snot threatens to drip out of my nose as I attempt and fail to suppress my cries.
“Say that again?” The disbelief in his voice says it all. I’m the last person in our extended family who anyone would think to be in this kind of trouble. “Did you say jail? As in, the hoosegow?”
“Jail?” An unfamiliar female asks in the background. “Who’s in jail?”
I blubber out my version of the night’s events without caring who’s with him. Gibson tells me he’s getting dressed as he listens.
“Have you called Killian?” His voice is strained, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s having difficulty with his clothes as he talks with me, or if it’s because he doesn’t want to be the one to break the news to my parents, especially my dad.
“I only get one call,” I blubber into the phone. He’s right. I should have called my parents. I’m obviously not thinking clearly. I just wanted the comfort of my cousin’s voice.
“I’ll do it. I’m on my way, Mon. Hang in there and don’t say anything to anyone until I get there.” The distinct sound of Gibson’s Mustang roaring to life sounds in the background. I’d know that sound anywhere. It’s a huge relief knowing that he’s already on his way.
I firmly kick myself in the butt for dumping this on my younger cousin instead of my parents. I should have called them myself.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
It’s that self-preservation Gibson called me on weeks ago that kept me from reaching out to them. I don’t want to break their hearts. I don’t want to cause them pain. And while they can’t send me back to Montana, and they’ve never given me any indication that they would, they could disown me and that would absolutely crush me.
“Drive safe, Gibs!” I shout quickly into the phone, but I’m too late. The phone clicks off, signaling my five minutes are up.
I’m returned to my retaining cell where there’s nowhere else for me to sit than on a concrete bench. The interesting thing about being alone in a holding cell is having plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to mull over everything I could have done differently.
And, of course, I worry. I worry about Gibs. It wasn’t fair of me to call him, but I knew he’d rush up here, likely driving like an idiot the whole way.
What was I thinking?
I need him to drive safely.
I worry about my parents and what they’ll think of me when they find out why Gibson is calling them in the middle of the night.
I worry about my nugget. What kind of parent gets arrested for elder abuse? Me. That’s what kind. I’m already failing my baby.
I worry about The SeaSong. I need to open soon, and I can’t do that from here. I have no way to get word to Amanda so she knows what’s going on and can help Marie through the morning rush.
Maybe I should forget about The SeaSong and go back home. I obviously don’t make good judgement calls. I have no idea what I’m doing in life.
I can’t have this baby on my own all the way up here without someone to watch over me and help me. I think back to the letter in my nightstand at home. The one from Sevenya.
I remember pouring over the scrapbook the letter was tucked in multiple times through the years with Dad. He’d tell me about times he’d go through it on his own or with my mom.
I’ve been told my dad and uncle had a disagreement over who should have custody, but they worked it out before involving me. They’ve shown nothing but a united front in loving me since then. Because not only am I Killian’s daughter, but I am also Sammy’s biological niece. The last piece of his sister he has, and it makes us especially close. My parents never made me feel bad for my relationship with Sammy.
As a matter of fact, I think because my dad and Sammy are best friends, it makes it even better. Why did I think it would be a good idea to leave all that love behind? All the examples of what family is and should be.
I’ll go back home, I decide, trying to get comfortable on the concrete bench so I can sleep. I just have to get out of here first. I try to sleep after that but sleep never comes.
“You have a visitor.”
The female guard unlocks the cell and cuffs me before I file out wordlessly behind her. We walk to a room that’s just a tad bigger than my holding cell but has a table in the middle.
Gibson, slightly disheveled, sits at it, his eyes going round as he watches the guard uncuff one of my wrists and then re-cuff it to the table. Gibson remains silent but as soon as the door shuts, he asks, “Are you okay?”
I burst into tears because he’s here. I know that he can’t really do anything to help me, but he’s here and he’s family and that’s all that matters. That my cousin dropped everything to drive all the way up here so I wouldn’t be alone.
“Shh. Mony, are you good?” He asks it slower this time and takes my free hand and turns it over. “Is the baby okay?”
I shrug. I assume the nug is okay, but I don’t really know. As soon as I get out, I’m calling Dr. Teetering-Jones to get an appointment. “I was so scared when he shoved me against the car, Gibs.”
Fire flickers through his eyes as he listens to me.
“I doubled over to try to protect my stomach, which was the wrong thing to do, I think.” I stop, not giving further details—details I fear will push Gibson into doing something he’ll regret later and land him in the cell on the men’s side. “I just want to go home.”
“I’m waiting for them to give me your bond amount. I guess the night judge was off today so they’re trying to contact a different one. Killian transferred a shit ton of money into my account so you wouldn’t have to wait for him and Vi to get here.”
My dad did that? Maybe he still loves me. Maybe it’s Vi that’s disappointed. Maybe they aren’t coming now that they know I’m a troublemaker. My stomach drops as my mind spirals with worry again.
Gibson looks me over, assessing every part of me. “You look like shit.”
I give him a watery smile.
“Did you sleep at all?”
I shake my head. “It was a small room with a very uncomfortable bench.” I shrug while he mutters more curses under his breath.
“That isn’t going to go over well. Everyone’s on their way up, Harm. Everyone. It’ll just take some time for them to get here.”
“Everyone?” Even my parents? Do they even consider themselves my parents now? I mean, this is bad. I’m in freaking jail.
“Every single person, including James.”
James is the Blind Rebels entertainment lawyer and personal legal advisor. He’s paid to get people out of trouble. Maybe he can help get me out of the obligations I have with the café and whatever charges I end up with so that I can go home with my parents—if they’ll have me, that is.
“I have to tell you, kid, you’re breaking my heart.” He squeezes my hand again, and I relish in the connection. If my parents don’t take this well, I know I’ll still have him. “In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you like this.”
My lip quivers. “Like what?”
“Defeated. Downtrodden. Something like that. It’s not you. You’re almost always happy. Your eyes are missing their usual spark. I don’t like it. You’ve always been the most kind-hearted person I knew.” He squeezes his hand around mine again, the contact comforting and assuring.
“I had nothing to do in the holding cell but take a long, hard look at myself. Gibs, I don’t make smart decisions. If I’m going to have a baby, I need to be somewhere with help. So people can watch out for her because I won’t be able to do it on my own. I mean, I tried to do the café on my own and look where I ended up.”
“Mony, you’re—” Gibson tries to interject, but I’m on a roll.
“Already a shitty mother. Look where I am? I’m in fucking jail. I almost got my baby hurt, and she’s not even here yet.” He winces at my outburst, because while I do cuss, it’s not frequent. That, and my words about myself are harsh. I don’t often have outbursts like this unless I’m really spiraling.
I rub my abdomen, not even aware I’m doing it until Gibs’s gaze locks on my moving arm. The weird bubbly feeling in my stomach is back, and I’m not sure if it’s the baby, hunger, or if something is wrong. Right now, my body hurts everywhere. Between the horrific treatment from the officer and spending most of the night curled up in a cell, every part of me aches.
“When I said I wanted to go home, I meant home , Gibs. Back to SoCal with Mom and Dad and you. I never should have come up here in the first place but it was just me then. Now that it’s not just me…” My words trail off as my tears drip onto my lips.
“What do you mean?” He startles me out of my head. “Now that it’s not just you, what? Finish your thought, Harmony.” Gibson’s eyes are oddly harsh.
“If I came up here and failed, then it’s just me I have to worry about. With a baby now, they’re going to need food and clothes. Love and attention. I can’t pour all that I am into the café like it needs with a baby that will need just as much, if not more, from me.”
“I call bullshit,” Gibson says, leaning across the table and looking at me. “That’s exactly what I’m seeing in you that I don’t like— defeat. It’s stolen your confidence, Mon.” He fidgets in his seat, and then looks up at me. He’s about to get real with me, but I think he worries it will send me into another downward spiral.
“ Can’t has never been in your vocabulary. Don’t be that person. Don’t give up on yourself in the name of your child. That does nothing for the baby. But watching their mother learn, adjust, and carry the fuck on? That is exactly what your baby needs.” His stormy blue eyes assess me to see if I’ve gotten his message.
Did I get the message? Sure.
Doesn’t mean it applies to me. It’s easy for him to say. He doesn’t have a baby growing inside him. He’s not the one in jail.
The guard interrupts us. “Time’s up.” She comes over and unlocks my cuff from the table and returns it to my wrist. I stand and follow the directions she gives without looking back at Gibs. I can’t look back at him. This is the part I don’t want him to see. Me being led away in handcuffs. “Sorry, Gibs. Thanks for coming.”
I start to shuffle behind the guard and follow her back out of the room.
“Don’t give up, Mon. I’m getting you out of here as soon as possible.”