Unbeautifully

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A blonde nurse in pink scrubs with small wrinkles around her deep brown eyes appeared in my line of vision. “How we doing?” she asked kindly.

Fighting my tears, I nodded jerkily and tried to focus on her instead of the cramping, rippling sensation in my abdomen and the dull roar of the machine that was sucking out the tiny little life growing inside of me. I should have opted for the drugs they’d offered me. But not having a ride home, I’d thought it best to have my head clear.

But having a clear head meant I was fully aware of what was happening to me…

To my baby…

I’d never given much thought to having children other than the passing, “I’d like to…someday.” But now, even as terrified as I was, now that I had one inside of me, Ripper’s baby, I wanted to keep it there, keep it safe, feel it grow, hold it in my arms. Be a mom.

Just not without Ripper.

And if this baby came out looking like a little version of him…

No longer able to hold them back, my tears began to fall.

“Almost done, honey,” the nurse said, rubbing my arm. “Almost done.”

Sucking in a breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away from her.

I was a wreck, my life was a wreck, everything was just…wrong.

Irreparable.

And all I could think about was Ripper.

I loved him and missed him and hated him for leaving me. Leaving me all alone with my screwed-up family and both my beautiful and horrible memories of him and us and all the horrible pain and the gut-wrenching guilt that came with them. All of it had piled so heavily on top of me, I could barely stand any more.

I was tired all the time, physically and emotionally, and eventually I was just too tired to get my life in any semblance of order and back on track. I showered as often as I ate, which was nearly never because I couldn’t seem to keep anything down.

Then, on top of everything else, two weeks ago I’d discovered I was pregnant. After sharing my secret with Anabeth, she’d given me the number and address of a clinic in Billings that accepted patients without health insurance, or in my case, patients who had health insurance yet couldn’t use it without their father finding out.

So I’d borrowed some money from my father’s bedroom safe and taken a bus out of town.

And all of this had happened in just three short months. Ninety days. It had taken a mere ninety days for my entire life to fall apart.

“Here we go,” the nurse said, holding my elbow as I struggled to sit up. On shaking legs, I followed her out of the procedure room into the recovery room, and slid into the medical reclining chair she gestured to.

“Can I have some water?” I said hoarsely.

“You need juice, honey,” she replied. “I’ll go get some.”

I nodded and she walked off. A quick survey of the room showed me three other women, also seated in recovery chairs, avoiding eye contact while several busy nurses walked back and forth. Closing my eyes, I let my head roll off to the side.

“Here’s your juice,” the nurse said, handing me a small paper cup. She began flipping through a chart while I sipped on apple juice.

“Remember that bleeding and blood clots are normal, as is cramping, but if you’re bleeding excessively—”

I stared up at the kind nurse, not really listening, thinking about Ripper, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Wondering if he’d known that I was pregnant, if it would have made a difference. Would he have come back home? Wondering why he had left in the first place and why wouldn’t he answer my phone calls.

Wondering if he’d been with another woman.

“Do you have a ride home?” the nurse asked, handing me several small squares of paper. I glanced at the prescriptions, wondering how I was going to fill them without anyone finding out.

I shook my head. “I’m taking the bus.”

When the bleeding had slowed and I could stand without shaking, I was discharged. Exhausted and nauseous, I pushed through the front door of the clinic and stopped dead. Standing in the snow-covered parking lot, leaning against his pickup and smoking a cigarette, was my brother.

Seeing me Cage cursed, flicked his cigarette away, and strode quickly toward me. I tried to shrink away from him but he was quicker than me, bigger and stronger, and grabbed a hold of my shoulders. “Who?” he demanded. “I want to know who did this, right the fuck now.”

Clutching my abdomen, I gaped at him. “What are you doing here?” I demanded weakly.

“Tegen told me,” he gritted out. “Now fuckin’ answer me!”

Tegen? Tegen!

“How did Tegen know?” I shrieked, my pain turning suddenly into mortification and terror that my father or Eva knew as well. Did the entire club know? The whole world?

“Ellie,” he said, growing angrier by the second. “She was worried about you and called me this morning. Ana-fuckin’-slut let it slip and when Ellie couldn’t get a hold of you, she called me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That still doesn’t explain how Tegen found out.”

“I was in the fuckin’ shower and she answered my damn phone.”

“She’s gonna tell someone!” I cried.

“No she ain’t, I made sure of it. Now, tell me who the fuck knocked your ass up so I can find ’em and fuckin’ kill ’em.”

“Stop it!” I hissed. “It’s none of your business.”

“Like fuck it isn’t!” he yelled.

“Cage.” I sighed. “Just take me home, okay? I’m really tired.”

He let loose a string of curses. “So you’re not tellin’ me, huh? You’re gonna protect some sorry-ass motherfucker who let you deal with this shit all by yourself?”

“He doesn’t know,” I whispered.

Cage’s brown eyes bored into me, watching me intently. I knew the exact moment he put two and two together. His entire demeanor changed and his expression turned hard and violent.

“You in bed with a brother, Danny? ’Cause if you are, Dad is—”

“Cage!” I yelled. “Don’t you dare tell him anything! What I do is none of his business! Or yours!”

“Fuck!” he bellowed, spinning away from me, running his hands through his hair. “You are! You’re fuckin’ a brother!”

“Why was Tegen in your bedroom while you were showering?” I demanded, the only reason why Tegen would have been in my brother’s bedroom suddenly occurring to me. “Does Dorothy need to know you’re screwing her underage daughter?”

His nostrils flaring wildly, his jaw locked up tight, Cage looked every inch our father, the last person I wanted to be reminded of at the moment.

“I’ll figure it out,” he seethed. “Whoever it is, I'll figure it out.”

No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing left to figure out. Ripper was long gone.

“Are you seriously gonna keep yelling at me in front of an abortion clinic?” I asked. “Could we at least get in the truck?”

Cage let his head fall back as he sighed angrily. When he looked back at me, his expression had considerably softened.

“Coulda fuckin’ told me, little sister,” he said quietly. “Woulda never let you go through all this shit by yourself.”

Grabbing my hand, he threaded his large fingers through mine and squeezed. “This is what big brothers are fuckin’ here for,” he said, pulling me toward his truck. “To pick their little sisters up when they fall the fuck down.”

I said nothing while he opened the passenger door, aiding me as I climbed inside.

“You need anything?” he asked.

I pulled my prescriptions out of my purse and handed them to him. “Just these,” I whispered.

Nodding, he shoved the papers in his pocket and closed the door.

I watched him walk around the front of the truck, big and broad, strong and tall, ready to take on the world if he had to.

I could tell him. I could trust someone with what had happened. I could finally unburden myself and my guilty conscience.

I just couldn’t trust him not to tell our father. Maybe he’d keep quiet about my relationship with Ripper, but what I’d done to Nikki…

He’d tell.

I wasn’t sure what my father’s reaction would be, but he would undoubtedly blame Ripper for the entire thing when it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I’d wrestled the gun away from her, I’d pulled the trigger, and I’d killed her.

As Cage climbed into the truck, I sank back into the seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t tell a soul. I’d take the secret to my grave, even if it meant I’d have to bear the burden alone. Even if it meant my slow but certain, utter ruin

• • •

Gritting his teeth, Ripper lifted the tire and hefted it up onto the rim of the vehicle when his cell phone started vibrating. Turning around, he pulled his phone out of his coveralls pocket and saw it was Deuce calling him.

Jesus Christ.

Why wouldn’t they stop?

Why couldn’t they just leave him the fuck alone?

His phone beeped, signaling a voice mail. Blowing out a heavy breath, Ripper stalked through the garage and headed outside.

“Jacobs!” Phil Marinetti, the auto body shop’s owner bellowed. “Where the fuck you goin’?”

“Break!” he shouted and kicked open the door.

Lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the wall, pulled out his phone, and listened to his pileup of messages.

“Ripper, it’s Deuce. Got a bead on Jimmy. Word is he’s out in Cali. So, brother, the job’s there if ya want it. Gimme a call.”

And…

“Yo, Ripper, it’s Cox, just wanted to know where the fuck you’re at, brother.”

And…

“Hey, asshole. Hawk here. Just checkin’ the fuck in, makin’ sure you’re still breathin’.”

And before he knew what was happening, his phone started playing his saved messages. All from Danny.

“Please, please call me back. I can’t breathe, Ripper, I can’t think straight and I can’t eat or sleep and everything is all screwed up. I miss you so much…why did you leave?”

He quickly hit end and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Finished with his cigarette, he stalked back inside the shop and back to the old Chevy he was working on.

Ripper had been home in Cali for several months now, cleaning out his parents’ old house, selling their shit, working at Marinetti’s Garage. He’d put away his cut, shaved his head, put his bike in the garage, and after fixing it up, he’d been driving around his old man’s pickup.

He’d stopped fucking blondes that reminded him of Danny.

He was trying to move the fuck on.

But none of those motherfuckers back in Montana were letting him.

And Danny…

Jesus Christ.

She was killing him. The voice mails were getting worse. She was getting worse.

Twice now, after listening to her messages, hearing the raw pain in her voice, hearing her tears, the violent switch of emotions, he’d almost gone back. Almost.

But he couldn’t.

Eventually, she’d get over him. She had to. That was the whole fucking point of this bullshit.

Him leaving so she’d move past what had happened with Nikki, pull herself together and meet a nice guy, one who didn’t have a past worthy of a horror movie, one who could give her everything she deserved. A guy who would look good next to her, look like he fucking deserved a woman as beautiful as she was, inside and out.

A shudder rippled through him.

Fuck him, but he didn’t want anybody else giving her jack shit.

He really had to get a new phone number.

It would get easier, he promised himself. Eventually, after enough time had passed, she’d let it go. Then he wouldn’t be in a constant state of anxiety, ready to haul ass back to Montana every time she called him. Hopefully.

Aw fuck, he wanted her back.

Cursing, Ripper picked up an air ratchet and got back to work.