Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“I can’t be with him, Autumn.”
“Then why did you make love to him last night?”
“I shouldn’t have done it,” I said quietly. “It was a selfish, stupid mistake.”
The creak of the floorboard turned both our heads, and to my horror I saw Caleb standing in the doorway to his bedroom.
Oh, Jesus. I didn’t know he was home. I thought he was still out at the cabin.
Heat rushed up my spine and spread across my face and neck.
He looked at me. He was still. His face as dark as thunder.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were back,” I said, alarmed, wondering how much he’d heard. I stood up with a rush. Guilt rolled through me as I watched him shove his arms into his cut and grab his keys off the kitchen counter. “We got pizza, are you hungry?”
Caleb’s face was set. His eyes were hard and his jaw tight. He smashed on his aviators and brushed past us to the front door. “I’m done.”
Without another word, he ripped open the door and slammed it behind him.
Autumn and I both jumped.
“How much do you think he heard?” I asked Autumn.
“Based on that exit . . . pretty much everything about how unsuitable he is and nothing about you being in love with him. ”
I grimaced and slowly sat back down again. “He’s going to completely misunderstand.”
My best friend gave me a sympathetic look. “Then tell him, Honey. Let him know how you feel.”
She was right, I needed to tell him, but when I rang him it went to voicemail. So I texted him, asking him to please call me. I wasn’t going to tell him I was in love with him over a text message. He needed to hear me tell him face to face. And then we could talk. But he never replied.
Autumn did her best to try and comfort me, but it was a losing battle, because no matter how you looked at it, I’d just pushed Caleb away.
After she left, I rang him again, but like the first call, it went to voicemail. He was ignoring me and I couldn’t blame him. I could only imagine how hurt he felt.
It got late and I tried to sleep, but the minutes ticked over with excruciating slowness, and lying in the dark, I couldn’t help but listen for Caleb’s bike. But it never came. Sometime after 3 AM I fell into a restless sleep only to wake up with the sun breaking through the dawn. I pulled back the covers and tiptoed to the living room, hoping he’d snuck in after I’d fallen asleep. But his blankets were still folded up on an empty couch.
Unease began to tingle at base of my spine.
Where was he? Was he okay?
I checked my phone, but there were no messages.
Before going to bed I had sent him a second message.
Me: I’m sorry. Please call me.
But he hadn’t replied.
Feeling drained, I showered and forced down some breakfast. Now that I was in my second trimester, the nausea was only minor and I was able to keep food down. So I brewed some tea and fixed some toast, and tried to ignore the growing anxiety in my chest. I told myself I had nothing to worry about. We had Bump’s sonogram at nine, and there was no way he would miss it.
But by eight o’clock, my worry replaced reasoning.
Had he been in an accident?
Was he lying hurt somewhere?
Was he with another woman?
No. Caleb wouldn’t do that.
He told me he wouldn’t. Gave his word.
I rang him again. And again there was no answer.
So I sent him another text message, even though by then I didn’t expect an answer because I was convinced something was terribly wrong.
I could feel it.
I went to my sonogram appointment, saw our baby, and was relieved when the doctor confirmed everything was progressing nicely.
“Do you want to know the sex?” he asked.
I thought about it.
Did I?
Did Caleb?
No, he didn’t want to know. Because if he did he would have been there.
When I left the doctor’s office, I stopped by the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse to see if anyone had heard from him.
By then, worry had morphed into anger.
My guilt into hurt.
And when I pulled up beside to a familiar Harley sitting next to a pink Mercedes in the clubhouse parking lot, a prickly anxiety began to tingle at the base of my spine again.
Crossing the compound, my knees went weak. And when Tiffani walked out of the clubhouse, barely dressed in her almost non-existent Daisy Dukes and looking like the cat that ate the cream, I began to feel like I might throw up my breakfast right there on the pavement. Her heavily made-up eyes swept up and down me, and she smirked.
“Sorry, Honey, but you can’t keep a good man down,” she said as she walked past me, swaying her hips.