Page 57 of Love Bitters

"Pregnant, Imogene? Really?" my father asks. "You haven't even been out on your own long enough to take care of yourself, let alone a child. I don't think you realize how much real work it takes to raise one. Are you expecting us to let you come home so that we have to support you both?"

He'd always been quiet when it came to raising us, letting our mother take the reins. I thought it was because he loved us a little more and knew we were already being put through the ringer with her, but I was wrong. Maybe he never pressed the issue because his words would cut way deeper than hers.

"I actually have a great job with benefits," I retort. "The only reason I wanted to tell you is so you'd know that you're going to be grandparents."

"You say that like it's something to be proud of!" my mother cries. "Having a grandbaby that’s out of wedlock is not something your father and I want to go around bragging about. Is that why you brought all of these people with you? To witness our humility?"

It's one thing to poison my life like she has, but I'll be damned if I let her do the same to my baby.

Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I set it on the table beside Evan's untouched cake. "They're here to be my emotional support, and because I wanted my parents to meet my boyfriends. We're all together. Oh, and we're not sure which one is the father."

If it were possible for her face to turn any more of a faded color of ash, it does. Her hand immediately jumps to the cross necklace sitting between her collarbones as her breathing becomes labored.

"You'll have to excuse me," she says politely, standing and taking the first available door out of the room.

My father stands as well and places his fists down on the top of their pristine white tablecloth. "Are you happy with yourself? You’ve likely just given your mother a stroke." He sighs deeply, dropping his glare to where his fists still rest. "It's time for you all to go. And, Imogene, wait for your mother to call you before you come back."

For once, the harshness doesn't sting. I gave this my best shot to give them the opportunity to get to know the baby when it's born. The guys never once flinched away from my mother's crass behavior either. Rather, they'd lent support with those small touches and Evan’s open defiance. Where months ago I was scared to have this baby alone, already assuming my parents would be like this, I'm not anymore. There's no doubt in my heart that these men will be there every step of the way. The thought makes it only that much easier to leave behind my father still standing at the table and the house I grew up in. There aren't even any tears to shed on the ride back to their apartment. It makes me wonder if I'm as cold-hearted as she is.Today just won't be the day I find out that answer.

As soon as we get to the apartment, Thatcher charges out of the house like it's on fire without looking back. I was so stupid to think his show of support meant that anything had changed between us; him taking off just nailed the head on the coffin. None of the others put any kind of pressure on me to talk about the horrors they just witnessed. Instead, Wes tows me to his room where we kick off our shoes before he wraps me up in his arms on the bed, giving me the opening to cry or talk or sleep. Whatever makes me feel better, he says. I accidentally choose the latter, snuggling deeper into his chest.

What only feels like an hour later, we're woken up by angry yelling coming from the living room. I'm not sure if Wes plans on trying to stop me from going to see what's happening, but I don't give him the chance to anyway. Scooting off the bed, I beat him to the door, opening it and taking a peek down the hall. When he moves around me to walk that way, I follow behind him.

The sight that greets us is even more horrific than the one we faced earlier. Thatcher and Murphy are chest to chest, in each other's faces, yelling.

"Look at your face, dude," Murph barks. "When does this end? You want us to have to claim your body in a morgue somewhere? Or how about the only visits you'll get with our baby will be through the prison's tv monitor."

Thatcher shoves Murphy away from him, but it does little to calm the storm that's been brewing for months.

"You don't know a damn thing!" he shouts.

I swear he's about to start throwing punches, but as he turns, I get a look at his face and gasp softly. Bruises mark both cheeks and down his right jawline. One eye is swollen almost completely shut, and those beautiful lips are split right down the middle. His gaze meets mine as a tear rolls down my cheek, the internal damnation of his expression speaking louder than words ever could. Especially as Wes tries to inconspicuously angle himself even further between the two of us. Looking like he's ready to start crying with me, Thatcher shakes his head, and for the second time tonight I have to watch him leave without so much as a goodbye.

Murphy scratches his head roughly while letting out a string of curses.

Evan, who I hadn't even noticed on the couch with Ollie, stands to pat Murph on the back. "It had to be done. Look what he's doing to himself."

Stepping out from behind Wes, my tears are still falling as I ask, "Is there anything we can do to stop it?"

In a move so unlike him, Murph grits his teeth before meeting my gaze and nodding slightly. "There's something that might work, but I don't want to ask it of you."

"Anything," I say immediately. "I don't care what it is. As long as it won't hurt the baby."

"It won't," he promises. "Go grab your shoes. You too, Wes."

We do as he says before following him out to his truck.

"Are you sure about this?" Wes asks from the backseat.

Murph shrugs and runs a hand through his short hair, making the tattoos on his bicep dance as it flexes. "It has to, man. If we ignore this shit any longer, he's going to end up right where I said he would. I won't be able to save his ass if he gets arrested for this."

I've slowly been gathering evidence, and the last piece I needed was the state of his face tonight. "He's fighting or something, right?"

There goes Murph with the teeth grinding thing again as he glances out his side window.

"It's something he got into years ago," Wes informs me.

"I just drove him to start doing it again, yeah?" I ask, not letting him add anything at the end of his statement. "Then it's only right that I'm here to fix it."

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