Page 90 of Fearless

“But…”

He snapped back to her, levering hostility into his voice. “But this is the part where you give me the stay away from your daughter speech?”

“No.” Her face softened further. Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I understand. I might be the only person in the world who does, but trust me, I get it. Even if that makes me a bad mother.

“What I’m saying, is that I hope you’ve calculated the risks. All of them, real life, and club-related.”

Are you using protection?

Are you prepared for Ghost’s reaction?

“My hubby,” Maggie said, “God, I love him, but he’s oblivious when it comes to Ava. She’s not an adult in his eyes. She’s still just a baby. And you’re…you.”

He wanted to hit something. “So?” He made a show of shrugging. “So what am I supposed to do?”

Maggie shrugged back. “I don’t know.” Her glasses came down over her eyes with a little flick from one finger. “I honestly don’t.”

And she slipped back into the office before he could respond.

**

Leah offered to go home with her that afternoon. Ava turned her down. Her mind was too tangled. She felt too restless and desperate to endure even the most supportive of company.

She skipped dinner, told her parents her head hurt – which it did – and went to bed early, tossed and turned and imagined she could feel the hot brand of the life growing inside her, glowing through her skin, giving away her secret, tattling on her.

She set her alarm for four-fifteen, and was ready to leap out of bed the second it went off. She showered, dressed, and tiptoed out the back door, stepping into her boots on the patio. Her truck starting would wake her parents. She didn’t care. She’d make up some excuse.

Five a.m. was a blank-faced, indigo wall, trying to press her back into the house, into bed. Five a.m. didn’t want to be messed with or questioned. It wasn’t the insidious shifting shadow miasma of midnight. It was an angry schoolmarm that didn’t expect to be challenged.

Lights were on in the bakery under Mercy’s apartment; the bakers had been up since three, preparing the day’s breads, doughnuts, muffins and bagels. Ava parked in the alley and pulled her hood up against the chill as she climbed the wrought iron stairs to his door.

Her hand hovered a moment, as fear fired all through her and she doubted the logic of what she was doing. She thought of Becky Williams who’d sat beside her in chem class last year. Becky had been going strong with Lance Bell for almost a year, when Becky got pregnant. Lance bolted; he dumped her, called her a slut, and refused to have anything to do with her. Becky’s parents took her to a clinic where the problem was dealt with discreetly. Then Becky had a nervous breakdown during a Periodic Table quiz and had been taken to the nurse. She’d never returned to school after that.

No, Ava told herself, rapping her knuckles hard. This wasn’t some dipshit kid like Lance. This was Mercy.HerMercy.

She heard him come shuffling to the door, his footfalls heavy and uneven with sleep. There was a hesitation – him checking the peephole – then the door opened on Mercy in worn old black sweatpants, black wifebeater, barefoot and bedheaded.

“Do you have a clue what time it is?” he asked, throat full of gravel.

“Dad said you were back in town,” Ava said, ducking under his arm and letting herself in. The apartment was dark, streetlamp glow filtering through the living room window.

“Yeah. Look, kiddo” – the use of that word halted her in her tracks; not “baby” or “fillette” or “sweetheart,” but kiddo, like she was just a child again, and not the girl who he’d ask to bite him and draw blood – “can this wait till in the morning? Later in the morning. I’m beat.”

The lights came on with a soft hum and she turned to face him. He stood at the open door, still, hand on the light switch, squinting against the burn of the lamps. She saw a glimmer of something white just under his shirt, a bandage, on his chest, to his left. Had the bite not healed? Gotten infected?

“What happened?” She started toward him and he held up a hand to keep her at bay, a movement that brought her up short, surprise melting into hurt.

“New tat,” he said, and folded his arms, not offering to show her or explain. “So…later, yeah? You can come by the clubhouse after school.”

She swallowed down the first lump of emotion. She hadn’t been expecting this, and was scrambling for purchase, trying to figure out why things were different suddenly and why the man in front of her looked so much like a stranger.

She lifted her chin. “I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” There was a sardonic twist to his mouth as his brows lifted.

Not Mercy, her mind said.This isn’t your Mercy.

“Like I said” – gesture to the door – “later. I’m too tired for touchy-feely shit right now.”

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