Page 11 of Broken Pregnant Mate
The name of his mother, a brief and clinical scrawled account of what happened to her. Then, Aidan’s own name, under which is written:
Aidan Blacklock faked his own death to buy himself time. He plans to avenge his mother’s murder by challenging Jerrod Blacklock.
Two lines beneath that, it reads:
Also, he is very sorry to his best friend Emaline, whom he has never stopped missing.
It shouldn’t work, but it does. I can’t stop myself from picturing Aidan bent over this book, writing this out. I know he hates talking about himself, hates sharing what’s happened to him. It must have been torture to even write the fact of his mother’s death down.
I read it again, chewing on my lip as I think.
He faked his own death to buy time.
When he left all those years ago, it was because Blacklock had discovered he was still alive and had sent men after him. Aidan was like me—scrappy, but not strong.
When the lights go out, I close the book and tuck it under my pillow, wondering if Aidan will come back.
Thinking it might not be so bad if he does.
Chapter 5 - Aidan
When I come to Emaline’s cell on my fourth day as a jail guard, she’s already standing at the door.
My nose fills with the scent of her—light and floral, cloying like the scent of fresh lilacs in the summer air—and I have to blink hard to keep it from making me lightheaded, like it did that first day.
“Thank you,” she says, setting the book in the slot and making to slide it back over to me. “I…I understand.”
There’s so much more than this between us, and I stare at her through the glass, heart thudding in my chest. Guilt, shame, and a strange sense of excitement whirl through me, and before I know what I’m doing, I punch in the key for the door, grab the book from the slot, and watch as Emaline steps back, her eyes wide.
The door slides open. I step forward, into her cell, and close it behind me, setting the book down on the desk. Staring at the worn leather cover, I say, voice quiet, “Keep it.”
“Aidan—”
“I want you to keep it, Emaline. Keep the story safe.”
“Are you really going to take on Jerrod Blacklock?”
She’s wearing the same thing as yesterday, and the day before—a soft pair of scrubs that makes her look like a nurse, the sleeves stretching just halfway down her upper arms, the material loose around her middle and legs.
Emaline is thinner than I’ve ever seen her.
“Tell you what,” I say, running my hand over the top of the desk chair, then raising my eyes to hers. “Let’s trade questions.”
This is something we used to do when we first became friends in the home. Trade questions—I answer one, she answers one. It’s how I found out her mother and father both died on the border. It’s how I learned that, though they’d had a successful business in town, all belonged to the alpha leader after their deaths, according to pack law.
He was entrusted with making sure the funds were used for Emaline, advocating for her as he was supposed to advocate for all the orphaned children in the territory.
But, of course, he didn’t. Like most corrupt rulers, Jerrod Blacklock has never actually cared about the members of the Grayhide pack. He has only ever cared about himself, consolidating his power and making it impossible for people to stand up to him.
“You want to trade questions,” Emaline says, her voice soft. She glances out into the hallway, then returns her gaze to me. “Are you even supposed to be in here with me?”
I shrug, grin, then say, “Is that your first question?”
This is what I’m good at, lightening the moment with jokes, but the look Emaline gives me says she knows exactly what I’m up to.
“No,” she says, crossing her arms. “My first question is—am I in Ambersky territory right now?”
Dorian probably wouldn’t love the idea of me talking to an inmate like this, but it’s Emaline. And I think she knows the answer to that, anyway.
