Trigger: Broken Mavericks MC Page 9

  My face must have said it all because Violet shook her head and squeezed my shoulder. “You need to take a test, honey.”

  For the next three hours of my shift, I mixed up orders, spilled coffee on an old man’s newspaper, and kept sitting down on a stool at the counter – despite Rob’s very loud and repeated orders – to catch my breath and convince myself this wasn’t real. That it couldn’t be happening.

  My mom had found herself pregnant with me when she was only seventeen years old. I was no longer a teenager, but that didn’t make me any more equipped to take care of a child. I barely had enough money to pay the bills and fill the refrigerator, and that was while I was working two jobs. How would I find time for a kid?

  By the time my shift ended, I was completely and utterly out of my mind with panic. I pulled out my phone twice to call Trigger but stopped myself. I didn’t even know if I was pregnant yet. I couldn’t drop a bomb like that on him if it were unnecessary. Like Violet said, I needed to take a test.

  I stopped at the same gas station I’d visited the night before for my late-night brownie, but this time, I went to the small shelf dedicated to aspirin, cold and flu medication, condoms, and pregnancy tests. There were five different brands of tests, each of them boasting early results and ninety-nine percent accuracy.

  I stood there for five minutes trying to decide which one to buy, got frustrated and walked across the store to buy another brownie, and then, mouth full of chocolatey goodness, I passed by the family planning aisle once again and grabbed the first test my hand landed on.

  The boy behind the register had shiny hair and full lips. The kind of boy I would have instantly fallen in love with when I was a teenager, but now looking at him made me feel nauseous. Though, that could also be the tiny human growing inside of me. It was hard to tell.

  “Will this be all?” he asked, his cheeks flushing slightly at the sight of the pregnancy test.

  I dropped the empty brownie wrapper on the counter. “And this, too. I already ate it.”

  If eating a product before buying it was wrong, the clerk didn’t want to say anything. Probably because I was buying a pregnancy test, and I was pretty confident I was giving off major crazy eye. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even the middle of the afternoon yet.

  I debated using the gas station bathroom for the test, but what would happen if it was positive? Would I weep? Would I sink to the floor in despair? I’d already clutched one public toilet; did I really want to add another one to the list? No, it would be better to take the test at home where I could freak out in private.

  The boy double bagged the box, threw away my brownie wrapper in the trash can behind the counter, and then gave me a tight-lipped smile in parting. I alternated between a fast-walk and a crawl, unable to decide whether I was anxious to get home or terrified.

  When I did finally unlock the front door, I made a beeline for the bathroom. My mom had been napping a lot lately, but on the off chance that she was awake, I didn’t want to chat. I wouldn’t be able to hold a normal conversation. My whole body seemed to vibrate with nerves and anticipation. I felt like an over-tightened guitar string ready to snap.

  The test I bought came in a bright-pink box, and I flipped through the instruction booklet, passing by three different languages before finding the English instructions. I didn’t have a plastic cup to pee in, and I wasn’t going to use a glass for the kitchen, so I opted to pee directly on the stick, which was much harder than I thought it would be.

  On television, it appeared to be a delicate process, where the woman shoved the test between her legs without even looking and went, but now I couldn’t imagine how all of those women didn’t end up peeing all over their hands. In reality, you have to hunch over and look between your legs to be sure you’re peeing in the right spot, and then you have to count to five to make sure the test has enough of your pee to work properly.

  And then you have to find a place in the bathroom to set your pee-soaked test while you clean up and wash your hands, all the while counting out three minutes in the back of your head, your stomach tangled in knots waiting for the result.

  After I washed my hands, I decided not to look at the test until the three minutes had passed. I would rather have three more minutes of uncertainty than spend it squinting at a stick, trying to decide if I was seeing a line or a shadow.

  While I waited, I tried to imagine how I’d tell Trigger. Even though he’d saved me twice and we’d spent an amazing night together, I didn’t know him. Not really. And he hadn’t shown any interest in staying in touch with me. So, would he want to be part of his child’s life? Would he even believe me when I told him?

  My mom had been a single mom, and I’d spent my entire life wishing I had a dad. That was mostly because I’d been losing my mom to drugs for as long as I could remember, but still, I knew what it felt like to not have the other half of yourself. What if my child would have to experience the same thing?

  Then I convinced myself it wasn’t possible. I had spent the afternoon freaking out over nothing. The test would come back negative, I would realize I had a strange bout of food poisoning, and then my life would continue on as it always had. Easy.

  Except, when the time was up, and I flipped the test over, there was a big fat plus sign in the middle. Plus. More. More people under my roof, more money to spend on diapers and baby clothes, more mouths to feed.

  I collapsed back onto the toilet seat and did what I’d wanted to do as soon as I left the diner that afternoon. I called Trigger.

  It rang four times before his generic, automated voicemail picked up, and I considered leaving a message. But no, I couldn’t tell him he was going to be a dad over a message. I needed to talk to him.

  ***

  Trigger

  Kenna’s name popped up on my screen for the third time in as many days, and I dismissed the call and placed my phone face down. How long would it be before she got the message and stopped calling? And how long would it be before I lost the urge to jump on my bike and ride over to her house?

  “You ignoring someone?” Dean asked, kicking back in his chair, his dirty boots propped up on the table.

  I swatted at his shoes until he put them back on the floor, rolling his eyes at me like I was his mother. “No.”

  He smirked. “You’re a shit liar, you know that?”

  “Just because I don’t want to talk right now, doesn’t mean I’m ignoring anyone. It means I don’t want to talk.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows at me, clearly not buying what I was saying, but within a minute, he had moved on to something else. That was why Dean and I got along so well. We had similar attention spans. Or, at least, we usually did.

  It had been weeks since Kenna and I had slept together and just as long since we’d spoken, but she still dominated my thoughts. I remembered the way her body felt beneath my fingers, the way her hips rolled against mine. When I let my mind wander, I could see her blonde hair messy from sleep, her long legs sticking out from under her sleep shirt.

  It didn’t make any sense. I’d slept with plenty of other women. I’d gone on dates even. But no one had ever stuck with me the way Kenna had. No one had ever demanded so much of my focus. It was distracting and worrisome. And one of the reasons I refused to pick up the phone.

  For one thing, I didn’t want Kenna to depend on me. I knew that if I answered every time Kenna called, she would call more often. She would ask me to come over, and I would. I’d stay the night. I’d eat the breakfast she cooked for me, and we’d talk. She’d grow accustomed to my presence, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.

  I wasn’t reliable or dependable. The longest relationship I’d ever had was with the Broken Mavericks. I didn’t know how to be somebody’s boyfriend, and Kenna wasn’t the kind of girl I wanted to practice on. Because the truth was: I didn’t want to hurt her. She had enough pain in her life without me adding any more. Her mom was a mess who demanded most of her attention, and she needed to
focus on working and paying the bills.

  Of course, I knew neither of those things meant she didn’t also need somebody to love, but she needed someone who could do more for her than I could. I’d saved her from a deranged drug dealer, but that didn’t mean I was good for her. And it certainly didn’t mean I was dependable.

  My phone rang again, the vibration pulling me from my thoughts, and I decided not to look. I knew who it was. Dean stopped talking about whatever he’d been saying and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. And by the time I realized what he was doing, it was too late. He had my phone in his hands.

  “Kenna?” he asked, saying her name in a sing-song voice, his expression dreamy. “Who is Kenna?”

  “Someone I’m not going to talk to right now,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, warning him not to answer it.

  Thankfully, the phone stopped ringing before he could answer it.

  Dean dropped my phone and leaned back in his chair, and I thought that maybe he was going to let it go, but then he held up a finger like he’d just had a great idea.

  “Hey, isn’t Kenna the girl from Buzz’s place? The one with the cracked-out mom?”

  I didn’t respond, though I should have known that was just as much of an answer as telling the truth would have been.

  “I didn’t think you were in the habit of handing out your number to your many admirers,” he said.

  And he was right. I had never handed my number out to a random woman before. Especially not the women I helped. It was a recipe for disaster. A lot of them were junkies who, regardless of how grateful they’d been when I’d helped them out, would return to the lives they’d led before me.

  Like Kenna’s mom, they couldn’t help themselves. And, also like Kenna’s mom, they would rely on me to save them every time they needed it. They would be calling and asking for money so often I’d have to change my number once a month.

  I still didn’t know why I’d given my number to Kenna. After leaving her at Buzz’s the first time, I’d thought I would never see her again, and that was fine. But then I saw her less than an hour later at the hospital, and it felt destined. I’d never been someone to believe in something like destiny, but there it is.

  Something about having her be a part of my life, even if it was a small part, felt like fate. So, I’d given her my number. She’d never used it, of course. Not until now, that is. And I refused to answer the phone. It was a mixed signal, for sure. But it would be better for the both of us if whatever there was between us just fizzled out and faded away.

  “She had a little trouble with Buzz, and I cleared it up,” I said.

  “He was bothering her even after we beat the shit out of him?” Dean asked, shaking his head. “That guy really is as thick as he looks.”

  I laughed, and while Dean was too busy being proud of himself for being funny, I snatched my phone out of his hand and shoved it in my pocket.

  “So, do we need to do anything about Buzz?” Dean asked, rubbing his knuckles together. He was always itching for a fight.

  I shook my head. “He’ll leave her alone. As soon as we get our money from him, we’ll be done with him, and his business will dry up. He won’t bother anyone anymore.”

  Dean looked disappointed that he wouldn’t get to hit anybody.

  “I’m going for a ride,” I said.

  “You should call her back,” he said as I walked away. “Or, at the very least, give her my number. I’ll pick up when she calls. She’s hot.”

  I flipped him my middle finger, which made Dean snort with laughter, and then I was gone.

  It was late in the day, the afternoon sun washing the world in shades of red and gold. I was just about to throw my leg over my bike and take off for a ride – nothing could clear my head like the feeling of my bike rumbling beneath me and the wind lashing against my skin – when my phone vibrated.

  I pulled it out, about to put it on silent – so I could more efficiently avoid thinking about Kenna – and realized it wasn’t a phone call, but a voicemail. From Kenna. She had never left a message before. She hadn’t even texted. Part of me wanted to delete it without listening, but another part of me wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to know what she wanted. Was she calling me to ask for my help again? Or, like me, had she been unable to stop thinking about the night we’d spent together? Was she just another admirer in search of a favor? Or did she miss me?

  I couldn’t decide which option would be worse, but never knowing felt worse of all. So, I flicked it open and held the phone to my ear. There were a few seconds of silence, and I began to wonder whether Kenna had left a message by mistake. Whether I had fretted over listening to the message for nothing.

  But then, I heard a nervous intake of breath.

  “Hi, Trigger. This is Kenna. Hello.”

  She sighed, probably embarrassed at her double greeting, though I couldn’t help but smile a bit.

  “I know we haven’t talked in a few weeks, and that’s okay. I didn’t expect anything serious after… Well, anyway. I have something pretty important to tell you. I wanted to tell you in person, but you haven’t been answering my calls. I hope this is still your number. I’m not sure how else to get in touch with you. Um… this is a little crazy, but I’m pregnant, and the baby is yours.”

  The phone slipped from my frozen fingers and landed on the ground. I never thought I was one of those people who dropped things after hearing the surprising news, but the news that Kenna was pregnant proved otherwise. Pregnant. With my baby. I replayed her words in my head until they stopped sounding like English. Until I could barely differentiate the letters.

  Luckily, the fall onto hard concrete hadn’t shattered my phone, so I was able to play the message over again, this time holding onto the phone so I could listen past her announcement.

  “I’m pregnant, and the baby is yours. Believe me, this is just as much of a shock to me as I’m sure it is to you. I just think we should get together and talk about our expectations, what we each want. I’m sorry for doing this over a message. I wanted things to be different…”

  Her voice trailed off, and I wondered how many things in her life she was referring to there. Did she want a different mom? Different circumstances? Perhaps a different, more reliable guy to be the father of her child?

  “Anyway, call me back, and we can set up a time to meet and talk. I’m sorry about… Well, I’m just sorry. Bye.”

  Shit.

  I shoved my phone in my back pocket, turned in a circle, and then kicked out at the ground with my boot, pebbles and chunks of asphalt flying across the parking lot.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I cursed, panic rising up in place of the waning surprise.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. We had sex once. One time. I’d slept with the club girl, Katie, a few times a week for the last six months, and she wasn’t pregnant. That I knew of. God.

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, took a deep breath, and then hopped on my bike. I needed to ride. I needed to clear my head now more than ever. Just before listening to the voicemail, I’d been thinking what a lousy boyfriend I would be. And now, I was going to be someone’s dad. If I wanted to.

  Did I want to?

  I could be with Kenna – do my best to be there for her and take care of her – and also be a father to my child. Or, I could leave them both and continue going it alone.

  I rode until sunset. Until the last glow of light over the horizon disappeared, plunging everything into darkness. I focused my eyes on the white line down the center of the road and tried not to think about Kenna or the baby. I tried not to think about anything. If I did, I knew I’d drive straight to Kenna’s.

  There wouldn’t even be a choice.

  Chapter Ten

  Kenna

  It had been hours since I’d left the message on Trigger’s phone, and I was getting restless. More than that, I was getting angry. Why wouldn’t he call me back? Had he even listened to the message? Was the phone number he gave me even real? I
had a thousand questions, no answers, and no more patience.

  Every day, the tiny human inside of me was getting bigger. I threw up at least five times every day, I couldn’t stand the sight of raw meat or the smell of eggs. Working at the diner was almost torturous with the smell of bacon and pancakes. I flip-flopped from being starving hungry to on the verge of vomiting within the span of a minute, and my emotions were almost as unpredictable.

  I’d yelled at a customer when they requested sugar for their coffee and then turned their nose up at the three different options I’d brought them, saying they needed “raw sugar”. I was a loose cannon, and suddenly, I found myself rolling straight towards Trigger.

  If he wouldn’t answer my phone calls or listen to my messages or call me back, then I’d find him. He couldn’t ignore me when I was standing right in front of him. I needed to know that he knew about me and the baby. I needed to know what to expect from him. Would he want to be involved? Would he be a drop-in dad who showed up for holidays and birthdays, but otherwise did nothing? Or would he want joint custody?