“Lace—”
“It’s not a shock,” she continues, laughing sarcastically. “I’ve always known it was a possibility, but my father has a way of making people believe he’s untouchable. It’s that God complex of his,” she says, pausing to shake her head. “The charges never stick, the maker never wins…he just keeps going. I guess everyone’s luck runs out eventually.”
“His luck didn’t run out, Lacey, mine did,” I admit, walking towards her. “I tried to convince him otherwise, told him I’d fight the charges but maybe if he heard it from you—”
“What are you saying?”
Turning to me, I watch her blink and tears fall from the corners of her eyes. Angrily she brushes them away with the backs of her hands. I close the distance between us and drop my hands to her hips, tugging her close. Keeping one hand in place, I lift the other and tuck a tendril behind her ear.
“I’m saying your father don’t have to do this. I’ll lawyer up and take my chances.”
“And if you lose? Where does that leave us? I’m not saying I wish he’d change his mind because that means I lose you. I’m just so tired of having to choose at all. First, I’m forced to choose between my mental health and our baby, and now, I have to choose between my husband and my father. It just doesn’t seem fair.”
“You’re going to resent me,” I grind out.
I’m the one making her choose. I’m the one who put us all in this situation. I get off free and clear while Jack rots in a cell. Reina loses her husband, Lacey and Danny lose their father. The club loses their leader and Jack…he loses his fucking mind and the chance to watch his family grow.
She’s right.
There ain’t nothing fair about it.
Not a damn thing.
“Maybe not now, but one day, when you want to pick up the phone and call him, you’re going to look at me and you’re going to fucking hate me.”
Pulling away from me, she sighs exasperatedly and shakes her head with mild disdain etched across her features.
“I’m not sure if it’s just you or if it’s a criminal thing…maybe it’s addict thing, but loving you is exhausting at times. I feel like I’m constantly reminding you, assuring you…that you’re worthy of my love and affection. It’s crazy,” she says, pausing for a beat.
Tearing my eyes away from her, I bow my head and let her words sink in. There is nothing else for me to say. No clever rebuttal to fire back. Finally finding the courage to lift my gaze back to her, I find her by the stairs. With one foot on the bottom step, she lifts her head and turns to me. With a profound sadness radiating from her eyes, she speaks, tearing my heart from my chest with every word.
“For a man who is so sure of himself when he’s holding a gun, you’re awfully insecure when its my heart you’re holding in your hand.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lacey
Wiping a hand over the mirror, I clear some of the steam fogging the glass. My bloodshot eyes are the first thing that comes into view and I cringe at the sight of them. I thought a shower would help me clear my head and put some distance between me and Blackie, but two minutes under the scolding spray I began to cry as I replayed everything that happened since we stepped out of Bianci’s car.
The moment I saw that cop car and the two officers staked out in front of our house, I knew something was up. Blackie had been in a bad mood since he arrived back at the cabin and at first, I thought it was because he found Nico drooling on my shoulder, but seeing those cops made me put two and two together, realizing whatever was plaguing my husband ran deeper than jealousy.
Fear enveloped me as I thought of all the reasons why they could be there—all the reasons they could slap a pair of cuffs on my husband and drag him away from me. I was so consumed by those thoughts, I didn’t pay much mind to the way Blackie seemed to be struggling. It wasn’t until I questioned him and noticed he couldn’t find his voice, that I noticed he was spiraling into a pit of self-pity. In a way, I guess I let his addictions blindside me because I figured he fucked up and fell off the wagon again and expected him to sing his typical swan song of apologies.
However, once he told me to sit down, I knew this wasn’t a well-rehearsed speech I’ve heard a million times before and with every word he spoke, I started to lose my patience. It’s true what they say about a woman changing once she’s a mother and I don’t think Blackie recognizes the change in me. I think he looks at me and still sees the girl holed up in her mother’s house, rocking in a corner, trying to escape depression, foolishly believing dancing to a song will heal the crazy in her head.
Maybe it’s not something that happens to expectant fathers. Maybe it’s not real for them until they’re holding life in their hands. But a mother holds life inside her way before she ever cradles that baby in her arms. She realizes the things that once seemed so important, are suddenly frivolous when you’re responsible for another life. Priorities change, mindsets shift and the tolerance you had for bullshit fades.
For me, I’m realizing I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. When I get scared about being off my meds or spot two cops outside the house, I stop thinking about me and Blackie and think about the baby inside of me. How will it affect my child if I lose my mind? If Blackie goes to prison or doesn’t survive the next bullet where will that leave our baby?
The latter played continuously in my head as he told me what went down in that paper factory. I hated that he pointed to the gunshot wound healing on his shoulder as if it was nothing other than an occupational hazard. But what I hated more was how he referred to himself as a human shield. It's as if he has no regard for his own life. There’s a difference between an addict succumbing to temptation and a man consciously choosing to sacrifice himself on the sword. At least that’s what I told myself. I’ve always been able to deal with his addictions because he never asked to be an addict. It was something he couldn’t control. But this jumping in front of a gun and trying his luck with a murder case—that was a form of suicide I don’t know how to deal with. I guess I was hoping his threshold for danger would lessen now that there was a baby involved.
Dragging the brush through my wet hair, I continue to stare at my reflection in the mirror. Blackie’s eagerness to throw his life away isn’t the only reason for my bloodshot eyes. After I cried for my husband, I cried for my father. I hated the choices both men made and the tears I cried were of both, anger and of sadness.
I didn’t give Blackie the chance to finish telling me about the details surrounding my father’s decision. All I know is he took a deal and will be going to prison for a crime my husband committed. I have no idea how long he’ll be away. If his deal will put him behind bars for the rest of his life or simply a few years but their roles had been reversed. For the first time that I can remember, my father is on the one top of the sword, taking a proverbial bullet and I don’t know if I should thank him or curse him.
Setting the brush on the vanity, I pull my hair up on top of my head, fixing it into a messy bun before dropping the towel covering my body onto the floor. Hoping I won’t find Blackie in our bedroom, I make my way towards the door and slowly open it. Breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t spot him in the room, I head for my dresser, pulling out a pair of panties and one of Blackie’s t-shirts.