“Great,” I mutter, cringing at the thought of being poked by a needle. Hiking the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I rise from my seat and force a smile. “Thanks for the extra photos,” I add, making my way towards the door.
He bids me goodbye and I hurry out of the office. I make a quick stop at the reception desk and schedule my next appointment. It isn’t until I’m in the safe confinements of my car that I lose it. The tears stream down my face and I touch my forehead to the steering wheel.
The swooshing sound returns, and I think of Blackie.
The smile he wore when he told me there were two pink lines on the pregnancy test and the way his hand tightened around mine when we first saw our baby on the sonogram machine. The pink teddy bear he dropped on my lap and the tender way he touched a hand to my stomach before he was arrested.
Leather.
Lace.
Him.
Me.
A tragic love story disguised as one of the greatest fairytales.
Chapter Forty
Blackie
I had every intention of tearing the photograph of Bishop’s son in two, but that first night I was too exhausted and wound up sleeping until the correctional officer woke me. There was no sign of Bishop and the picture of his boy was missing. As the guard led me out of my cell and towards the showers, I started to wonder if I imagined the bastard.
Later, in the yard, I spotted him by the basketball hoops. He was surrounded by a few inmates and seemed to be in deep conversation with one of the guards. The more I watched him, the more inquisitive I became over the man I shared a fucking urinal with. There was no denying my cellmate was a street guy, but he definitely didn’t ride, and he sure as fuck didn’t fit the bill of a mobster either. The man was a mystery, and I was torn between uncovering his secrets and pretending he didn’t exist.
When we were both back in our cell, neither of us spoke a word to one another. As the silence stretched on and I was forced to face all the things plaguing my mind, I realized how fucking spoiled I’ve been. All my stints in jail have been a fucking cake walk. Back in the day, Jack had half this place in his pocket. There wasn’t a fucking officer in Ryker’s that couldn’t be bought. On top of that, he always made sure I had protection. Sometimes it was a prospect that conveniently got pinched, other times a key player, like Stryker. Either way, I wasn’t alone, and I guess that made doing time more bearable.
By myself, I wasn’t only forced to play by the rules, but I was also forced to face the truths I tried to ignore and at night, when the guards called lights out, my demons came out to play. I dreamed of Lacey and the future I promised her. In my dreams we were happy. She and the baby were healthy, and I was there for everything. Every doctor’s appointment. Every contraction. Every feeding.
Morning would come, the iron bars would open, and the guard would wake me to take me to the showers. Under the stream of cold water, I’d think about my dreams and realized they weren’t dreams at all. They were fucking nightmares because they served as a reminder of what I was missing. Soon, I found myself wishing I had ripped those lines in Pipe’s garage. In a perfect world, the coke would’ve been laced with something and I would’ve fucking died of an overdose.
This went on for three days. The same nightmare played over and over until the Devil decided to switch shit up. Everything was black. I couldn’t see Lacey’s face. I couldn’t see the pink bundle in her arms. All I could hear was a baby crying in the distance and I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t find her in the darkness. She needed me. My sweet baby girl needed me, and I couldn’t get to her.
I couldn’t save her.
I couldn’t soothe her.
I couldn’t touch her.
Kiss her.
Hold her.
Love her.
I screamed for her.
I cried for her.
And finally, I lied to her.
I told her Daddy was coming for her and that everything would be okay.
The nightmare finally ended when I felt someone kick me in the shin. My eyes sprang open and through the fog of sleep, I focused on Bishop.
“For fuck’s sake, man, you’re screaming like a little bitch,” he sneered, narrowing his cold blue eyes on me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He took a step backward, and I threw my legs over the side of the bed as I sat up. Dropping my head into my hands, I tried to slow my racing heart and erase the nightmare from my memory, but it was no use. I could still hear the baby crying.
“I couldn’t get to her,” I muttered hoarsely as I peeled my hands away from my face and peered up at Bishop. He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath while crossing his arms against his chest.
“Fine,” he hissed. “I’ll bite but only because I want to get some fucking sleep and maybe if you talk it out, you’ll quit thrashing and rocking the cot. I thought there was a fucking earthquake,” he grunted, pausing for a beat as he studied me intently, watching as I swiped the beads of sweat away from my forehead.
“Who couldn’t you get to?”
I struggled to swallow as I met his gaze.
“My daughter.”
God.
Saying those two words out loud gutted me. I shook my head as I combed my fingers through my hair.
“My wife is pregnant,” I told him, knowing the guy didn’t give a fuck. “I don’t even know if it’s a girl, but I got this feeling…” I added, bringing my fist to my gut. “…right here and it’s telling me, I’m going to have a daughter.”
Lifting my gaze to him, I watch Bishop uncross his arms and look towards the sink. The photo of the little boy was back in its rightful spot and he stared at it longingly. I don’t know if it was because I was reeling from the nightmare or if I was feeling the effects of the loneliness, but I kept talking to the man I swore to make my enemy.
“Did you get that feeling with your son? Did you just know?” I asked him both curiously and desperately. For some strange reason, I needed him to confirm that what I was felt was genuine. That a father’s intuition was every bit as real as a mother’s intuition.
He didn’t answer me.
Instead, Bishop turned his eyes back to me and I swore they were a shade darker.
“Go the fuck to sleep,” he said. “Next time you wake me up, I’m going to shove a pillow over your head.”
Without another word, he climbed the short ladder and got back into the top bunk. I didn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t even close my eyes. The baby’s cries echoed in my head and when the guard opened the fucking bars, I fucking ran out of that cell as quick as my legs could carry me, foolishly thinking I could escape my demons.
Now, here I am, hours later with my fucking lunch tray in my hand, staring at Bishop who sits alone at a table scarfing down a slice of stale white bread. Before I can think better of it, I cross the mess hall and make my way to the table. I don’t ask for permission as I sit in front of him and when he lifts his head to scowl at me, I tip my milk carton towards him, silently saluting him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks as I gulp down the milk.
“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” I volley, swiping the excess milk from the scruff covering my lip with the back of my hand.