“It looks like you’re eating lunch with me,” he sneers as I tear the cellophane from the bologna sandwich. Bringing the bread to my mouth, I meet his gaze.
“Then, I guess I’m eating lunch with you,” I say before taking a huge bite out of the sandwich. I cringe as I chew. I don’t know what the fuck I’m eating but it sure as fuck ain’t bologna. Bishop continues to stare at me through narrowed eyes and I force the shit down my throat. The thought of eating another bite turns my stomach and I push my tray towards him.
“I’m Blackie,” I tell him, forcing my eyes back to his. “Seems only fair you know my name after what happened this morning,” I add, sighing as I push my hair out of my face uncomfortably. Swiping the applesauce from my tray, Bishop leans back and removes the lid. Once he’s got it off, he digs his plastic spoon into the cup and lifts his gaze to me.
“Black like the aura of darkness hanging over your fucking head,” he deadpans, shoving the spoon into his mouth as he continues to study me.
It’s a pretty solid analogy.
“Exactly.”
Swallowing, he nods his head and dips his spoon into the applesauce again.
“So, when is she due?”
The question catches me off guard and I’m not sure if it’s because I wasn’t expecting him to ask me anything personal or because I don’t know the fucking answer. When we went to the doctor, he told us Lacey was only roughly six weeks along. I don’t remember him giving us an exact due date, but then again, I was too consumed by the drama surrounding Lacey’s meds to pay much attention to anything else.
I don’t get a chance to answer him, though, because a guard walks up to the table and shoves Bishop’s tray away from him.
“Let’s go,” the guard orders. “Your lawyer is here.”
Bishop fixes the guard with a glare before rising to his feet. He doesn’t get far because the guard raises his hand in protest and eyes Bishop’s lunch tray.
“Clean your fucking mess, Bishop,” the guard demands. For a moment my cellmate doesn’t move and defiantly glares at the prick. But then something clicks and it’s like he remembers what he stands to lose if he disobeys the guard. I watch as his jaw ticks angrily as he reluctantly turns to grab his tray. He doesn’t say another word to me or even glance in my direction. A second later he’s gone, and I’m left alone trying to calculate my baby’s due date. As I count the months, I start to wonder if Lacey had her second doctor’s appointment yet and if she heard our baby’s heartbeat. I picture her alone in Dr. Heltzer’s office, staring at the sonogram machine and my chest tightens.
The guard returns to bring me back to my cell and the second those bars close I contemplate calling her. It’s a shit idea and after the arraignment, I’m not so sure she’ll answer the phone, much less talk to me. Besides, I don’t even know what I’d say. Do I apologize again? Do I dou reveal the truth, that I knew the D.A. had a warrant out for my arrest, or do I continue to let her think I abandoned her with no good reason? I could just ask about the baby and if she’s gone to the doctor. She’ll probably get defensive over that, though. That’s what Lacey does. The minute I show concern for her health or our baby’s she automatically assumes I’m coming down on her, that I’m doubting her strength.
Maybe I’ll tell her why I chose that pink teddy bear and even share the names I’ve been thinking about. I’ll confess to missing the feel of her body curled around mine and that she invades my dreams. I’ll ask her how she’s sleeping and if she still climbs into our bed wearing my shirt. Does she reach for me even though I’m not there?
God, I hope she does.
I hope she’s not consumed by hate.
That somewhere inside her there’s still an ounce of love for me.
Chapter Forty-One
Blackie
I didn’t call her.
Shocking, I know.
Instead, I tried my best to bleach Lacey and our baby from my mind by doing a hundred push-ups. It didn’t work. Lacey is still a very vivid thought in my mind and now my fucking arms feel like they’re on fire. I’ve conceded the only way to escape this hell is to succumb to a different one and as soon as Bishop returns from his visit with his lawyer, I’m going to find out how I can score. Drugs don’t have to be your thing to know how and where to get your hands on them. My cellmate might be a loner, but something tells me that man is an observant motherfucker. The quiet ones always are and Bishop is going to point me in the right direction. He’s going to be an accessory to my demise.
So, this is how the story goes.
This is how it ends.
Man sees girl with the sad eyes.
Man falls in love with her.
Marries her.
Puts a baby in her.
Then he sends the whole fucking thing crashing down with the help of his unsuspecting cellmate.
The bars on the cell squeak open and I lift my head from the cot as Bishop enters. He clenches his fists as he stares ahead. I don’t have to follow his gaze to know his eyes are on the picture of his son. It’s always the first thing he looks at when he enters the cell. Hell, he goes straight for the photo the minute he wakes and before he closes his eyes, he gives it one last glance. The man misses his boy, that much is clear. However, right now, he’s looking at the photograph like it’s his damnation. Like that boy, he cherishes so much is dead to him.
As the guard closes us in and disappears out of sight, Bishop starts for the photograph. Curious, I forget about my own fucking problems and swing my legs over the edge of the cot as he viciously swipes the photo from the wall. Something unintelligible escapes his lips as I rise to my feet and I watch as he tears the photo in half.
It takes me a second to process what he’s done before I spring into action.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my hand around his forearm.
Whatever went down with his lawyer has him twisted and before he does something he can’t take back, I try to stop him. He spins around, dropping the torn picture and rears his free fist backward. Before his knuckles can collide with my jaw, I grab his wrist, blocking the punch. My hold on him tightens and I push him back against the sink. His nostrils flare with anger and his cold eyes narrow into tiny slits. Still, I don’t relent. If anything, his anger fuels me.
“Get the fuck off me,” he hisses, trying to break free from my grasp. My adrenaline spikes and my grip tightens. I can’t fucking help myself, but I might as well be somewhat useful by helping this poor bastard.
“Man, what are you doing?” I ask, glancing down at the photo. “That’s your fucking kid. Do you have any idea what I would do to have a goddamn photo of mine? To know I didn’t fucking imagine its existence or that the love I feel for it ain’t a fucking a lie?”
Just saying those words cause my throat to close and I struggle to tame my own emotions. I’d cut my fucking heart out to go back in time. Three weeks ago, my life wasn’t much better than it is now. I was feeling the pressure of my club and looking for any excuse to get high. But I could climb into bed with Lacey at the end of the day. I could rest my hands on her belly and talk with her about our child. I could look at the sonogram photo and dream of what she’d look like. If she’d have her mommy’s dark eyes and her heart-shaped lips.