“I don’t need a break and I kind of like the company,” I tell him, finally meeting his worried gaze.
“I spoke to Schwartz,” he reveals, reminding me I haven’t spoken to him since before Blackie was arraigned. To be fair, there was really no point. Until now, I’m not even sure my father has given much thought to my husband’s situation.
“He told me what happened at the arraignment,” he continues, and I quickly jolt from my seat at the kitchen table. I’m not about to listen to him go on about the tantrum I threw. Not when the man has been losing his mind himself.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap, making my way towards the sink. Bracing my hands against the counter, I bow my head.
“Schwartz is going to get him off. It’s only a matter of time before this whole mess sorts itself out and he comes home,” he assures me, closing the distance between us. I feel him drape an arm around my shoulders and I lose my cool. Prying myself out of his reach, I turn to him abruptly and angrily wipe the tears that have betrayed me.
“Maybe I don’t want him to come home,” I blurt. “Maybe I don’t want to listen to his apologies while he lies to my face. Maybe I’m sick of it.”
Maybe I deserve better.
Maybe my baby does.
“What’re you talking about?”
I’m not sure how to respond because until Blackie missed hearing our baby’s heartbeat I was still hanging onto hope. But now all I keep thinking about are the drugs I found in his kutte and there is no coming back from that. Not this time. Not after I begged and pleaded for him to choose us over everything else. Blackie is a narcissist. If he’s not throwing himself in front of a bullet, he’s snorting himself into oblivion. All the while he’s making promises and telling lie after lie.
“I found drugs in his pocket while I was washing clothes,” I reveal, snatching a dish towel from the counter. Roughly drying my hands, I continue to air my husband’s dirty laundry to my father. “He swore he was done,” I hiss, tossing the towel across the room. “You know, this baby wasn’t an accident. We were trying to get pregnant. We both wanted to start this next chapter of our lives. He told me he was ready that he was even excited about becoming a father.”
“I get the picture,” he mutters causing me to roll my eyes. It’s impossible to have an adult conversation with the man because he still thinks I’m a child and a virgin to boot.
“Oh, cut it out, will you? I’m not mother Mary. This wasn’t the immaculate conception.”
“For fuck's sake, Lacey—”
“You’re missing the point,” I say over him. “I don’t want Blackie in jail. I really don’t but I won’t welcome him home with open arms if he’s using.”
Hell, I won’t welcome him home if he’s straight either. It’s time he learns the consequences of his actions. Instead of sharing all that with my father, I keep it simple.
“He needs to get himself right and he can do that on your fucking couch,” I say pointedly.
“Whoa… don’t you think you’re jumping the gun here?”
It’s possible but I don’t tell him that and a moment later our conversation is interrupted by his phone. He takes the call and I listen as he talks business with someone on the other line. I roll my eyes and tune him out. The last thing I want is to hear about anything that has to do with the Satan’s Knights. Hell can swallow them whole, and I’ll be perfectly okay with it. The club has taken too much from me. Too much from everyone I love. The sad thing is that I’m the only one who realizes it. The only one who has had enough.
Eventually, he ends the call and by the deadly flicker of anger in his eyes, I know nothing good has come from it. Still, he forces a smile as Danny returns from upstairs and with the promise to bring him back after dinner. The second the door closes behind them I feel the loss. The house becomes too big. Too empty. Too quiet.
I busy myself and my mind by cleaning the kitchen. That doesn’t take very long and when I’m finished, I move to the living room. I contemplate ordering dinner, but nothing is appetizing these days and I don’t really have much of an appetite either. Turning on the television, I realize I still haven’t told my mother about my pregnancy. Her and my stepfather have been traveling Europe celebrating their anniversary, and it wasn’t something I thought she should hear over the phone. She’ll be back next week and the elaborate way I planned on telling her has lost its appeal like everything else. I guess you’re never too old to just want your mom.
Before I have the chance to reach for my phone, the doorbell rings. With a sigh, I get up from the couch and make my way to the door. Begrudgingly, I pull it open to find Nico on the other end holding two pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.
“What are you doing here?”
“Before you turn me away, this isn’t for you,” he explains, holding up the pints. “I mean it is, but it isn’t. I’m not here to check on you. I’m sort of having a Drake day and I’m in my feelings.”
“You didn’t really just say that, did you?”
“Kiki, do you love me,” he sings, wiggling his eyebrows for extra emphasis. A smile ticks the corners of my mouth and I step to the side, allowing him room to enter. He pauses and smacks a kiss to my cheek.
“You’re the best,” he exclaims as I shut the door and roll my eyes. “Seriously, I hate everyone.”
“That makes two of us,” I mutter, watching as he pulls two plastic spoons from his back pocket.
“Let’s hate the world together.”
Snatching one of the spoons, I size up the two pints of ice cream and choose the Cherry Garcia flavor. We make our way to the couch and pop the lids off. As Nico digs in, I let my ice cream melt a bit and eye him curiously.
“So, why do you hate the world?”
He swallows a mouthful of ice cream before looking at me.
“Let me see, where should I begin? My father is being a dick since he took the gavel and I don’t know if it’s because he’d rather be with Maria or if he’s overwhelmed with his new position.”
“Probably a bit of both,” I comment.
“Yeah, well, he needs to get a grip on life because things are about to get worse.”
“How so?”
“Remember that call I got when I was here the other day? It was my brother, Frankie.”
Taking a bite of ice cream, I raise an eyebrow.
“The youngest, right?”
“Youngest and fucking dumbest,” he grunts. “The fucking kid has been preaching about abstinence and all this bullshit about waiting until he finds the right girl…”
“Aww, that’s sweet
He glares at me.
“What? It is,” I defend.
“You’re missing the kicker, here,” he mutters. “Frankie found his perfect girl, got his dick wet and the fucking condom broke,” he hisses. “The little shit called me in a panic. I mean he was sobbing, asking me why the condom was empty,” he continues, shaking his head. “Not cool.”
Lifting my hand, I cover my mouth and suppress the laughter.
“You’re kidding,” I accuse.