Pen purses her lips, but she can’t contain her grin. “He was hot and ripped and a bit scary but super sexy.”
“Poor Eric.” Esme licks yogurt off the back of her spoon.
Pen elbows her in the ribs. “Poor Eric nothing. I still love my fiancé, but I can acknowledge a hot guy when I see one.”
“What did he want?” I ask, keen to get to the meat of the story.
“He got rid of Renzo. Told me not to worry, that you were safe, with Ben, and he would take care of you. He stayed with me, disappearing for a few minutes when the others arrived back totally smashed.”
“I have the headache to prove it,” Esme says, dumping her empty yogurt carton in the trash.
“I got everyone to bed,” Pen continues, ignoring Esme, “and when I came back out, Leo had made coffee.”
“How cozy.” Esme waggles her brows, and Pen flips her the bird.
“He was pretty vague, yet he still managed to drive his point home. Basically, he said what Ben said but in a nicer way—those men from the basement are dangerous, and we need to keep quiet about last night. It’s why I only told Esme the truth. All the others know is you met a random guy and went back to his hotel.”
“Thanks, Pen. I think we’re all agreed we need to keep it a secret.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” she says, her face turning pale.
I take her hands in mine. “I know you were petrified last night. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Tears pool in her eyes. “I have never been so scared. I was sure they were going to rape both of us and then slit our throats when they were done.” She looks away as a single tear rolls down her face. “I’m so sorry I left you there, Sierra. I’m a shitty friend.”
“Stop that.” I tip her chin up with one finger. “You’re not and it wasn’t your fault. I made the decision, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. If you had fought, they might have shot you.”
“That’s what Leo said,” she whispers. “He said I was bait. That it’s Scarface’s MO. He was always going to use me to force you into staying.”
I hadn’t considered that last night. I was too panicked. But it makes sense. He readily agreed to my plan and let Pen go without argument.
“The most important thing is we are all safe and no one got hurt,” Esme says.
“Except for my bruised pride.” I shrug, trying not to feel dejected.
“Look at it this way,” Esme adds, pulling her knees into her chest on the couch. “You got to screw your crush and he was a fucking beast in bed. He gave you multiple O’s, popped your anal cherry, and you won’t forget your twenty-first birthday in a hurry.”
“For fuck’s sake, Esme. Are you stupid?” Pen snaps, glaring at our bestie. “You need to wake the fuck up and stop talking crap. Stop acting without thinking. This is no joking matter. You weren’t in that basement. Sierra is lucky Ben was there. I shudder to think what state she would be in now if he hadn’t been able to stop it.”
Esme looks instantly chastised, and her voice is quiet when she speaks. “You think I don’t know that, Pen?” Tears swim in her eyes. “If you think I’m not torn up over this, you’re mistaken.”
“It’s okay,” I say, reaching out to both my friends, taking their hands. I know Esme isn’t as carefree and unthinking as she’d have us believe. She struggles to process things, and she uses humor and detachment to avoid facing hard facts. I know she’s remorseful, in her own way, and she’ll try to make it up to me. “We’re not playing the blame game. Yes, there are lessons to be learned from last night, but I’m choosing to focus on the positives and not dwell on the what-ifs. All I ask is you both try to do the same.”
They nod, and I slump against the couch. “One thing’s for sure,” I say, in parting, a wry grin spreading across my mouth. “This is definitely one weekend I’ll never forget.”
10
SIERRA
Life returns to normal in the weeks that follow the Vegas trip, but the events of my birthday weekend are never far from my mind. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about Ben. The first couple of weeks were a bit of a haze, as the full extent of the danger I was in finally registered, and I existed in a state of delayed terror. I vented my emotions in my studio every night, painting until my soul was cleansed and I found my inner Zen again. After I moved past that, my thoughts became preoccupied with Ben.
His cruel dismissal still hurts, but most of my anger has faded. I had a near escape, and he saved me from a fate that would have either killed me or traumatized me for the rest of my life. Relief and gratitude are my overriding emotions now, and I can’t find it in my heart to hate him. Maybe I’m naïve, but I want to remember the good in him, and he showed me that weekend he still has plenty of that.
Christmas is the same old parade of stuffy parties and events with my family, and the strain of keeping up appearances, making small talk with lecherous bores and their Stepford wives, almost kills me. It’s only the few college parties I manage to sneakily attend that keep me sane over the festive period. Pen and Esme notice I’m distracted, but I deflect their concerns, blaming my odd mood on the stress of having to play the role of dutiful, meek Lawson daughter.
Spring semester starts, and I attend classes, throwing myself into my studies while I continue to deny the truth. Until I can’t deny it any longer, and I pull on my big girl panties and buy a pregnancy test.
I slump to the ground on the tiled floor of my personal bathroom, staring in resigned acceptance at the word on the digital stick.
PREGNANT
I’ve been expecting this result, but I’m still floored. Literally. My periods are always erratic, so when I missed one in November, I didn’t dwell on it. However, when my period failed to arrive again in December, I knew. Deep down, I knew. But I couldn’t face it, so I wallowed in la-la land for another month until I woke this morning with sore breasts that are definitely bigger. It is the slap in the face I need to stop burying my head in the sand.
A few silent tears roll down my face, but they’re not unhappy ones. Sliding my hand to my stomach, I rest my palm there, smiling as I think of the little life growing inside me.
I’m scared shitless.
Terrified to the point of puking, but that could be pregnancy hormones.
Yet, I’m not displeased. Unhappiness has not been the emotion driving my refusal to accept reality—that was all fear.
Fear of telling Ben.
Of facing my family’s furious reaction, because this news will not be well-received.
Fear of the unknown—I haven’t a clue how to take care of a baby, and I’m scared I won’t be good enough, especially if I end up doing this alone.
But I’ll learn.
And I’m luckier than most women who find themselves in this position. So, it’s time to wake up and own my situation.
I can do this.
I know I can.
I refuse to cower from the truth anymore. There is a new life counting on me, and I won’t let him or her down. Swiping my tears with the back of my sleeve, I stand tall, radiating determination as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes wide and bright, and I look different yet the same. It’s hard to articulate it. Apart from missed periods and feeling more tired than usual, I haven’t suffered any ill effects of being pregnant. Mostly, I feel great. I’m not surprised it agrees with me because I’ve always wanted to be a mother. That has always been a part of my life dream.