Page 41 of Cole (Dirty Misfits MC 4)
Brooks’ eye twitched. “Is that true?”
I snickered. “I don’t know how you do that, Finn, but good work. Yeah, I was being tailed. Took me a while to shake them, too.”
The guys quickly rushed me before Finn spoke again. “The Black Flags? Was it one of them?”
Porter chuckled. “Don’t tell me Chops was stupid enough to pull some shit like that.”
I puffed my cheeks out with a sigh. “It wasn’t Chops, and they weren’t on a bike. There were two of them in a car wearing black leather jackets. But that’s all I saw of them. For all I know, it was some other crew or two asshole college kids thinking they’re hot-shit punks. But…”
Brooks nodded. “But you don’t think so.”
I licked my lips. “That’s not what my gut’s telling me, no.”
Archer chewed on the inside of his lip. “Permission to suggest a temporary solution?”
Brooks snorted. “I’m not Chops. Just say what’s on your mind.”
Archer cleared his throat. “I think there’s a little too much going on for us to be as spread out as we are, especially since some of us are scattered along the outskirts of the city. I think, for now? All of us, including the ladies of the group, should live at the clubhouse for a while.”
Porter narrowed his eyes. “You really think it’s gotten that bad?”
Archer shrugged. “If Cole’s being tailed? Then yeah, it’s gotten that bad.”
Brooks murmured to himself. “He’s got a point.”
Finn shrugged. “Besides, isn’t that why we renovated the clubhouse in the first place? You know, to add more rooms and bathrooms in case this happened?”
I closed my eyes. “He’s got a point there, too.”
The room fell silent for a while before Brooks’ voice sounded. “All in favor of us and our families staying here for a while, raise your hands.”
And for the second time in our club’s history since Hyde died, we came to a unanimous decision on the issue at hand.
But it didn’t do anything to settle the hurt, pain, and fury kicking up in the deep, dark pits of my broken soul.
Twenty
Molly
Six Months Later
“The number you have reached has a voice mailbox that has been filled. Please try your call again later.”
I hung up my cell phone and placed it on the edge of the bathroom counter. I stared at my eyes as they started to redden; as the bags beneath them bulged with tears I had been unable to shed for weeks. I cried myself absolutely stupid when Cole first dumped me. I called Bridget every night and cried myself to sleep with her on the phone, listening to her coo in my ear as she told me how I deserved better. How I needed better. How I’d find better in my life eventually.
“So much for that pipe dream,” I murmured to myself.
Bridget came around the corner and leaned against the bathroom doorway. “Talking to yourself again, I hear.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I suppose I do that a lot lately, yeah.”
She snickered. “Lately? You’ve been doing it at least for the past three months.”
I shook my head. “You really don’t have to keep staying, you know. I promise, I’ve got this under control.”
Her eyes fell to my belly. “While I’m sure you believe that, I’m not letting my godson out of my sight anytime soon. You’re stuck with me, Molly. Especially now that I have a few promising leads on other places we can rent.”
I studied myself in the mirror before my own gaze fell to my protruding stomach. I’d been carrying this silent weight around for so long, and now that I was staring down the barrel of my third trimester, it hurt even more that Cole wouldn’t return my calls. That he wouldn’t text me back or even check his damn voice messages that I had left him over the last few months.
That is, until his voice mailbox filled to capacity.
“You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” Bridget asked.
I swallowed hard. “More than I’d like to, yeah.”
She walked over to me and settled her cheek on my shoulder. “You have nothing to feel guilty for, Molly. He’s the one that dumped you. He’s the one not picking up the phone. He’s the one not returning your phone calls and messages. It’s on him that he doesn't know about his son.”
I massaged my stomach softly. “He’ll hate me for not having a father.”
Bridget giggled and lifted her head, her eyes catching mine in the mirror. “Take it from someone who never spent more than two hours in a room with her father: your son will do nothing but respect you. Will you have your moments? Of course. Every mother does with their child, especially as they get older. But at no point in time growing up did I ever resent my mother for working two jobs, or not always having the energy to run around, or even missing breakfast a time or two.”
