Protect (37 page)

“And they assumed we put the cops onto them,”
Tiny concluded the fucking frustrating plot. “And now they’ll
really think we’re feeding the Sheriffs intel.”

“They could be a target,” Fritter added.
“They might see every Markham cop as a Rebel with a badge.”

“Easy,” Jayce said calmly, holding a hand out
to Fritter’s chest and taking the baggie with the other. “Sharon’s
leaving town. Right? She’ll be okay. I’ll get hold of that Troy
prick, or that Martin kid. Give them a heads’ up. Not telling them
about the Thebaine, of course.”

Fritter let Jayce take back the little orange
pills. He was still reeling, his worry for Sharon making his chest
tight.

“She’s okay,” Jayce assured him, hand on his
shoulder. “We’ll get word to her about this, it’s the least we can
do so she’s on alert. Yeah?”

Fritter nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. She can handle
herself. She just needs a heads’ up.”

“Mom? You okay?”

Sharon flopped onto her back, pushing her
hair out of her face and opening her eyes. The ceiling overhead was
marked with slanted, orangey stripes of light and she frowned,
discombobulated.

“Mom?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

She rubbed her face, groaning. Fuck, she was
so exhausted. “I’m fine Bray. Just taking a nap, like I told
you.”

“Yeah. That was two hours ago, Mom.”

She uncovered her face and sat up to peer at
the travel alarm clock on the minimalist side table of the
Templeton Motor Lodge. The door joining her room with Brayden’s was
closed, hence him yelling through it.

And he was right. Two hours had passed since
she’d collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from another visit with her
parents that afternoon. It was the end of August, she’d been hiding
in this motel with Brayden for nearly two weeks, and she had to
take him home to Bakersfield today because school was starting in a
few days. It wasn’t a bad place, and her room had a kitchenette as
well as the attached room so it felt like they were
small-apartment-living.

Brayden had gone to work for her father’s
friend in a hardware store, so that was good. He’d found something
to do that would earn some more cash and he seemed to like the
people working there with him.

As for her, she’d been permanently attached
to the internet connection, scouring the web for all the news from
Markham while her election campaign fell apart.

Yes, her campaign was apparently still going
on. Troy, that wonderful bastard, had refused to pull her out of
the running and was telling reporters she was on “personal leave”
since someone had seen fit to video tape her without her knowledge
and consent. He added no more than that to his official sound bites
and written replies.

Apparently the paper had written an apology
online, and it had printed shortly after the big
exposé
on
her love life had printed. She hadn’t seen it.

She tried to keep busy by staying abreast of
everything back home, assuming she wasn’t slumped over the toilet
throwing up like mad. She told Brayden and her parents it had to be
the stress of everything going on back home.

Her mother informed her she was disappointed,
but she was also appropriately shocked that someone would be so
brazen. Her father, God love him, actually found it funny once he
got over the rage for someone peeping on his daughter. “Of all the
things people could judge you for, Sharon, getting fucked on the
kitchen table seems pretty unimportant.”

She loved her father. A lot.

Her mother kept her company in the
afternoons, understanding her need to settle her nerves in the
morning from all this “trauma.”

It wasn’t stress, it wasn’t the trauma. It
wasn’t fear. She knew what it was, but she was still hoping against
hope she was wrong.

She was exhausted all the time. Even after
eleven hours sleep it felt as though she was dragging her ass
around way past bedtime. And the nausea? Only in the mornings,
thank you very much.

She was terrified to go to the doctor. She’d
do it once Brayden was back in Bakersfield, just quietly slip back
to Markham to see her doctor then get the fuck out again. She had
two weeks paid on the motel room still, minus Brayden’s room. She
was
talking her clothes home; she needed her own laundry
pair. The one at the motel was shit. Other than that, she’d happily
sit around on her ass after scurrying back to this refuge,
wondering what the fuck she was going to do about this.

Because she knew. She knew without a doubt
she was knocked up.

Who could guess
how
it happened? They
were careful, but the best methods were still only 99% effective at
best. She wasn’t on the pill anymore; once she’d hit 40 she was
still smoking so her doctor urged her to give it up. So she did,
then promptly quit smoking anyway. But she never went back on it
again, due to her age. Her lifestyle was stressful enough, no need
to add another cause of heart problems.

So a condom broke somewhere along the way.
She didn’t know if she was two or three months late. She hadn’t
thought she
was
late until she started getting sick, then
she realized it had been quite a while since she’d gotten her
period. She’d been so fucking busy it hadn’t even occurred to her
to wonder.

There was the idea of sticking around, having
the baby
then
going back to Markham to officially move away
without telling anyone anything. As attractive as that option was,
she couldn’t imagine doing that to Fritter.

He was goofy. He was incorrigible. He was
impulsive, young, and aggressive. And every part of her thought
he’d make an amazing dad. She didn’t know why, she just thought he
would. Or those could be her hormones clouding her judgment.

There was also the possibility that it wasn’t
Fritter’s baby. She and Hogan had only been together once, and
maybe it was his condom supply that was shit. There was another
thing that made her cringe to have anyone know about this; adding
on the fact there had been this one other guy that one time ... But
no. She preferred to tell herself it was Fritter’s. Not sure why a
felon being the father of her unborn eased her mind more than a
high-level law enforcement official but ... hormones again.
Probably.

She didn’t want to do all this again. She’d
been young the first time—young and very naive. And even then she’d
still had Steven. He’d actually been a great pregnancy partner;
very involved, took all the classes with her, and they’d read the
books out loud to each other. He’d been what kept her from
completely losing her mind with panic.

Sticking around her to have a baby by
herself? Another terrifying thought. She needed to see her doctor,
find out for sure, reassure herself that conception would have
occurred
before
she’d gotten in bed with Hogan, and then
everything would be fine. After all, that was just under a month
ago. She knew this was further along than that.

Maybe. Hopefully. Who the fuck knew?

Now she groaned as she pulled herself to her
feet and approached the door, opening it and mustering up her best
smile for Brayden. But her son was a very intuitive type, and he’d
been guessing something was up and not just the election and the
video scandal. He didn’t exactly pester, he just kept asking “Are
you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Like now. His face told her he was about done
with her bullshit insistence that everything was hunky dory. He put
his hands on his slim hips and sighed as soon as he saw her. “Mom,
what the hell?”

“I didn’t sleep well. I just needed a rest.
You got the car packed up?”

He nodded, his brows still huddled up in
worry. “You won’t be able to drive back. You’ll fall asleep behind
the wheel.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, running a hand
through her hair and looking around for her purse. “You have the
keys? You can drive us there.”

“Okay,” he muttered, turning from the door
and heading for the bed to grab one last bag. “I can come back next
weekend for the rest of my stuff from the house, right?”

She nodded. “Yep. We can take the trip back
to the house and get it all then.”

“‘Kay.”

They bundled themselves into the Cobalt. Sure
enough, it was 11am and she’d wanted to be on the road by 10 at the
very latest. That damn nap had gotten away from her, and her sweet
son had let her sleep.

The drive was a quiet one as she again was
dozing in the passenger seat. It was a warm sunny day, perfect for
sleeping. Brayden stayed quiet, asking every now and then if she
needed to visit a restroom or get a snack.

Not yet. She wasn’t eating everything in
sight yet, she was still too queasy.

By the time she’d have to drive to Markham
she’d be over this round of sickness. Then it would be a debate
over whether to sleep one night in Markham, deal with being sick
again in the morning and
then
driving to Templeton or just
toughing it out into the night and driving straight through.

That would mean no doctor’s visit, of course.
Maybe it would be better to just find a doctor in Templeton for
this.

These were her worries as they drove. When
they arrived in Bakersfield Sharon begged off going up to Steven
and Jasmine’s condo, watching her son carry his stuff through the
lobby doors after a long, tight hug.

She’d really liked having him around. Maybe
she’d been a little lonelier than she really thought.

Sure enough her stomach had settled in time
for the drive to Markham. It was only twenty minutes but it still
made her sleepy so she knew she was resigned to one night in her
own home. Then she’d find a doctor that could test her the next
morning.

Still, she stopped at the grocery store to
pick up something for supper. The clerk was incredibly uninterested
in what was being rung through, so Sharon relaxed and waited. The
teenage girl’s lack of focus was fortuitous; Sharon had grabbed a
home pregnancy test kit. Two, actually. Different brands. It was
killing her not knowing. If they were negative, she could chill out
and assign her body’s whacked out cycle a level of stress that made
her uncharacteristically irregular.

Another fantastic dream.

She pulled into her driveway in early
evening, climbed out and picked her purse off the seat then circled
to collect her full reusable grocery bag from the back. As she
walked up her pathway she had to pause, frowning at her yard.

She’d assumed her plants would be dead. It
had been hot, and while she planted desert-zone species they still
did much better with the odd shot of moisture. And she also
expected the grass to either be dead or a foot tall. But she saw
none of those things.

Her lawn was not lush, but it was still green
and neatly shortened. She knew keeping it this length meant it
needed less water and grew a lot tougher, and it looked like it had
just been done. Plus, her bedding plants were actually flowering. A
little droopy from the hot day but not sad, wilted brown
clumps.

She knew who had done it and her stomach
tightened.

The keys were slipping out of her hand and
she was cursing as she heard the straight pipes roaring down the
block. They hit the stoop and she cursed, bending to scoop them up.
Maybe she could be inside before he got close and he wouldn’t
know—

Except her car was on the drive, not in the
garage. She really should park it in the garage so no one would
know she was here again.

Fuck. Fucking pregnancy brain.

She got the key fitted into the lock and
hurried inside, telling herself there was always the chance it was
someone out for a ride on a lovely afternoon. Not every motorcycle
in town was owned by a Red Rebel.

Sharon was setting her bags on the kitchen
counter when there was a heavy knock on her front door. With a deep
breath she squared her shoulders and answered, her reaction to
seeing Fritter on her doorstep overwhelming and unexpected.

She’d missed him. She’d really missed him,
and if she was the light-hearted, fun-loving sort she would have
thrown herself into his arms like she wanted to. Instead the clung
to the edge of the door and met his eyes, willing her face to stay
calm.

But she really wanted him to hold her.

“Hey,” she said, trying for casual.

“Sharon. What’re you doing back?”

That’s when she saw the bruises fading under
his eyes. “What happened to your face?”

He touched his cheekbone, then smiled
sheepishly. “The club had to remind me that I put us in danger with
you. So … they all got a free shot. It’s almost healed now. It’s
been over a week.”

Never in her lifetime did she expect to
understand men.

“But … what are you doin’ back?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Needed clothes. And
Brayden had to get back to the city for school so I’m just stopping
over.”

He nodded, one hand hooked on a belt loop. He
used the other one to rub the back of his neck, and his look was
sheepish as his lip curled into a half grin. “Can I come in
or—”

“Shit,” she cut in, stepping back. “Of
course. Sorry, come in.”

“How you been?” he asked as he shut the door
behind himself.

“Good,” she replied absently, trying to keep
this conversation away from the personal. “What are you doing
here?”

“I ride by every night, make sure no one’s
fuckin’ with the house. First week I’d randomly camp out on your
stoop, makin’ sure no one got any bright ideas. Couple kids came by
one time, saw me. No one’s stopped since.”

Her heart did a sappy flip-flop at that. “You
were watching my house?”

“Don’t want people fuckin’ around with your
stuff. Everyone knew you left town. People think they’re clever
‘round here. Didn’t want any dumbasses wreckin’ your shit.” He
moved past her into the kitchen. “Can I get a drink of
somethin’?”