Reprise (24 page)

“I know.”

“I love you, Mallory. But this is all I know how to do.”

“I’d never ask you to get another job,” she assured him. “I just worry.”

“You’re sweet.”

“And I love you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “What’s going on? What’s got you thinking this?”

“My mom and dad tried to visit yesterday. I wouldn’t let them in, but they saw Angelina anyway. My mother burst into tears and my father got angry. Started giving me the gears about not being married. Asking me what my plan was if you didn’t come home one day.”

He gave her a squeeze to reassure her, but inside his belly lit with angry fire. The nerve of these fucking people. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“Your dad came outside, stood on his front lawn and just watched us. My dad got the message and basically dragged my mother off.”

“I’m going to marry you, Mallory. We’re gonna be a family, and I’m going to make sure your life is happy. I promise that.”

“I know.” She kissed his chest and nestled in again, arm across his stomach.

“I just wanted to make sure we had a home first. I thought that was more important than a dress and a dance and all that.”

“I’m fine, Harlon. Really. I love this house. You gave us a home. And I don’t need anything fancy. I just need you.”

Now he wrapped her up in both arms. “I need you too, honey. I love you. I love you so much.”

-oOo-

They’d never officially been engaged. He’d bought her a ring but never actually asked. Now that was something that stung him to remember. She hadn’t expected a single thing from him, and a formal commitment was the only thing she really wanted. But he was working to get money in the bank, a safety cushion for their finances before they had to send Angelina to school. He didn’t want her to work. By that time he wanted her fat and pregnant with their second one.

He took another pull on his take-out coffee, wincing as it burnt his tongue. This could be a mistake. No, it definitely
was
a mistake. He couldn’t get all ensnarled with her again. It wasn’t just a hot, burning passion they’d had. It had been a relationship. She’d trusted him, he trusted her. They were destined to be together. And it was too easy to slide back into that.

It had never been hard work, being with Mallory. It had always been easy, and it had always felt good. Her love was such comfort. It fed something in him that he hadn’t expected to hunger for.

But leaving her where people might hurt her just to get at his family wasn’t an option. She needed to be safe, he owed her that much at the very least. His main fear was letting slip that he was sick, that he wasn’t getting better. He didn’t want her pity. And he didn’t want to leave her if she decided she was in love with him still.

He’d already done that to her once. He couldn’t put her through it again.

Chapter Nineteen

Mallory had never expected to fall asleep on the sofa in the office-type room she’d been shown to, but when the knock sounded she jumped about a foot in the air. She’d dozed off at least.

Feeling discombobulated, she got to her feet, wasted the effort to smooth a hand over her hair, and answered the door. It had a lock on the inside, the paramedic biker named Patches had pointed that out to her when he escorted her from the medical bay—a term he’d used with a hearty laugh. She’d liked Patches. His head was shaved down to his shiny scalp, his neck as thick as his head, and the beard and moustache he wore was thick and mature. With just the right amount of gray. His blue eyes twinkled when he smiled.

He was kind of adorable, she had to admit. And when he looked V over he was professional and reassuring all at once.

V was fine. Lacerations and bruises, but his teeth were all in, no broken ribs, and his nose hadn’t been broken either. They gave him something to let him sleep through some of the night. He was on the room’s other sofa, still snoring softly.

The door gave way to reveal the man that had driven them here, who was called Babe. He was leaning on the door jamb, grinning, one thumb hooked on a belt loop. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“I think I just fell asleep,” she assured him. “I wasn’t in REM or anything.”

Babe’s grin got broader. “I got good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Your boyfriend’s here. We called him for you.”

Mal frowned. How had they called Hal? How did they
know
Hal? “He’s not really my boyfriend.”

“He drives this far this late at night, yeah he is.”

“I’m too old to have a boyfriend.”

Babe leaned into her. “Lover, then. Call it what you want, he’s here. Let’s go.”

“What about—” she gestured to V.

“Let him rest. He’s gotten himself into a bit of trouble, but I think we might be able to look after him.”

Babe led the way down the hallway, and Mallory rubbed her eyes and tried to straighten her hair again as she followed. She must look absolutely terrible.

In the clubhouse things had quieted down. No one was lingering, the room had cleared and only the lights behind the bar were on. A few of her hosts in leather, that ugly Rat logo on their backs, were shaking hands with a much taller man who had just arrived, wearing a gray hoodie. Just as she was thinking he must be cold wearing only that, the tall guy turned around.

She stopped short. “Harlon?”

He strode towards her, took her arms in his hands, and scanned her up and down. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”

She blinked. Twice. “What?”

“Are you hurt? You didn’t get hit?”

“No. No, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

Harlon ignored her and looked over his shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of her. And my president wants you to know that, if you put it to a vote around your table, the Red Rebels will consider a patch over.”

A barrel-chested man put a hand out and Harlon shook it. “Appreciate it.”

“Anytime. You know how to get hold of us.” He looked down at Mal, whose mouth was still hanging open in confusion. “Can I take her out of here now?”

“Sure, man. She’s all yours.”

“Wait,” she protested, digging in her heels as he started pulling her to the door by one arm. “I can’t leave V—”

“Yeah, you can.” Harlon turned on her. “He’s a fuck up. And then he brought his bullshit right to your door. Your house is known. Three guys are dead because people helped you get away.”

Mallory’s mouth flopped open but she had no reply.

“He’s staying here. I’m getting you the hell away from these fucking guys.” He took a step back. “Unless you’d rather stay here for a while. But I drove all the way from Markham tonight to come and get you.”

Now something shifted in her stomach, and her chest felt light. “You...you did?”

“That’s where I live, Mal. I can keep you safe there, unless you’re not interested.”

The room was quiet. Really quiet. She looked around, and their audience was regarding their conversation with a lot of amusement, but Harlon was only looking at her.

“But...I have work tomorrow.”

“Mal, these guys are bad. We’ve already had some trouble with them. And they don’t like us as it is. People around town have seen us together. Word gets around, and it’s known who my friends are. I don’t want you out there as something for them to get their hands on to hurt us.”

“They’d do that?”

“Yeah, they would.”

She looked to their audience again, then moved closer and dropped her voice. “Where...where are we going? For how long?”

“We’re going to Markham, so I can keep an eye on you. And I don’t know for how long.” Now Harlon looked to the group, and put his hands on her arms again. He gave a little squeeze. “But you’re in danger. Just...let me take you somewhere that I can keep an eye on you.” Another squeeze. “Please.”

She was tired. The fear and adrenalin had faded after they arrived here, but the overall lasting effect was that she was exhausted. Honestly, she wanted to go back to her couch and fall asleep.

“Okay,” she eventually said, weary and letting it show. “But if I lose my job—”

“You won’t. Just explain that there was trouble and you need to leave town.” He had her arm again and was pulling her to the door.

She tried to find Patches and Babe in the group. She gave them both a wave goodbye and said a blanket “Thank you,” before Tiny pulled her from the building.

“Are you warm enough?”

She looked down at her boots and jacket. “Yeah, I’m warm. Aren’t you cold?”

“Yes I am. You see how fast I’m walking to get to my truck?”

She had to smile. “Aren’t you tired? Are you okay to drive? We could stay at my apartment tonight—”

“No,” he cut her off. “I’m here on my own. I’m not risking taking you back there. We’ll get out of town, then find somewhere to stay tonight. Drive the rest of the way tomorrow. I’m fucking exhausted.”

He opened the truck door for her and she climbed up to the seat, then he slammed the door behind her. It was nice and toasty in the truck, and she unzipped her jacket, then noticed she was still only wearing a threadbare T-shirt with sweatpants.

Not even panties.

Harlon climbed onto the other end of the bench seat and groaned as he pulled the door closed. The truck engine roared to life as she asked, meekly, “I really do need to stop for clothes.”

“Not at your apartment. We’ll buy you something tomorrow.”

She sighed, then kept her eyes on the window as he backed away from the chain link fence on one of the lots that sat outside the Rats’ clubhouse. It was silent as he drove through the abandoned, dark streets of Montrose. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, quite suddenly she remembered the last time she’d seen him and how he’d shaken her off like a bad smell.

Tears sprung up at the memory but she fought against outright crying. He didn’t hate her, clearly he worried about her. But where the obligation came from to take care of her, she didn’t want to know. His guilt, perhaps? She hoped not. She wanted him there because he wanted to be with her.

Even after their last goodbye, she didn’t want him to hate her.

The radio came on as she covered up a yawn. It was old country music, in true Harlon form. She snuggled deeper into her jacket, surrounded by his smell and the music he’d always liked, and let herself slip under.

-oOo-

The papercut on the inside of her left forefinger was fucking painful. The air was dry, so her hands were dry from constantly cleaning, wiping down a baby, and washing her hands every time she touched something that Angelina might shove in her mouth. This papercut wouldn’t close and heal, and she couldn’t even remember how she got it.

She sniffled, straightening in her plastic chair, wincing against the droning light from the fixture overhead. No one was talking to her. Why wasn’t anyone talking to her?

Everything was numb. Other than that fucking papercut, she wasn’t aware of anything. She didn’t know if the room was warm or cool, she couldn’t tell you if the chair was comfortable or terrible. She was thick in the head and swaddled in too much emotion, too much terror.

Panic. Nothing but panic thrumming at her heart.

A pair of very shiny wingtips stopped in front of her, as she studied the floor tiles for what seemed to be the sixth straight hour. But it couldn’t be that long, because coming here had served no purpose. There was no help, no emergency surgery. And yet there was that pesky hope flitting around in her chest.

“Ms. Beck?”

She looked up, then stood, anxious, hands twisting around each other. “Please,” she pleaded. “Please, tell me something good.”

The doctor, one she’d never seen before, took off his glasses and held out a hand to the chair she’d been sitting in.

“No!” she moaned, the numb popping suddenly around her head as she slumped back into the seat she’d vacated. “No, no, please. Please. Nonononono...”

The doctor had a hand on her shoulder, explaining that too much time had passed. Angelina must have stopped breathing around three am. It was now five-thirty. There was nothing they could do.

Her blood was rushing through her ears, drowning out his assurances that this was common, it happened from time to time. There was nothing she could have done, no way she could have known.

Angelina. Her little angel, still barely a person. Just starting to smile when she heard Mallory’s voice. Her legs would kick and jump when she heard, then saw Harlon. She recognized both of her parents, smiled a gummy grin when they talked to her. Her dark baby hair was gone, it had been growing back like coppery corn silk, so soft it barely seemed to be real.

She had a favorite teddy bear she couldn’t sleep without.

And now, she was cold. Gone.

“Is there someone we can call for you?”

“My mom,” Mal said immediately. “I want my mom.” Somehow she remembered the number and recited it. The doctor went off to make the call.

She had no idea what made her ask for her mother over Harlon’s mom. Reflex. The sickly cold that swept over her suddenly. The need to sob uncontrollably. The need to see Harlon, even though he was on a return trip from Louisiana and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.

Or, this afternoon, come to think of it.

The doctor didn’t come back. Alone again, Mallory put her weight on her elbows, pressed into her knees, staring down at the yellow and green vinyl tiles, waiting for something other than nausea to take root.

Time stretched and did that weird warpy shit on her, then suddenly her mother was there. Anabelle Beck made her presence known by rushing down the hallway at a fast trot, crying out, “Mallory? Mallory! Baby, where are you?”

Mallory stood, rubbing her hands on the sides of her...Jesus, she was still in her pajamas. She’d thrown a hoodie on over her T-shirt, which likely wasn’t enough. Now, she took in the sight of her mother in a quilted, full-length parka with fur around the hood and knew it was a cold night. She hadn’t felt it when she was rushing Angelina out to the car.

“Mom,” she started, then ran out of numbness. Her voice cracked, face crumpled, and her knees gave out. She didn’t feel it as she hit the ground, curled over her lap, heart ripping open in a crying jag that hurt her throat nearly as much as her chest was aching.

And then her mom was there, next to her, also on the floor, arm across her back, rubbing circles. “Mallory, oh Mallory baby. I’m so sorry honey. I’m so, so sorry.”

There was no ability to form a response. The mumbling continued to be one-sided, an attempt at comfort, but nothing could change the world now. It was forever empty.

Someone got her to her feet, down the hall and to the elevator. When she realized they meant to take her out of the hospital she lost her mind, screaming and trying to get back to the peds ward where her daughter was. Could she do this? Could she leave this building without the baby she brought in?

On one level she knew it was illogical, since Angelina was gone. No point in staying, making a scene, getting in people’s way. She couldn’t stop sobbing or wailing, but she calmed enough that her mother could get her out of the hospital and to the waiting car.

Her father was behind the wheel. She hadn’t seen him since the last time her parents had tried to visit and see Angie. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d thrown her out of the house.

Curled up in the backseat, Mallory rested her head in her mother’s lap, letting the woman stroke her hair and continue the one-sided apologies.

They took her to the home she shared with Harlon. Mallory didn’t want to be there, and when her father opened the back door with a hand out to help her she pulled away, ready to start yowling again.

“This is your home, baby,” her mom cooed. “You gotta be where your man can find you. Let’s go. I’m right here with you, baby.”

Matthew Beck’s hold was gentle and caring as he supported her weight under his arm. Her mother led the way to open the front door and turn on the entry light. When she started down the hallway to the bedrooms to the right, Mallory stopped her with a pathetic, “Not back there, please.”