Making the Cut (Sons of Templar MC #1)(114)

“Whatever.” I tossed the shears on our outdoor table just as my father emerged from the direction of the shed.

“What are my girls bickering about now?” He asked, looking at the three of us, pretending to glower.

I rushed up to him clutching his arms dramatically.

“Daddy please tell these evil women that I do not waddle. I’m barely pregnant!” I exclaimed falsely. Dad hauled me into his arms and put his chin on my head.

“You my beautiful girl do not waddle.” He reassured me, I sighed into his embrace. “You galumph, and it’s adorable.” His voice was amused.

I extracted myself from his arms and glared. “You are all bullies. My own family! I know if Ian was here he would…” I stopped abruptly, hands over my mouth as the dark shadow of my words settled over us all. The smiles and jokes were gone, replaced by sadness and grief, I struggled under the weight of it. I hadn’t said his name since…No.

“Mouse.” Dad said softly, his voice raw.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Excuse me everyone, I’m covered in garden scum, I must change before we head to the spa. I would frighten the public like this.” My voice was saturated with forced cheerfulness, I ignored the worried faces of my loved ones. Without waiting for a response I quickly dashed back into the house. When I reached my room I slammed the door behind me, collapsing against it, closing my eyes. I mustn’t let myself think, about it, I mustn’t remember.

I went to my closet, eyes avoiding every picture I knew would destroy me. I had memorized where they were, I knew where I couldn’t look. I could have taken them down. But that would mean touching them, god forbid I got a glance at the photo inside the frame. It was worse in the rest of the house. My mother decorated in memories.

I distracted myself with what I was going to wear. And that was a good distraction; my growing belly had had a huge effect on my fashion choices. I had pretty much had to overall my entire wardrobe, not that that was a chore. Plus I would’ve had to do it anyway considering most of my stuff was in the States. Tut tut Gwen. I mustn’t let my mind wander that way either. My stomach had gone from flat to baby bumpin almost overnight. The doctor was right. At least I had bypassed the awkward ‘is she fat or pregnant’ stage. I was definitely pregnant. At four months, I had kept my small frame, which made my baby bump all the more prominent. I was all belly, and boobs. I was more than a little pleased my lady lumps had grown a bit bigger. I chose a mocha coloured maxi dress that was tight and gently hugged my belly. I slung a braided belt just underneath the swell of my stomach, and wrapped a scarf around me neck. I put on some boots and a denim jacket to ward off the chill, it was autumn at home now, the weather was slowly warming up, but the air still had a bite. I inspected myself in the mirror. My hair had grown a bit longer, and thanks to the same hormones I mostly cursed, it made it full and shiny. That was the only thing I had of the so called pregnancy glow. Due to constant morning sickness, which had barely let up, my face looked sallow. The makeup which usually covered the dark circles under my eyes was absent so my lack of sleep was obvious, the worst thing was my eyes. They were empty. I tried as hard as I could to plaster a fake smile, to seem like I was healing, hell sometimes happy. But I couldn’t hide the dead that was staring back at me, the life that was gone from my eyes. It took all of my effort just to get out of bed every morning, to act like every breath I took wasn’t agony.

I could try and tell myself it was all from loosing…him. But I would be lying. The person that held some of my light, the person that maybe had a shot of putting it back in my eyes, he was on the other side of the world. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day outside the hospital. Not for his lack of trying, he called daily. Multiple times, never mind the time difference, I wondered if he ever slept. I didn’t answer the phone anymore. I was a coward and let Amy or my parents do it, I couldn’t hear his voice. I knew he was upset. Upset was maybe to light of a word. I had heard him screaming through the phone at Amy one day, demanding to speak to me.

“You calm down right now biker boy, or I am disconnecting this number and making sure no one will speak to your cheating ass. The only reason we don’t all hang up on you is because Lacey has us all convinced you have a right to know about your kid. But you keep talking to me like that I face Lacey’s wrath and never let you speak to anyone here again. Comprende?” I had let that conversation bounce off me, not letting it sink in. Like I did with most things that threatened my mental shield. The only reason why he wasn’t here right now was because of something to do with his record and New Zealand’s policy with people with convictions. Someone kept delaying the legal proceedings, which he needed to go through to get in the country, which I was grateful for. Or told myself I was grateful for. I couldn’t admit to myself that I was yearning for him, craving him like a drug. He must’ve felt the same because after a phone call with him, my Dad had hung up and said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that boy sprouted wings and flew himself down here.” I pretended not to hear the grudging respect that crept into his tone.

So here I was, the Queen of Denial, my hold on the title was shaky, but I refused to let it go. I heard a soft knock on my door before it opened slightly.

“Can I come in Mouse?” Dad asked.

“Yeah Dad.” I replied, sighing and walking out of my closet.