I realise it’s the first time in a long while anyone’s asked me that and actually waited for an honest answer.
I knock back the next vodka and place my glass on the bar. Hazel goes to refill it, but I place my hand over the top. I need to keep my wits about me, especially when there’s a giant crosshair on the club at the moment.
“I’m good,” I tell Siren, keeping my eyes fixed to my empty glass.
“You sure?” she asks, placing her well-manicured hand on my kutte. I pull my arm away, running my hands over my face and sighing heavily. “You can talk to me, you know,” she adds.
I arch a brow in doubt. After all, she’s a club girl. “Siren, I do appreciate it?—”
She interrupts. “Listen, I might just be a club girl, but I genuinely care. I swear, there’s nothing in it but concern.”
I give a slight nod, my shoulders dropping as I feel the weight of everything. “It’s just a lot sometimes,” I mutter, my voice low. “All the drama with the club. Hell trying to conceive. Everything rests on my shoulders, you know?” I give her a side glance, and she nods, placing her hand on my shoulder.
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “What if she doesn’t conceive? I mean, I know I keep telling her it doesn’t bother me, but shit . . . I hope to God she does.” The words tumble out quickly, like they’re pushed out before I can stop them and before I can take them back.Fuck, what am I doing?
“It must be hard,” she sympathises, dragging her stool closer. “You’ve got a lot of shit to deal with, and it must mess your head up.” She waits a beat. “But if I know you, you’ll work it out. You always do. That’s what makes you a good president. And I know I give Rochelle a hard time,” she admits with a small smile, “but, yah know, it’ll happen at the right time. And when it does, she’ll make a great mum.” She shrugs. “Better than mine ever was. And you’re gonna be the best dad a kid could want.” Her eyes shine when she looks at me. “Protective, strong, all the qualities of a good man. These struggles will pass, Pres. Trust me. Shit, I should know, I’ve had enough of my own. And I’ve learned that everything happens for a reason, even if that isn’t clear right now.”
She’s right—who knew Siren could actually talk some sense?
She places her hand back on my arm, squeezing gently. “You can offload to me anytime you need to. I got you, Pres.” Her smile is genuine, warm even. These glimpses she keeps giving me make me realise there’s more to her than the loudmouth who struts around with attitude.
Hell would have my balls for breakfast if she knew I was talking to a club whore about this shit. It’s not how we do things. I should be turning to Hell. It’s her job to listen, to soothe.Fuck.I sigh, the tension returning. I know deep down that right now, Hell can’t handle my shit. She’s dealing with her own. I laugh to myself. The fucking President of the Iron Demons MC, talking house with a club whore. But I sure as hell can’t talk to my brothers. I don’t want them to think I’m losing my grasp on the club, that I can’t cope.
“Thanks, Siren. I’ve said too much,” I mutter, “I’d appreciate this staying between us?”
“Of course, Pres. My lips are sealed,” she says, winking. She stands and places a chaste kiss on my cheek.
The door swings open, and laughter echoes around the bar as Red and Bella walk in. They come to an abrupt stop when they see us. Bella’s brow furrows in confusion, and Red looks Siren up and down with disdain.
“Where’s Rochelle?” Red asks, her eyes still fixed on Siren.
“Upstairs.”
She hooks her arm through Bella’s and turns in that direction.
“Leave her,” I bellow. “She’s sleeping. It’s been a rough day.”
She spins on her heel, her eyes burning into me, and if looks could kill, I think I’d be at least six feet under. “I wonder why.”
I sigh. “For fuck’s sake, Red, have you ever thought that for once it isn’t me?”
“Hmmm . . .”
I get to my feet and stride the distance towards them. Red stands her ground, her shoulders squaring, but Bella takes a few cautious steps back as I loom over them.
“She was late,” I whisper-hiss, keeping my voice low so only we can hear.
Her face breaks into a huge grin, her eyes wide with excitement. “I wish it was good news, but it’s not,” I add, and her smile fades. “She cried herself to sleep. So, please, just let her rest.” Her head lowers, her eyes closing briefly before she mutters an apology.
“She’s gonna need us all these next few days. Let’s pull together.” And I turn, leaving them standing there, because right now, I feel like I can’t do this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROCHELLE
Drifter’s arm is draped over me like a protective shield, the heat from our bodies stifling me but I don’t want to move. I don’t want the realisation of the last twenty-four hours to hit me like a train.
I cried myself to sleep last night, exhausted. And though I don’t remember him coming to bed, it’s nice to wake up to him shielding me, holding me.
