Page 98 of Blackout-

Sighing, I lift my eyes to his. It’s obvious he’s not going to leave until he cleans my mess and as embarrassing as that is, I just want him gone.

“It’s in the kitchen, under the sink.”

“Was that so hard?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond and once he’s out of sight, I bring Blackie’s kutte to my nose. I breathe in the scent of his cologne that’s mixed with the leather and motor oil and more tears fill my eyes. Emotionally spent and unwilling to give into the tears he doesn’t deserve, I drop the kutte onto the couch. Nico returns and makes quick work of cleaning up the glass. When he’s sure he’s got most of it, he allows me to walk him to the door.

He apologizes for upsetting me and assures me his offer of ice cream still stands before giving me a quick hug and straddling his bike. As he peels out of the driveway, I wonder where my husband’s bike is. Maybe Anthony Bianci has that too. Not that I give a damn.

Turning back around, I walk inside the house and close the door. Leaning against it, I listen for my maker, but I’m greeted with silence. I take a deep breath and push off the door. I decide to take advantage of the peace and make my way into the kitchen. There, I try to get myself back on track. I take my prenatal vitamins and grab a banana. I don’t have much of an appetite, but I force myself to finish it because of the baby. After I toss the peel in the trash, I call Dr. Spiegel and leave a message with the call center, requesting the first available appointment.

Feeling a little clearer, I leave the kitchen and start for the stairs to take a shower. Blackie’s kutte catches my eye and I take a detour. Taking it off the couch, I drape it over my forearm. Something falls out of the pocket and I bend down to retrieve it. My heart goes still as I lift the empty plastic baggie from the floor. White residue clings to the clear plastic making it obvious it was once filled with coke. I close my fist around the bag and just like that, the peace is interrupted.

He loves his drugs more than you.

“You’re right,” I whisper out loud.

My maker is always right.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lacey

Beinga manic-depressive means I can go from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye and after my meltdown that’s exactly what happened. The following day, I woke up with an abundance of energy, ready to make my maker my bitch. Sure, she made some valid points and even opened my eyes to a lot of things. But I wasn’t going to be a victim of insanity. Somewhere between my breakdown and the dawn of a new day, I accepted my newfound fate as a single mother and decided I wasn’t going to fail the most important role of my life.

I thought about my first doctor’s visit and how over-protective I instantly became after Dr. Heltzer revealed the dangers of taking my meds while pregnant. I even relived the argument that followed between me, and Blackie. I was so passionate about protecting our child and somehow, I lost sight of that. I let Blackie’s addictions, his poor choices and our failing marriage get the best of me. In the past that might’ve been acceptable, but now it wasn’t just me. Every time I let myself go, I let my child down and when your child only has you, well, that’s not okay. It’s fucking wrong and as clarity set in, I vowed to do better.

Dr. Spiegel saw me the next morning, and I was very honest during our session. I told her that Blackie had been arrested and that I found drugs in his kutte. I also told her about the episode with my maker and how I felt my whole marriage was a lie. I won’t say she tried to sway me to think differently, but she did remind me of past sessions and the times I told her he rescued me from the darkness.

Still, I couldn’t erase the seed of doubt my treacherous mind had planted, and I was starting to believe Blackie was looking for a way out of our marriage. He wasn’t trying to escape the club anymore but rather a life he never really wanted. A life I forced upon him.

Riggs says I should go see him but the thought of going to visit him turns my stomach. According to the self-proclaimed Tiger, that’s the only way I’ll get answers since no one knows what was going on in Blackie’s head when he hired the lawyer and dropped the teddy bear on my lap. I think I’m better off not knowing. I can’t bear another lie or another goodbye. Maybe in time, I’ll feel differently but I can’t worry about him and his need to destroy himself. My focus needs to be on my own health and on the baby he may never know. The baby he probably never wanted.

The thought causes me to drop my hand protectively to my stomach. A frown ticks the corner of my lips as a lump gets lodged in my throat. If there’s anything I don’t want, it's for my child to feel unwanted.

To feel unloved.

To feel everything, I’m feeling right now.

A knock sounds at the door and I quickly cinch the paper gown covering me, tighter. While I was in Dr. Spiegel’s office, I realized I had also missed my appointment with my OBGYN. Now, here I am, two weeks later than scheduled, sitting in the exam room, staring at the dreadful stirrups. I’m just as uncomfortable as I was the day we confirmed my pregnancy. Even more so because I’m by myself, but I try not to dwell on that. After all, it’s something I’m going to have to get used to.

“Lacey,” Dr. Heltzer greets with a smile as he enters the room. “How are you doing?”

If that’s not a loaded question, I don’t know what is. For a moment I contemplate how to answer. Unless the good doctor lives under a rock, he’s surely heard about Blackie’s arrest. It was all over the news and plastered on the front page of every newspaper. Still, I rather not divulge the fact my husband is being tried on a murder case to the man who is about to stick his hand between my legs.

No, thank you.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, the latex snaps against his skin as he takes a seat on the stool.

“I mean has the morning sickness run its course?” he clarifies, lifting one of my legs and positioning the heel of my foot in the stirrup.

Awkward.

Before he has a chance to hoist my other leg, I follow his lead. Instinctively my knees close and I divert my eyes to the ceiling. How am I ever going to give birth if I can barely hold it together for an examination?

“I haven’t thrown up much in the last few days,” I ramble nervously, leaving out the fact my stomach has been mostly empty.

“That’s good. Scutch down a little lower…that’s it…a little more,” he directs, gently pushing my knees apart. “It’s still a little early in the pregnancy to do an abdominal sonogram and I’d like to get a reading on the baby’s heartbeat,” he explains as he grabs the probe and sheathes it. “I take it Mr. Petra won’t be joining us today?”

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