Page 63 of Devil's Dilemma

“Brendan,” she tries it out, then frowns. “Do you think he looks like a Brendan?”

Fuck. She’s suggesting she might name the baby after me?I’m so shocked the car swerves. Luckily, I catch it fast and straighten it before she notices. “Looks more like a Blob to me.”

“Pyro,” she gasps, swatting at my arm.

Chapter Twenty

Melissa

Even though I’ve been showing his picture around and sharing the news with everyone in the clubhouse, it doesn’t really hit me until I get home that in just a few months’ time I’ll be holding my son in my arms. A boy.

I really didn’t mind what sex the baby was going to be, had been more worried that the sonogram would show whether he was healthy or not.

He was perfect to my eyes, and to the doctor’s. Though I do have some sympathy with Pyro’s comment that he was a blob. I giggle to myself. Sure, he had the undeniable shape of a baby, but still had a lot of growing to do before he becomes fully formed. Running my hands over my stomach, I make a silent promise. I’ll do everything I can to protect him until he’s viable and can live outside the womb. I’ll take the utmost care of myself and him for another five months.

Of course my protection won’t end then. Momentarily I’m scared that I’ll have something totally dependent on me, not just for his physical needs, but for being brought up in the right way. If he turns out like the amazing man his father is, I’ll have done okay.

I pull myself up sharply. Father? His father is dead, but when I picture a dad for my baby, it’s Pyro’s face I see, not Skull’s. Does that make me a terrible person?

Skull. I miss him every minute of every day.Don’t I?Of course I do, except, when I’m with Pyro, there’s something about him that banishes all thoughts of my lost lover.

Could I see Pyro and me playing happy family? Him moving in, living with me and being Brendan’s dad?

Brendan?Have I truly settled on the name? Well I’ve got months to decide.

Pyro would probably run a mile if I told him, instead of leaving each night, I wanted him to stay.

My phone rings, startling me out of my reverie. It’s my mom. Feeling guilty my first thought had been to share my news with my biker family instead of my blood one, I answer.

“Melissa, honey, sorry to call so late, but I wanted to make sure everything was okay? You had the ultrasound today, didn’t you?”

Settling back with my phone to my ear, I tell her my news. “Everything’s fine, mom. A normal healthy boy.”

“Boy?” she squeals. “I’m going to have a grandson?” Then her voice is more muffled as she calls out, “Rufus, it’s aboy.”

I hear my father’s response. “Already gathered that.” I can just picture him with a fond smile on his face.

“And you,” Mom speaks directly into the phone again. “Everything going well?”

“Yes, I’m good.” I realise I am. While the intense, debilitating grief I’d felt at first hasn’t gone away, it has faded and become bearable. The effort I was making to stay strong for my child, is habit now and not forced. “The doctor said everything’s going as it should. I’ve gained the right weight.”

We discuss the ins and outs of my pregnancy for a little longer, then, when I yawn, we say our goodbyes, with a promise from Mom that they’ll come and visit me soon.

It’s been a busy day. I go to bed, tired, but happy.

When the weekend comes, Pyro turns up. I tell him exactly what I want to do. While I’m superstitious enough not to actually start decorating yet, knowing the sex of the baby gives me the impetus to start thinking about themes, and looking at how I could eventually set up his room.

We have a blast. For some reason after visiting a couple of baby stores, we end up in a Harley store where there’s a mural on the wall. Pyro points to the huge image of a motorcycle and suggests that should be in my son’s room. I only just manage to stop him buying a remote-controlled bike, saying it’s far too soon.

“You’ll be buying him a tank and toy soldiers next.” I roll my eyes as we leave the shop.

His face lights up. “Now there’s an idea.”

“Well, I’ll be buying him a doll house and dolls,” I say, drily.

“What the fuck?” Then he chuckles when he sees I’m holding back a grin. “Choices, eh?”

It’s actually a serious point. I shrug.

---