Page 22 of Hawk's Cry

“My condition?” Her eyes widen. “I’m pregnant not helpless. Plenty of people work while carrying babies around.”

Maybe they do, but they’re not my wife. I don’t particularly relish the thought of stepping into the civilian world myself. The thought of her working alongside men, and even women, I don’t know or trust, makes me angry. Anything could happen to her.

“There’s a job at the library, no experience necessary. I thought I might apply.”

“Liv,” I snarl, “you’d have to carry books around, go up ladders to stack shelves.”

“You don’t know that. I could at least go along and find out what’s involved.” Her eyes sharpen. “In fact, I am going. We need to eat, and you need to heal. If you—”

“Fine.” I slam my uninjured hand down. “I’ll use some of the money Dad put in my account. That will tide us over until I start work.”

“We should still minimise what we take from that. We’ll need money for when I have this baby.”

Fuck it. I hate that she’s right. I’ve been getting away with the excuse I didn’t want to buy shit too early and tempt fate, but that vindication is fast running out as time moves on. But I haven’t been entirely useless. “I’ve started putting money aside,” I remind her. Well, I did before I walked away from the club.

“That won’t be enough. There are the medical costs, let alone all the stuff we haven’t even thought about buying yet—”

“Fuckin’ hell!” I yell and abruptly stand. I didn’t mean to, but I knock my plate off the table, and it smashes onto the floor.

Immediately I kneel and start picking up pieces of broken china, thinking how the shattered plate summarises my life at this point.

She sits and watches, her face at first confused, then her jaw tightens. As I reach for a piece that’s slid a distance away, my shirt must ride up.

“What are you going to do about that?”

She’s referring to my back-patch tattoo, the one with the devil looking over three glowing-eyed demons which covers all my back from my shoulders to my ass. I’d been so proud when I’d been patched in, the pain of the needle was nothing measured against the pride I felt showing the world I was a true Satan’s Devil now.

I hate it.

“Are you allowed to keep it?”

I shake my head and reply tersely, “No, I’ll have to get it blacked out.”

Her hand covers her mouth. I know exactly what she’s thinking. It’s going to look horrendous when a tat of that size is covered over. Still, better that than the constant reminder of what I’m not anymore. Once it’s gone, I won’t be afraid to catch sight of my back in the mirror.

“Can’t you turn it into something else? Or get it removed?”

“I doubt it,” I tell her. Then as I see the subject has brought tears into her eyes once again, I add, “But I’ll see what I can do, okay?” I’ll have to do something soon. If I don’t, I risk another beatdown or worse if a Devil catches me with it uncovered.

“Are you happy?” she suddenly asks. “Are you getting what you wanted from this new life? Is this what you expected, Eli?”

“Liv,” I start, as though speaking to a child. “Of course I can’t fuckin’ enjoy my new life. I’m hurting. I’ve got a broken hand and ribs. I’m useless right now. Things will be fine once I’m able to work.” They have to be. I can’t go on as I am. All I need is a purpose in life that will set me right.

Olivia grabs some paper towel and joins me on my knees. She scoops up the scattered food and then drops it in the garbage can. When she comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the floor, she stares straight into my eyes.

“Is it me?”

I can’t force the word no out of my mouth, but I hesitate to say yes. To confirm her worst fears would be to shatter all her hopes and dreams, and the promises that I’ve made.

A simple one-word answer isn’t enough, anyway. It’s too complicated to be summed up so easily. Leaning back on my heels, I open the cupboard under the sink. Reaching in, I take out the dustpan and brush and soon have all the remaining shards of china swept up.

“We need to talk,” I tell her, not missing the pain that crosses her face. “Come sit with me.”

I walk into the living area and take a seat on the couch, this time leaving space for her to sit beside me.

“Liv…” I start, once she’s sat down. “We never had a chance, did we? Put in the same crib from the day I was born.”

“You protected me. You were always there, from that very first day.”

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