Page 82 of Claimed By the Bikers
“I just sat in a truck for forty minutes.”
“Circulation’s important during pregnancy. My grandmother always said?—”
“Garrett. I love your grandmother’s wisdom, but I don’t need to sit down every time I enter a room.”
“Course you don’t.” But he’s already placed a glass of water on the table beside the chair. “Just thought you might want to rest.”
Silas emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray with exactly four crackers arranged in a neat square. He sets it down like he’s presenting the crown jewels.
“For your stomach,” he says proudly. “Plain saltines.Parfaitfor morning sickness.”
I stare at the crackers. Four of them. Arranged geometrically.
“You made me a cracker presentation.”
“Oui. Mrs. Patterson says they work best on an empty stomach, so I thought?—”
“You’ve been consulting Mrs. Patterson about my pregnancy?”
Three guilty faces look back at me. These dangerous men are getting pregnancy advice from a seventy-year-old church lady.
“She raised six children,” Atlas says defensively.
“All healthy babies,” Garrett adds.
“She knows things,” Silas concludes.
I pick up one of the crackers and take a bite. It tastes like cardboard, but their faces light up like I’ve just performed a miracle.
“Better?” Garrett asks.
“It’s a cracker, not medicine.”
But I eat the other three because it would break my heart for them to lose the hope in their eyes. They watch every chew, every swallow, like I might disappear if they stop paying attention for two seconds.
This is my life now.
“I need some air,” I announce, standing up.
“I’ll come with you,” Atlas says immediately.
“So will I,” Garrett adds.
“I’m walking to the mailbox. Not climbing Everest.”
“Fresh air is good for the baby,” Atlas says, already reaching for his jacket.
“Twenty feet. I’m walking twenty feet to get the mail.”
“Road’s uneven,” Garrett points out. “Lots of loose gravel.”
“What if you trip?” Silas asks, looking genuinely concerned.
I close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them, three worried faces are still staring at me.
“Okay. New rule. I get fifteen minutes a day where nobody follows me, nobody asks if I’m okay, and nobody analyzes my food choices. Fifteen minutes of being treated like the same person I was two weeks ago.”
“But—” Atlas starts.
