Page 56 of Four Tattoos

She spins around to leave, but Zipper’s hand is faster, gripping her shoulder to lock her in place. “Rose is pregnant?”

“Oh, shit. You didn’t hear it from me. I can’t believe I said that, but I just assumed since you’re here and you all look so worried about her …I figured she told you.”

Zipper releases her, his hand dropping heavily to his side, his wide eyes the only expression on his face.

The woman apologizes and rushes inside the club.

“Do you know about this?” Hutch asks Duke, but Duke shakes his head.

“I didn’t know,” he says in a solemn tone. “All I know is that she called off, and she expects to come in tomorrow.”

“We can’t wait until tomorrow,” Zipper says, turning away.

“See you later,” Hutch tells Duke at the same time that he turns to follow Zipper.

At the truck, Zipper nearly rips the door off the hinges when he yanks it open, but instead of getting in, he rounds on us. “Which one of you motherfuckers fucked her without protection?”

43

CHRISTIAN

Hutch looks at me, I look at Mace, Zipper glares at all of us, and it would be a comical whodunnit scene if the four of us weren’t so pissed off at each other and so worried about Rose.

“Never,” I say.

Hutch’s chest is out, like he’s aching for a fight. “Sure as hell wasn’t me.”

Mace claims innocence too, and all of us examine each other’s faces for cracks. It’s like looking in a mirror as I scrutinize them. I believe them.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I say.

“Why didn’t she tell us?” Hutch is deflated now.

“Maybe it’s not ours,” Zipper says, “if we were always wrapped up.”

Before I even know what’s happening, Hutch shoves Zipper so hard that he stumbles. “Fuck off!”

“We didn’t have any commitments with her,” Zipper says, eyes narrowed at Hutch. “She was free to be with whoever she wanted.”

Hutch’s jaw is so tight I expect bone to break through his skin at any moment. “She wouldn’t do that. You saw how she reacted when we told her we couldn’t keep seeing her.”

“Fuck,” I say. “We broke up with her and she’s pregnant.”

“How long do you think she’s known?” Mace asks.

“What if she was coming to tell us the day we broke up with her? Fuck, we’re idiots.”

“Standing around, speculating in the parking lot of a male strip club isn’t going to help anything,” Hutch says. “Get in the truck.”

He drives by the coffee shop, but it’s dark inside, long since closed for the day, as expected.

“I wish we knew where she lived,” he says, banging the dash with the palm of his hand.

“I’m gonna text her,” I say.

“This isn’t a conversation for text,” Hutch says.

“What choice do we have?” Mace asks.

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