Craving Trix (The Aces' Sons 1)

“Please,” I said over the noise as he moved around the table, lining up his next shot. “I went to the—”

“Got nothin’ to say to you,” Cam interrupted, standing up straight. “Go home.”

“No.” People began to stare as I held my ground, and my face burned in mortification.

“You have that abortion yet?” Cam’s statement whipped through the room, and my hand went straight to my belly in horror at his callous words.

Everyone knew now. Everyone knew why he hated me. I clenched my jaw against the pain saturating my chest. He hated me.

“Of course not,” I ground out, tears blurring my eyes.

“Well, you still got time.”

I inhaled sharply as my resolve started to waver. He was hurting me on purpose. Lashing out in the only way he could. He couldn’t hit me like he would have anyone else—he’d never physically hurt me, but he could use his words—and he was. He was breaking me on purpose, and it was worse than any blow he could have delivered.

“I just want to talk,” I pleaded, searching his face for anything that would tell me to keep trying. I just needed a small indication—anything that would prove that I wasn’t making a fool out of myself for nothing.

“Think my prez might have somethin’ to say about that,” Cam said with a harsh laugh. “I’m stayin’ away like you wanted. Now get the fuck away from me.”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a second as I tried to settle my shaking hands. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

I uncurled my fist from the envelope I was gripping, and took my time smoothing out the wrinkles in the paper. Then I set the entire envelope on the edge of the pool table.

“I thought you might want to see these.” My voice wobbled and I swallowed hard, still looking at the white envelope. “I went to the doctor today and they, uh, they did an ultrasound and sent home some pictures.”

I looked up and met his eyes as he gave me a short nod.

“I’m so sorry, Cam,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I love you.”

He didn’t respond.

There was nothing left to say, nothing that he wanted to hear from me.

The clubhouse was oddly silent as I turned away, but I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as I walked steadily back toward the front door. Every single part of me wanted to drop to my knees in agony, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t make things harder for him, I wouldn’t cause more drama than I already had.

I reached the cool night air with an overwhelming sense of relief. I’d made it outside without breaking. I’d tried to speak to Cameron, and my “what if” had come to pass, but I was still standing. I was still breathing, even if those breaths were desperate and agonizing.

“Little Warrior,” my pop murmured from the darkness beside the door, giving me permission to lose it.

“Papa,” I whimpered, my legs suddenly turning to rubber. The sob that tore out of my throat was so ragged that it physically hurt.

Just before I went down, my pop was there, scooping me into his arms and striding toward our house.

“You did good, baby girl,” he whispered against my head as ragged cries poured out of my throat. “I know it hurts, Little Warrior, but you did real good.”

Chapter 23

Cameron

I grabbed my beer after Trix left the clubhouse and carried it past the pool table, snagging the envelope she’d left on my way to my room. I couldn’t believe she’d had the balls to try and work shit out with me in the middle of a room full of people.

Did she think I’d just welcome her back with open arms? Jesus, I still wanted to throttle her.

I grabbed another beer on my way past the bar and carried it with me into my dark room, flipping on the light and slamming the door behind me. I was pleased as fuck that Callie was going home the next day, but hell if I’d wanted to have a party. I was wound so tight that the slightest thing could set me off, and having the clubhouse full of brothers and old ladies was a bad fucking idea.

I dropped to the bed and stared at the blank, white envelope between my fingers. I should have been there. I wondered if she’d heard the heartbeat. Maybe she’d recorded it on her phone? I wasn’t going to ask her.

If it was up to me, I wouldn’t see her again until my kid was born.

I took a deep breath and pulled the shiny little black and white photos out of the envelope, immediately feeling a surge of disappointment. I couldn’t tell what any of the shit in the picture was. I wondered if Trix knew, then shook my head. It didn’t matter.

I flipped through each picture slowly, not having a clue what I was looking at. I mean, it must have been my kid, but all I saw was a blob in the center of another blob. Nothing recognizable. I searched each picture individually, turning it this way and that, trying to find a frame of reference. Nothing.