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reduced to curse words or vulgarity, so the fact that she's using them now is a bad sign. I
open my mouth to speak again when the door to the hospital room opens and my father
enters. He's got a nurse with him, a nice older lady with dark hair and a gentle touch. She
checks in with me first, asking some questions and monitoring my vitals, keeping me
from focusing too hard on my dad.
I dread the moment she leaves the room.
Amy, Papa says, quite pleasantly. He knows there are eyes and ears everywhere in a
hospital, and I can't imagine he'd do anything to tarnish his good name. Mama stands
close to him, fingers curled around his arm. I try not to look into his face, but it's so
severe, much sharper than I even remember. There are some police officers waiting
outside to speak with you. As soon as you're well enough, they'd like to come in. He
smiles and I look away, almost defiantly. Fuck. I think the word in my head, not for my
parents' benefit, but because I don't want them to know how worried I am. If there's a
story, something I'm supposed to say for the club's benefit, I don't know what it is. Do I
implicate Margot?
Send them in, I say, lifting my chin. I have nothing to hide. That's what they have to
think. It's what everyone needs to think. My hope is that they're only here about the
accident, that they don't ask about the gunshot wound on my left arm, or anything that's
happened prior. The murders, the gunfights, the bank robberies. My dad smiles at me and
disappears, returning with two detectives whose names I completely blank on. My mind is
too busy coming up with a story.
Margot Tempe, I tell them, deciding to leave out anything MC related in this
conversation. She was jealous that her ex-girlfriend dumped her for my best friend. I
relish the expressions on all of their faces.
Chapter 22
Amy
After the detectives leave, my parents disappear for awhile, and I end up falling asleep.
Part of me wonders if I really am tired or if I'm simply avoiding the inevitable
conversation with my papa.
When I next open my eyes, the room is mostly dark, lit simply with a light glow from
the machines that surround me on either side, a sea of beeping electronics that pulse in
time with the beat of my heart. I'm alone for now, blanketed under a wave of blackness
and draped in anonymity. Here's my chance. I struggle to sit up, breaking out into a sweat
that sticks my hair to my forehead. It takes me awhile, but I manage, giving myself a
mental high five for the effort. Good job, sugar, I tell myself with a small smile.
There's a white corded phone sitting on the nightstand near my bed, surrounded by
flowers and obscure in all of its antiquity. While the machines monitoring my body look
like something out of a sci-fi novel, this phone is practically an antique. I lean over, crying
out at the pain in my side, reaching for it with questing fingers. It might only be a couple
of feet away, but it feels like a million.
I pause, sitting back and taking another deep breath. One last lunge and I end up with
the phone in my hand, dragging the entire base of it along with me. I put the handset up
to my ear, dialing Austin's number from memory. I made a point to memorize a few of the
numbers when he first gave it to me, just in case. It seems it was a skill well learned.
I close my eyes tight and wait. It only takes two rings for him to pick up.
Austin Sparks, he barks, voice gruff and full of emotion. I tear up then. I don't mean
to, but goodness, it feels nice to hear his voice. I sniffle once before answering and right
away, he realizes it's me. Sugar?
Austin, I whisper as salty tears leak down my cheeks. I'm okay, Austin. I hear him
growl under his breath, both cursing and thanking God for my phone call. I take a deep
breath and whisper, So is our baby.
Amy Cross, I miss you so hard it hurts. He squeezes the words out quickly, cursing
again. I wonder where he's at right now?
How long have I been here? I ask him. It might've been a day, could've been a week. I
have no sense of time right now.
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