Page 66 of Badd Ass

My shoulders shook, and I blinked back tears, and then sobbed. And the sob shook something loose in my stomach, and I had to lurch off the bed and stumble-run to the bathroom to puke. But I’d already puked up everything I’d eaten, so all I could do was dry heave bile.

I felt Claire beside me, holding my hair back. “You’ve been sick a lot lately,” she remarked.

I nodded. “It sucks. It won’t go away. I think I’ve beaten it and then it comes back.”

A beat of silence. And then Claire, her voice oddly tense and quiet. “I just had a thought. You’re not gonna like it, and it’s probably stupid and crazy and dumb.”

I heaved again, and then felt the nausea subside enough that I could sit up and wipe my mouth. “What?”

“You’ve been getting sick pretty much every day for the last week, right?”

“Off and on for longer than that.”

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but for the most part you’ve only been getting sick…in the mornings.”

I slumped sideways against the tub. “Ohmygod.”

“Right?”

Tears trickled down my face. “No. No-no-no.No.No no no no no no.”

“When was your last period, honey?” Claire asked, her voice soft and sympathetic.

“I had one right after I got back from Ketchikan, and then this month…” I thought back. “I just had a period. It was light and spotty, but—”

“The one right after Ketchikan, was it normal?”

I twisted to pillow my head on my forearms on the edge of the tub. “No,” I moaned. “It was light and spotty too.”

Claire patted my shoulder. “I’ll run to the corner store for a couple tests.”

“What the fuck do I do, Claire?” I sobbed.

“Take a test, first.”

“Or seven.”

“Or seven,” Claire agreed. “And then you take a breath, and think, and then you go see Zane.”

“But…but—”

Claire smoothed her hand in circles on my back. “You know I’ll be here with you every step of the way, right? No matter what.”

I couldn’t answer, on account of being too busy bawling my eyes out.

Chapter 13

Zane

Six hoursand three stopovers later, I dragged my ass into Badd’s Bar and Grill. It was ten p.m. on a Friday, so the bar was packed and chaotic. The twins were set up in a corner, jamming, Canaan on an acoustic guitar, Corin on one of those drums that was a box he sat on and slapped with his hands, each with his own mic. Bax and Bast were tending bar, Lucian and Dru serving tables, Xavier bussing.

They all saw me shuffle through the door, and Bast immediately flipped a rocks glass in the air, set it on the service bar, and poured a hefty measure of Bulleit, nudging it in my direction. I made my way through the crowded floor to the service bar and slammed back the bourbon.

“Brock texted me,” Bast said, leaning close to be heard over the hubbub.

“She wasn’t there,” I said, ignoring his statement.

“I know.” Bast grabbed me by the shirt and hauled me so we were nose-to-nose. “She moved to Seattle.”