Page 39 of Desert Loyalties

SKYE

Drake and Ranger were still drinking whisky when I left. I had somewhere else to be, an appointment I’d been putting off. I was going to go yesterday, but, well… tequila and victory got in the way.

Still, I made a promise to myself. The second Drake walked free; I'd do this.

I can’t count how many times I almost made this appointment before the trial. Almost. But I didn’t want to jinx it. Couldn’t.

It’s funny, months of anxiety, of waiting and strategizing and forming an escape plan and the trial lasted two fucking days. Two. What a joke.

I park and head in.

"Hi, I have an appointment. Skye Lloyd." Yes. I took Drake’s name.

When I changed my name back then, I didn’t pick a last name.

Just Skye. Flipping through a magazine in the waiting room, I’m not really reading anything until one headline catches my eye.

Apparently orgasms help with period cramps.

Great. How come no one told me that when I was a teenager sobbing in pain?

Eventually, the receptionist calls me. “You can head to exam room four. Dr. Meena will be with you shortly.”

Inside, it’s routine: nurse takes my vitals, weight, asks all the standard questions. I’m in a paper gown now, bare under it, no bra either, since I’m scheduled for a mammogram too. A girl can never be too careful.

Dr. Meena walks in, smiling. “Well, Mrs. Lloyd, congratulations by the way. You’re here for your annual check-up and to remove your IUD, yes?”

I nod. “I know it’s not technically due for another month, but I figured, one stone, two birds.”

She checks her chart. “Well, based on the urine sample you gave the nurse, your HCG levels are elevated. That’s a pregnancy hormone. Now, with an IUD, it’s uncommon, but not impossible. Let’s take a look.”

She pulls out the ultrasound wand, pouring cold gel, condom rolled over, all routine and I settle into the stirrups, eyes on the ceiling while she gets to work.

Then she turns the screen toward me. “Do you see this?” she says, pointing to a little black dot pulsing faintly. “That’s your baby.”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

“You’re pregnant,” she says gently. “Based on size, I’d say around five weeks.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a second. “But I have an IUD.”

She nods. “IUDs make it harder for sperm to fertilize the egg. But not impossible. It happens, rarely.”

I stare at the monitor. At that tiny shape. A heartbeat. My heartbeat feels like it’s in my ears.

“We’ll need to remove the IUD,” she adds. “It’s dangerous to leave it in, but thankfully, it’s not close to the gestational sac. I can remove it safely.”

I nod, stunned. She moves efficiently, focused and careful, but I’m not really there. I'm somewhere between the blue light of the monitor and the cold press of reality.

I lie back in the stirrups, still staring up, trying to figure what this means.

The nurse gives me a printout of a fuzzy little ultrasound photo and instructions to watch for cramping or bleeding. The mammogram gets cancelled. Of course it does. Guess what? I’m pregnant.

Holy shit. I’m pregnant.

This wasn’t the plan.

I don’t go back to the clubhouse. I go home instead. I need time. Space. I need to breathe without someone watching me.

Drake didn’t know about the appointment. I was going to surprise him. Instead, I’m in a fog, stripping the bed, changing the sheets anyway, because it’s all I can control. I shower, throw on a t-shirt, tell myself I’ll sit down for just a second.

I wake up to my name being shouted.

“Skye!”

Drake’s voice, getting closer. Sharp. Scared.

I blink myself upright as he bursts into the room, out of breath, panic in his eyes.

“Hey,” I manage, voice still scratchy with sleep.

“Hey, hey, do you have any idea what I thought happened when you didn’t answer your phone?” he snaps, looking wrecked. “No one knew where you were—”

I glance at my jeans on the floor. The phone’s in the pocket. Still on silent.

Shit.

Before I can say anything, I just… break. Tears fall. Big, fat, stupid ones that burn on the way down. I’m crying before I even realize it.

Drake's face softens instantly. “Shit. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have yelled. I just—fuck, I was so worried.” He rushes over, arms sliding around me. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

I shake my head against his chest, choking the words out between sobs.

“No… I… I’m pregnant.”

Saying it makes it more real. I crumble harder.

Drake stiffens, stunned.

Then gently, carefully, he says, “Do you… not want this? It’s okay. If you’re not ready, we can—”

I jerk back, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He blinks. “Okay,” he says slowly, unsure now. “Then… what’s wrong?”

I pull away just enough to look at him, wiping my face with the heel of my palm.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” I say, voice cracking. “I went in to get my IUD removed, and then I was going to come home and put on these stupid bright yellow sheets—”

Drake glances down at the bed. “These?”

“Yes!” I snap. “Because they’re ugly and happy and ridiculous and I wanted our baby to be conceived here. On them. When we were laughing. When we were free. So that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t end up with all the dark, twisty shit we carry.”

He gives me a look. Light teasing, trying to make me breathe again. “You think I’ve got a twisty personality?”

I raise a hand. “Hello? Double murderer over here. And I literally cheered when the prosecutor died. And I got drunk last night. Oh my God! I let you fuck me in front of a room full of our friends while I’m pregnant.

” I shout, then immediately slap both hands over my face.

“Oh God, it’s not even born yet and I’m already a terrible mother. ”

Drake doesn’t laugh.

He reaches out and folds me into him again, strong arms around all my messy, cracked-open pieces.

“No, you’re not,” he says, quiet. Steady. “You’re going to be incredible. And this kid’s going to be so fucking lucky.”

“You’re really pregnant?” he says, like he still can’t believe it.

I nod. “Five weeks, maybe a little more. They found it during the ultrasound.”

His mouth curves into the tiniest smile, one that hits his eyes and wrecks me.

Then he lets out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“That bad?”

“No. That everything . That’s—” he laughs, almost stunned. “I almost went to prison for 25 years. And now I’m gonna be a dad?” He shakes his head like the universe finally got bored of screwing with him.

Then his eyes settle on me again, and the amusement fades into something more serious.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Do you… want this?”

I nod again, slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I know I didn’t plan it, but… yeah. I do.”

He exhales again; this time shakier. Almost relieved.

Then he lays his hand gently on my flat stomach “Hey, little bean,” he murmurs. “I’m your dad. And I swear to God, no matter what happens, I’ll keep you and your mom safe.”

And something inside me just… breaks open. Not in fear. Not from grief. But from the knowing .

All this time, I thought survival was the goal. A roof over my head, food in my belly, these were enough. They had to be enough.

But my time with the Horsemen taught me something else:

I can have more .

A year ago, I was a broken college girl, halfway to partying myself into an early grave, all because I couldn’t let go of the demons I carried. Pain had become my compass. I had no home.

But now? Now I have something I never thought I deserved.

Closure. And more than that — a future .

With my old man.

My partner.

My husband.

And now, the father of my child.

I’m still healing. But I’m no longer just surviving.

I’m living. Loving. Becoming.

And that’s more than I ever dreamed for the girl I used to be.