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CHAPTER FIVE

Everly

The antiseptic smell of the ambulance bay makes my stomach roll, but at least it's better than the bacon grease from the firehouse kitchen.

Everything makes me nauseous lately.

Ten weeks pregnant, according to the doctor Vail dragged me to last week.

Ten weeks of Dylan's baby growing inside me while I pretend it's Regnor's.

"You okay?" Vail asks, handing me another pack of gauze to restock. "You went green for a second there."

"Just the smells," I admit, shoving supplies into their designated compartments. "This kid hates everything."

"Morning sickness is a good sign," she says, but there's something in her voice. That careful tone people use when they're working up to asking something uncomfortable. "Means the pregnancy hormones are strong."

I focus on organizing the medication vials, checking expiration dates even though we did this yesterday.

Anything to avoid the conversation I can feel coming.

"Everly." She touches my arm, gentle but insistent. "Is Regnor really the father?"

The lie sits ready on my tongue, practiced and smooth after two weeks of repetition. "Yes."

"You're sure?" Her dark eyes search mine. "Because if Dylan?—"

"It's Regnor's." The words come out sharper than intended. "We've been... together. For a while."

Relief floods her features so completely it makes my chest tight.

"Thank the gods," she breathes. "I mean, not that it would matter, we'd support you either way, but Dylan..." She shakes her head. "Everyone sees how he treats you. The controlling behavior, the jealousy. Gwen was just saying the other day how worried she's been."

Everyone sees.

The words echo in my head.

If everyone sees, why didn't anyone say anything sooner?

Why did it take Regnor literally moving into my life for people to acknowledge what was happening?

"Do your parents know?" Vail asks, pulling me from my spiral. "About the pregnancy?"

"Not yet." I close the supply cabinet harder than necessary. "I want to tell them in person. When I'm ready."

"Your dad's going to flip his shit," she says matter-of-factly. "You know he made it clear to all the guys—hands off his daughter."

"I know." The weight of that future conversation sits heavy in my chest. "But it's my life. My choice."

"Damn right it is." She bumps my shoulder companionably. "For what it's worth, Regnor's a good man. Rough around the edges, sure, but he'll take care of you. Both of you."

If only she knew the truth.

That Regnor's claiming another man's baby out of some misguided sense of protection.

That every night I wake up in cold sweats, terrified Dylan will find out.

That—

The alarm cuts through my thoughts.

"Unit 19, respond to 1847 Maple Street. Sixty-eight-year-old male, chest pains, difficulty breathing."

We move on autopilot, muscle memory taking over.

I'm behind the wheel before the bay doors fully open, Vail calling in our response as I navigate the morning traffic.

The familiar rush of adrenaline pushes everything else away.

This is what I'm good at.

This is where I matter.

"Two minutes out," I announce, taking the corner faster than strictly necessary.

The house is a modest ranch in an older neighborhood.

A woman stands in the doorway, waving frantically.

We grab our gear and rush inside.

The patient is on the living room floor, gray-faced and clutching his chest.

Classic presentation.

"Sir, I'm Everly, this is Vail. We're here to help." I kneel beside him, already reaching for my stethoscope. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Harold," he gasps. "Can't... breathe..."

"Okay, Harold. We're going to take care of you." I meet Vail's eyes. "Let's get him on oxygen and start a line."

We work in unison, years of partnership making words almost unnecessary.

Blood pressure's through the roof.

Pulse irregular.

EKG shows what I suspected—he's having a massive MI.

"Harold, you're having a heart attack," I tell him, keeping my voice calm even as I prepare the medications. "We're going to give you some medicine to help with the pain and get you to the hospital quickly."

His wife hovers nearby, wringing her hands. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We're doing everything we can," Vail assures her while I push the morphine. "You can ride with us to the hospital."

Loading him takes practiced coordination.

I'm securing the stretcher when that feeling hits—like ice water down my spine.

Someone's watching.

I scan the street, the gathered neighbors, the parked cars.

Nothing obvious, but the sensation persists.

That crawling certainty that eyes are tracking my every move.

"Everly?" Vail's voice cuts through. "You good?"

"Yeah." I force myself to focus. "Let's go."

I drive while Vail manages Harold's care in the back.

But I can't shake the feeling.

Check the mirrors more than necessary.

Take a different route than usual.

Paranoid , I tell myself. You're just being paranoid.

But after months of Dylan's surveillance, paranoia feels like self-preservation.

We get Harold to the ER, give our report to the receiving team.

He's stable enough for the cath lab, which means we probably saved his life.

Should feel good about that.

Instead, I'm still looking over my shoulder.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" Vail asks once we're back in the ambulance. "You've been jumpy all morning."

"Just felt like someone was watching at the scene," I admit. "Probably nothing."

Her expression hardens. "Dylan?"

"I don't know. Maybe." I start the engine, eager to get back to the station. "He's called from twelve different numbers this week. Left some... interesting voicemails."

"Have you told Regnor?"

"He knows." I don't mention that Regnor's been deleting them before I can hear most of them. That he's trying to shield me from Dylan's escalating threats. "He's handling it."

"Good." She settles back in her seat. "That's what ol’ men do—they handle shit."

The rest of our shift passes in a blur of calls: a kid with a broken arm from falling off his bike, an elderly woman with complications from diabetes, and a fender bender with minor injuries.

Normal calls that keep my mind busy, keep me from dwelling on the baby situation or Dylan's threats or the conversation I'll eventually have to have with my parents.

By the time we're back at the station for shift change, I'm exhausted in that bone-deep way that comes from being pregnant while working twelve-hour shifts.

"You coming to the clubhouse thing tonight?" Vail asks as we change in the locker room.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot."

"Fern's holiday party. We really need an early Christmas celebration since everyone's been so stressed with the lockdown." She pulls on jeans and a festive red sweater. "Good excuse to drink and pretend things are normal for a few hours."

Normal.

I barely remember what that feels like.

"Yeah, I'll be there." I dig through my bag for the dress I brought.

"Look at you, all domestic." She grins. "Who would've thought little Everly would be shacking up with a biker?"

Who would've thought little Everly would be pregnant with her abuser's baby while pretending it belongs to a man who's never even kissed her properly?

But I don't say that.

Instead, I pull out the evergreen dress Regnor bought me last week.

He'd shown up with it after I mentioned having nothing that fit anymore, my body already changing even though I'm barely showing.

Everything is just tighter.

"That's gorgeous," Vail says. "Very festive."

The dress is beautiful—soft fabric that drapes instead of clings, hiding the slight swell of my belly while making me feel pretty instead of pregnant.

I slip it on, add some mascara and lip gloss.

Trying to look like a woman who has her shit together instead of one living an elaborate lie.

Regnor's voice from the doorway makes me jump. "There's my girl."

He's leaning against the frame, leather cut over a dark henley, looking at me like I'm something precious.

The act is so convincing sometimes I almost believe it myself.

"Hey," I say, hyper aware of Vail watching us. "You're early."

"Couldn't wait." He pushes off the frame, crosses to me in three strides. His hand finds my waist, thumb brushing over the fabric. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks."

The word comes out breathless.

Because he's looking at me like he means it, like the dress and the pregnancy and the exhaustion don't matter.

Like I'm beautiful just for existing.

"You two are disgustingly cute," Vail announces. "I'm going to find my husband before I throw up."

She leaves us alone in the locker room.

Regnor's hand stays on my waist, steadying.

"How was your shift?"

"Fine. Busy." I lean into him without thinking, drawn to his presence. "Saved a guy's life."

"That's my girl," he murmurs, and something warm unfurls in my chest. "Ready for tonight?"

"I guess. Though being around all that food..." I touch my stomach unconsciously. "This kid has opinions about everything."

"Still nauseous?"

"All day, every day." I try for a light tone. "Doctor says it should ease up soon."

"We can skip tonight if you're not feeling up to it."

The offer is tempting.

Hide in my apartment, curl up on the couch, pretend the outside world doesn't exist.

But that's not how this works.

We're selling a story, and that means being seen together.

"No, I should go. Besides, Fern would kill me if I missed her party."

"Fair point." He grins, and it transforms his face. "Come on then. Let's go face the masses."

The drive to the clubhouse is comfortable.

Regnor tells me about his day, some issue with a shipment that needed sorting.

I half-listen, distracted by how natural this feels.

How easily we've slipped into these roles.

The clubhouse is already crowded when we arrive.

Twinkling lights string across the ceiling, a massive tree in the corner, the smell of cinnamon and pine competing with leather and beer.

It looks almost magical.

Like a Hallmark movie had a baby with Sons of Anarchy .