Page 50 of Size Queen
“Not that I know of,” I say slowly. “I never thought something like this would happen to me. I’ve never even entertained it.”
“You didn’t want kids down the road?” she wonders.
I shrug. “I wasn’t even sure I was going to get married. I try not to think too far ahead. I live in the present.”
“Well, I have to think in terms of the future,” says Noelle. “At least right now. I need to know what I’m going to do. It’s not just me by myself anymore.”
“Are you talking about… when you say you were thinking about ‘options’…”
“I thought about alternatives to having the baby, and none of them feel right to me,” she says. “I’m sorry. I wish I could make myself a person who could go through something like that—”
“You shouldn’t do something you aren’t totally comfortable doing,” I reply. “Don’t do anything rash unless it’s what you want. This decision isn’t mine to make.”
“I won’t be able to model in a couple of months once I gettoobig,” she laments. “No more shoots means no more income. No income… I can’t raise a baby like this.”
“Just know that whatever you choose to do, I’ll support you,” I promise. “If you decide youdon’twant to have it, I’ll be there with you. If you want to keep the baby, I’ll be there, too—if you want.”
“Really?”
“Definitely. If you don’t want me around… I guess I get it. But I don’t want to just ignore you now. I don’t like you any less with you pregnant. I still want you in my life. I want to be in that baby’s life.”
“Really?” she asks with obvious disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? I’m serious.”
“You’re saying that because you feel like you have to,” she guesses. “Youjustsaid you never even thought about having kids.”
“I’ve also said that I don’t run away from my responsibilities. I’m not just going to go about life while you’re carrying our child.”
“It wouldn’t make you any less of a man if you didn’t want to stick around,” says Noelle. “You’ve got your priorities. You probably don’t even have time for a kid.”
“That’s not true,” I retort. “I have things I always need to tend to, but who doesn’t? My priorities can include raising a child.”
“What about the club and all the dangers that come with it?” she asks. “Your enemies could go after you by trying to hurt the baby. Isn’t that possible?”
“Noelle, anything is possible,” I say. “Someone out in the world might want to hurt our child.”
“You know what I mean. You being in charge of the Rolling Heads scares me. I’m afraid to even go to your clubhouse again now that I’m pregnant. I don’t want anything to happen to the baby…”
“Noelle, I willneverlet anything hurt you or our baby,” I say with assurance. “No one’s going to mess withme, either.”
“So your rival gang didn’t try to burn you alive in their own clubhouse?”
I keep cool. “That’s different.”
“How the hell is that different? Your enemies weren’t just trying to fuck with you—they were trying tokillyou!”
I have no suitable response at that exact moment.
“Even ifyouweren’t doing anything to directly get us in trouble, you know whatisdifferent?” she continues. “Raising children around a dangerous criminal gang. How do you know you aren’t going to be arrested? What if you did something illegal and got caught and you’ve agreed to help me?”
“Me being in charge of the club is a major positive, milady,” I argue. “Assuming anyonewereafter you—which there isn’t or won’t be—you and our child would always be under the watchful eye of the Rolling Heads. You willalwaysbe protected.”
I can’t tell if that seems appealing to her or if she’s merely mulling it over. I use her contemplation to carry on.
“You’ll always be safe with me. You have my guarantee,” I continue. “I would want to keep things separate anyway. I don’t want family life colluding with work life, so you and this child will never even factor into an equation.”
I’m losing her. She’s subtly shaking her head while she sips her drink.
“None of my guys were involved in what happened at that clubhouse,” I say in desperation. “The Hell-Snakes burned the place down to try and frame us. The arson case is coming to a close—”
“It doesn’t matter who started it!” she cries. “You don’t get it.”
She stands, crumpling up her napkin, and looks to the door.
“I’m sorry,” says Noelle. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She leaves me, not even giving me time to stand and give her a farewell.
What now?