Page 36 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)

Rachel

The hum of the new fridge was louder than it should’ve been in the silence of my mother’s house.

It wasn’t my fridge. Not yet. Nothing in this place felt like mine, even though Mama had insisted I take the guest room and make it my own. Right outside Nashville. Safe. Quiet. Far enough from Royal Road for the memory of him to not claw through the walls.

I stared at the nameplate on my desk, Rachel Carter, Intake Coordinator, and barely recognized it. But working from home had its perks.

New job. New phone. New car. Hell, new life.

And yet? Same heart. Same ache. Same baby growing inside me like a secret I had no one to share with anymore.

“Isn’t it darling?” Mama cooed, flipping on the light in the room across from mine.

The nursery.

She’d painted the walls herself in pale yellow and hung white curtains with bunnies stitched into the hem. There was a changing table already set up, and some kind of bassinet I knew she’d bought the second I’d agreed to come stay.

“It’s perfect, Mama,” I said softly, not trusting my voice.

She beamed, pressing a hand to my belly. “My first grandbaby. You’ve always made me proud, honey, but this, this is somethin’ else. I’m gonna spoil that little one rotten.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. Couldn’t. Not with the weight behind them.

She didn’t ask about the father. Not anymore. She’d seen the look in my eyes the first time she brought it up and knew better than to dig. Southern women knew pain by scent. And mine had been all over me like perfume. And mama knew pain. Daddy was never in the picture for a reason.

That night, I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I caught my reflection.

Too pale. Too tired. Too hollowed out to be the girl I used to be. The fire I once had? That spark Villain claimed to love? Burnt down to ashes now.

I leaned over the sink, pressing trembling hands to the edge of the counter.

“You’re gonna be fine,” I whispered to the mirror.

Liar.

Later, wrapped in an old quilt on the twin bed, I scrolled through my phone out of habit.

No texts. No missed calls. I'd changed my number, but some part of me had hoped, just maybe, he’d try.

That Villain would hunt me down like he used to when someone pissed him off.

Kick in a door. Show up furious and loud and real.

After all, the club had the resources. He could find me if he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

Because I wasn’t his. Wasn’t his priority. Not even his problem anymore.

Just his consequence.

I tried to sleep, but the memories wouldn’t leave me alone.

The way his eyes went cold like I’d put a knife in his ribs when I told him. How he made me feel like a burden instead of a blessing.

And then, the way he used to kiss me, like he needed me to breathe. Like he wanted me only. Only to leave my bed for hers. Again and again.

I bit my lip, curling into myself, fighting the tears that always came at night.

I wanted to hate him. God, I needed to. But my heart didn’t work that way.

I loved him.

Still.

Even now.

And that was the worst part.

A soft knock came at my door the next morning. Mama peeked in holding a tray.

“Made you tea, baby. And some toast. Thought you might not be feelin’ too hot.”

She was right. Morning sickness was a daily hell. But I managed to smile and scoot up in bed.

“Thanks, Mama.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hand over my hair like I was five again and scared of the thunder.

“You know,” she said gently. “You don’t have to pretend you’re not hurting. You ain’t got to be strong all the time.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I looked away.

“Don’t mean to pry, sugar,” she added. “But if that boy ever comes looking, you tell me. I got a rolling pin and a will.”

That made me laugh. Actually laugh. A broken, watery sound that caught in my chest.

She leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I’m proud of you. For gettin’ out. For protectin’ that baby. For startin’ over.”

“I don’t feel proud,” I admitted. “I feel… empty.”

“You won’t forever.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ve got me. And soon, you’ll have that little one. And you’ll fill up with joy again, one day at a time.”

After she left the room, I looked down at my barely there bump and let the tears come.

No matter how strong I pretended to be, I missed him.

But this baby would never feel that kind of abandonment.

I’d make damn sure of it.