Page 2 of The MC’s Surprise (Bikers and Babies #4)

Sierra

H ave you ever failed so spectacularly that you felt like you deserved a medal? Like the failure was so epic, you were just waiting for someone to show up with a trophy and a pat on the head because no one could’ve failed as badly as you just did?

If there was a failure Olympics, I’d be a gold medalist by now.

That was the story of my life. Always chasing some stupid dream that blows up in my face a few weeks later.

The list of grand plans I’d failed at was embarrassingly long.

Sixteen-year-old me who thought I’d make it big as an influencer.

That t-shirt printing business that never got off the ground, the Etsy store of knitted stuffed animals that only sold to members of my family.

The list went on. Thousands of dollars of mine and my parent’s money went down the drain from one failed project to the next.

I thought I had it this time, though. I was almost certain.

Everything was going perfectly. My business was off the ground, I was making a name for myself, and I thought I’d done something worth being proud of.

But of course, things don’t happen like that for me.

One stupid mistake, one rash decision, and my business was destroyed so brutally, there was no saving it. A fire would’ve been kinder.

I put everything I had into that business.

So when it went under, I was forced to go back home with my tail between my legs.

What’s more embarrassing than a twenty-eight-year-old moving back in with their parents?

A pregnant twenty-eight-year-old who could never seem to get her life together, no matter how hard she tried.

Because it wasn’t enough for my business to fall apart.

I had to find out too late that my summer fling ended in a pregnancy I was in no way ready for.

When my dad came to pick me up, he gave me that smile.

You know, that smile. The one that was filled with pity and resignation, like he knew this was going to happen and was too kind to say it.

I hated that smile. He’d given it to me too many times to count, and it killed me every time.

My parents weren’t ashamed of me, they were always supportive when I went for something new, but their support always came with a hint of caution and disbelief, like they weren’t sure I could do it.

And every time I proved them right, it hurt worse than the last time.

Knowing this time I was going to have to tell them I was pregnant on top of it all stung like no one’s business.

The drive home was quiet. After piling what little belongings I had into the bed of my dad’s truck, I was too depressed to make small talk.

I kept my belly hidden with a baggy sweatshirt and stared out the window the whole drive.

My dad wasn’t a chatty guy, so I knew he wouldn’t push.

It was my mom I had to worry about. She was a hoverer, and she’d swoop in and smother me the minute I was home.

I spent the entire ten-hour drive in silence while I geared myself up to deal with her.

My parents lived in a town in the middle of the desert.

If you could even call it a town. It had the basics, like a school, a hospital, and even a motel, but it wasn’t a busy place.

The closest real city was several hours away.

It always felt stifling to me as a kid. The first time I went to an actual city, I got a crick in my neck from all the gaping I was doing at the tall buildings around me.

It took a while to get used to the sights and sounds of it all.

My dad pulled up in front of the house I grew up in and I couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh.

Nothing had changed since the last time I was home.

A single story bungalow, two bedroom, one bath, with a detached garage and a whole lot of nothing else.

It was well maintained, no lawn, but the few desert flowers under the front window were watered and taken care of and you wouldn’t find any peeling paint anywhere.

Dad helped me move my things into my childhood bedroom, which still boasted its obnoxious pink walls, stars on the ceiling, and even a few butterfly stickers on the white bookshelf in the corner that I never bothered to remove.

The twin bed was depressing to look at and I had to fight off a grimace as my dad put my boxes down and went to grab more.

I saw my mom in the kitchen and I hurried to help my dad unload the rest just to drag out the inquisition a little longer. It was hard enough making the phone call asking to come home. I wasn’t ready to admit the rest of it.

After the last of my things were safely stored in my room, my dad dusted off his hands and turned to face me.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll just, uh…”

“Come on, peanut. Can’t avoid ‘er forever.”

My shoulders slumped. He might be quiet, but he was pretty damn perceptive.

He knew I was avoiding my mom. He put a comforting hand on my shoulder, leading me down the little hallway and into the kitchen where my mom was prepping dinner.

After ten hours in the car with only a quick stop for fast food for lunch, I was starving.

“Done hiding yet?” she quipped without turning around.

“Mama…”

When she turned, her smile was affectionate. She ushered me into a hug and I hesitated before giving in. I sank into it for a second, soaking in her comforting embrace.

“I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you too, Mama. Can I help with dinner?”

She paused, hugging me a little tighter, before stepping back and holding me at arms length, her gaze locked on my belly.

“Sierra…”

“In my defence, I didn't know until recently,” I blurted.

Her eyes went wide as saucers and she whipped her head up to look me in the eye. “Are you pregnant?”

“Yeah,” I said with a wince. “Turns out there was a reason for all that heartburn I had been complaining about.”

I waited for her outburst, but she stayed silent, her eyes darting over me as she took it all in.

I got it, I was stunned too, at first. I had no idea I was pregnant until I went to the doctor a few weeks ago for the heartburn.

I thought the weight gain was because of stress, since my business was crumbling in front of my eyes and I was comfort eating at all hours.

And I couldn’t rely on my period being on time on a good day.

It was always spotty and erratic. I was so stressed, I didn't even think about it.

I kept waiting for her to say something, to start asking questions, and the longer we stood in silence, the more tense I became. Eventually, I couldn’t take it.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure you’ve got something to say.”

She blinked a few times, shaking her head.

“I don’t know what to say.” She released me, turning to shut off the burner on the stove, probably to give herself another minute. Another minute I couldn’t give her because despite knowing for a few weeks, I was still freaking out about it.

“I know I screwed up. Again. Just say it. I can’t do anything right. I’m your failure of a daughter, and you were just waiting for this to happen.”

Her head whipped around, and she frowned deeply. “I didn’t say that. Don’t you go putting words in my mouth. I–”

“I’m not hungry. I think I’m just gonna go to bed,” I interrupted.

I was being a huge bitch, and I felt awful about it, but tears were burning in the backs of my eyes and I just couldn’t face her right now.

Most families had several kids, so if one was a screw up, at least their siblings could pick up the slack.

In my family, it was just me. And no matter how hard I tried to make them proud, I couldn’t seem to pull it off.

Maybe I was born to be a failure. I still think I could get awards for that.

The guilt ate at me, and I was kicking myself when someone knocked at my door.

I knew that knock. When my mom didn't know what to do with me, she sent my dad.

I always got along better with him. He edged inside, putting a plate of food on my nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed next to me.

“Brought you some supper.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I kept my face averted as I choked out a quiet thanks. He didn’t move away from me, but he didn’t force me to talk. He had the patience of a saint.

Once I got myself together enough to face him, I rolled over, frowning at the ceiling. “I was a jerk.”

He dipped his chin once, his expression soft. “Yup.”

“I should apologize.”

“Probably.”

“Is she mad?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “What do you think, peanut?”

I grimaced. She was mad. Of course she was.

I deserved whatever lecture I had coming.

They didn’t have to take me in. I was a grown woman.

They could finally wash their hands of me and let me face the consequences of my decisions.

They never did. They always supported me.

Not many people could say they had such loving parents.

They deserved better than my poor attitude.

Sitting up, I scrubbed my hands over my face. Dad pointed to my plate.

“You gonna eat in here or you joinin’ us? You can’t skip meals anymore. Not when you’re growin’ a person.”

It still felt weird to hear it. I wasn’t sure I fully accepted it yet. With everything else going on, it was easy to push it out of my mind. I couldn’t do that anymore. Not only was I running out of time, my parents wouldn’t let me stick my head in the sand forever.

“I’ll join you. Just let me use the restroom first.”

He picked up my plate without another word and went to join my mom in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on my face and glared at myself in the mirror.

“You’re better than this. Suck it up.”

The positive affirmations usually bolstered me, but I was so worn out, I didn’t feel it this time. I couldn’t stay in here forever, though, so I patted my cheeks a little roughly and blew out a breath. Time to face the music.

When I joined my parents in the kitchen, their plates were untouched.

Apparently, they were waiting for me. The guilt compounded, and I winced as I slid into my seat across from my mom.

We weren’t the church going types, so it wasn’t like they were waiting to pray.

They both picked up their forks once I was sitting down and started eating quietly.

I’d forgotten how deafening the quiet was.

I was a talker, and I used to talk constantly to fill the silence left by my parents. That hadn’t changed much.

“I… wanted to say I’m sorry. I was embarrassed, and I lashed out and that wasn’t fair of me.”

Mama pursed her lips, the look on her face speaking volumes. She didn't say what she was thinking, though. Instead, she nodded and took another bite of her food before saying, “Apology accepted.”

It seemed like that was all she was going to say. Normally, I’d be overjoyed that she was letting it all go, but it felt all wrong to pretend right now. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I had to. I needed to get it out.

“I didn’t keep it from you,” I began, pushing my food around my plate. “I’ve only known for a few weeks. I thought I was just putting on weight from all the stress. And after I found out… I don’t know. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I still can’t. What am I going to do?”

Tears spilled over my cheeks and I couldn’t make myself look them in the eye. Of all my failures, this one was the most painful. Because it wasn’t just me affected this time.

Mom’s chair screeched as she stood. I braced myself for her to walk away.

She did that sometimes when she was too upset to speak to me.

She liked to get her head on straight before she said anything she’d regret.

I usually appreciated it, but right now it felt like a knife to the heart.

I curled in on myself, biting my lip to stem the tears.

Familiar perfume wrapped around me as she pulled me into her arms. I’d fought so hard to not let this break me, but now that I was safe in her embrace, I finally let the tears fall freely.

She stroked my hair and hummed like she did when I was a kid, letting me get it out without rushing me.

Dad’s hand took mine, and he patted it gently to remind me he was there.

When I finally pulled myself together enough to breathe without hiccuping, I looked up at her, my voice barely a whisper. “What am I going to do?”

She smiled softly, patience and understanding written all over her face. “You’re going to have a baby, sweetheart. And we’ll be here every step of the way.”