In an instant, the cops were on us and Marsh forgot all about me. I watched as he pulled out an ugly knife, then launched himself at one of them. Ah, fuck. Suddenly Gage was next to me, catching me by the arms to drag me back. A body flew by, knocking him over. I saw a flash of bright red blood spray through the air. Catching a chair, I started to pull myself up when someone hit me over the back of the head.

I pitched forward, and in the instant before I hit the ground I thought about Melanie. About our baby.

About the fact that I was almost certainly going back to prison.

I’d fucked up. Bad.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

TWO WEEKS LATER

Dear Painter,

I got your letter asking me to come and see you before they send you back to California. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I even drove down to the jail once. I sat in the car for half an hour and then I turned around, because I’m just not ready to talk to you.

I don’t know when I’ll be ready.

I understand that you panicked—when I found out about the baby, I panicked, too. I cried on the bathroom floor because I was so scared. It’s a terrifying thing, to suddenly discover that you’re going to be a parent. But here’s the thing . . . you didn’t only panic. You took off and did something that you knew could land you back in prison. That was a choice you made and there are serious consequences. Now I’m having a baby by myself and you’re going to be gone for two years. Do you realize that we’ve only spent a few weeks together, total, in the entire time I’ve known you?

You asked if I would consider waiting for you. No. I have one person in my life right now who really matters, and that’s the one growing in my stomach. Four weeks spent together full of unanswered questions and secret trips away from me isn’t enough to build a life on. It isn’t fair to me or our baby to sit around waiting for a man who ran away from us. And yes, you say you regret it¸ but you also did something guaranteed to separate us. You don’t even have to choose to ignore your child. You’re gone by default.

And I think that’s what you really wanted anyway . . . to have this problem go away.

Now it’s gone.

I don’t hate you. For what it’s worth, I’m sad. I’d say you broke my heart but that’s not true—I can’t afford a broken heart. I’m a mother now, or I will be soon. If I’m going to take care of this baby, I can’t afford to put any more time and energy into a man who will always put his motorcycle club first.

I deserve someone who puts me first. So does our child.

Melanie

TWO MONTHS LATER

Dear Melanie,

I hope you’re doing well. I was disappointed that you didn’t come see me while I was waiting in the Kootenai County jail for my parole hearing, but I also understand. I appreciate the letter you sent, and I agree with you. You have every right to stay away from me and I don’t blame you for being pissed.

I’m pissed at myself, too.

Now I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I did. You may not be interested in hearing this, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all kinds of things. I should’ve been supportive when you told me about the baby. There’s no excuse, but I did want to explain. I had a shit time growing up and kids scare me. But the more I think about a baby with your eyes, the more I want it. I hope that you’ll give me a chance to be a father when I get back out of here.

I’m also sorry that I got myself thrown back in prison when you needed me the most. I’m sorry I won’t be there when the baby is born, and that when you’re tired and you need help I won’t be around.

I’ll never forgive myself for that.

Puck tells me that Jessica and Loni are helping you out a lot and that you’re doing good. He’s selling my bike and will get you the money as soon as he can. I hope you’ll consider using some of it to come and see me when the baby is born—maybe bring him to meet me. (Or her, if it’s a girl. I guess I assumed it was a boy, but I don’t care either way. I just want to meet him.) If not that, I hope you’ll send me pictures.

Maybe my life would be different if I’d had a dad. Maybe I wouldn’t be such a fuck-up. I promise you that if you give me a shot, once I get out I’ll be a real father for our child.

I still love you,

Painter

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Painter,

So, I bet you never expected to hear from me, huh? Hunter was pissed when I told him I wanted to write to you, but then he and I talked about it some more, and when I explained why he understood.

It’s because we know what it feels like to lose a child.

I know your situation is different, because your baby is alive and well, but it probably feels like you’ve lost her. Maybe hearing more about her from me will help. (Hopefully you already know all this anyway, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking Melanie about it under the circumstances.)

Anyway, baby Isabella is beautiful. I’m sticking in some pictures from the hospital. Kit and I are both very excited—we asked Melanie if we can be her aunties and she said yes. When we heard she was in labor we wanted to be there, although we weren’t in the room. We waited out in the hallway, which made for some very interesting people watching. Lots of excited grandparents, that kind of thing. Jessica and London were inside with her. I drove over and kept speeding because I was afraid I’d miss something, but it turned out I had plenty of time.

I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but things got scary for a while. Izzy (that’s what we’re calling her) wasn’t progressing right and then she went into distress. They had to do an emergency C-section and the baby ended up getting miconium (that’s poop—I probably spelled it wrong) in her lungs. She ended up in the NICU for more than two weeks and got pneumonia. Even now we have to keep a close eye on her and we’ve all been taking shifts watching over her.