Addison and Ciara came over yesterday, bringing me some soup. I never thought it would be possible, but I’ve grown to really like the bikers and their ladies. There’s something so deep about them. They’re always there for each other, no matter what goes on. They have always got each other’s backs.

Plodding towards the shower, I flip my phone over and check it. There is a message from Reign and . . .

Oh my God.

Autumn.

With shaking fingers, I open it, feeling my eyes well with tears. I read the message four times before it sinks in.

A: I’m so sorry I haven’t been in contact. I’m coming home today, Tia. It’s over.

I make a loud, sobbing sound and press the phone to my chest, overwhelmed with emotion. My best friend is okay, she’s okay and she’s coming home. I didn’t realize how much it was worrying me until this moment. I slide down the wall, tucking my knees up to my chest, just giving myself a moment to process.

With trembling fingers, I reply.

T: After I punch you, I’m going to hold you so tight and never let you go again.

I swipe the back of my hand across my face to remove my tears, then I check Reign’s message.

R: Are you still sick?

At his words, my stomach turns. Whatever I ate in the past few days has upset my belly in a big way. I’ve spent two days throwing up. It has not been pleasant. I punch out a reply to Reign.

T: I’m not great.

He replies a moment later.

R: You need to see a doctor.

He’s probably right, but today I’m going to be waiting for my friend. Nothing can stop me from seeing her when she walks through that door.

T: I’ll see one tomorrow. Autumn is coming home today.

Reign doesn’t text back. Instead, he rings. I answer the phone right away, still desperately trying to keep the glass of water I drank only ten minutes ago in my belly.

“Hey,” I croak.

“You sound like crap, babe. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, something I ate has just made me sick.”

“I’ll come and see you after work. Tell me about Autumn.”

I push to my feet, groaning as my stomach turns. “I don’t know, she just texted me and said it’s all over, and she’s coming home.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound like shit, Tia.”

“Oh God, hang on.”

I drop the phone and lunge into the bathroom, making it just in time. I drop over the toilet bowl and throw up until my stomach coils tightly, begging me to stop. When I feel it’s safe to move back, I flop onto my bottom and reach out for a washcloth. I dampen it and pat it over my forehead.

Jesus.

I turn back towards my phone, cringing as I realize Reign probably heard all of that. I lift it to my ear and rasp out a, “Sorry.”

“I’m coming over. You need to see a doctor.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay, I just need to rest.”

“No, Tia, you need a doctor. This has been going on for days and you’re probably fuckin’ dehydrated. You won’t argue with me. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up before I have the chance to argue.

“Fine,” I mutter, curling up on the floor.

I decide to stay there until Reign comes to get me.

It seems easier.

~*~*~*~

“Hey.”

A hand is on my shoulder, shaking me. I flutter my eyelids open to see Reign kneeling down beside me, his expression one of concern.

“Oh,” I croak. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He slips his arm beneath my head and sits me up, wrapping an arm around me. “You’re pale, Tia. Let’s get you to the doctor.”

I nod, forcing myself to my feet with his help. He keeps his arm around me as he leads me down the hall and out to his car.

The entire drive over, I keep my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window. Reign gets a park as close to the door as he can, and then helps me inside.

“Tiani?”

I lift my head off Reign’s shoulder, where it’s been resting for the past half an hour while we wait.

“That’s me,” I whisper, getting to my feet.

“You going to be okay?” Reign asks.

I nod, walking towards the doctor. He ushers me down a long hall and into a small, sterile room. I sit down, feeling slightly better.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, sitting down and placing his hands on his knees.

“I’ve been ill the past three days. My boss out there was worried I might be dehydrated.”

“How have you been ill?” he asks.

“Throwing up, mostly. Really tired. Lethargic.”

He nods, turning to type a few things into his computer.

“And does the throwing up come and go, or is it constant?”

“It’s worse in the morning and the afternoon, but that’s probably because I’m sleeping through the middle of the day.”

He nods and makes a humming sound, before turning back to me. “And when was your last period?”

That’s a stupid question, and it throws me.

“Huh?”

“Your last period?”

I shake my head. “I have that injection that lasts three months, I forget the name. I don’t really get periods.”

“When was the last time you had that?”

I swallow. What is he getting at?

“I . . .” I stop and think, really think. “It was . . . about three months ago, maybe just a touch over.”