Carey

 

“About damn time you showed up.”

 

The voice of Amber Reese, the artist for whom Carey had been interning, was cutting. Not looking up from the massive scrap sculpture in front of her, Amber pointed with a slim, magenta-nail-tipped finger towards one of the many long, wooden tables that filled the interior of the studio space.

 

Carey, her arms loaded with art supplies, food, and other items off of the checklist Amber had given her earlier in the day, plopped the supplies down on the table and took a long breath.

 

“Sighing already?” asked Amber, her hands on her slim hips as she regarded the work in front of her. “Doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day.”

 

“I’m not sighing,” said Carey. “Just, um, exhausted from running up the stairs with all of the things.”

 

Amber, a reedy, middle-aged woman dressed in stylish yet practical clothing, had already turned her attention to one of the other nearby interns, directing her to do one thing or another while Carey shook her head and went over the supplies one more time to make sure that everything was there.

 

Once the checklist was complete, Carey leaned back against the table and looked around the studio. The industrial-looking space was a small yet bustling hive of activity, all centered on Amber, the queen bee. She’d been a hard taskmaster over the last six weeks or so, treating Carey like her own personal servant girl. Taking her coffee out of the Styrofoam tray and popping open the plastic top, she wondered just how many half-calf extra foam lattes, exactly, she’d been sent to fetch since her time at the studio started.

 

Too many, she thought to herself, taking a sip of the coffee and catching her breath.

 

But she knew the experience would eventually be a good one for her. Sure, she hated the way that Amber would get her attention by—

 

A sharp snapping sound cut through the air, jolting Carey out of her reverie. Amber was snapping her fingers while not even looking in her direction, but Carey had learned quite a bit about just how a studio worked. Amber could be a tyrant, but she knew what it took to have her interns work efficiently as they collaborated to have Amber’s many commissions finished and shipped by their deadlines.

 

“Mouse, hand me that pair of needle-nose pliers, would you?” said Amber, holding out her hand towards Carey.

 

“Mouse” had been Amber’s nickname for Carey during her time there, taken from Carey’s bookish, unassuming dress and demeanor. Carey wasn’t crazy about having a nickname like that, but she did her best not to take it personally. After all, the other three girls all had nicknames as well, based on some quirk of their appearance or personality. Amber’s excuse was that she didn’t have time to memorize the names of every intern who came through her doors for a few weeks, and any attempt to imprint them into her mind was precious space that could otherwise be used on her projects.

 

At least, that’s what she told the girls.

 

Carey snatched the needle-nose pliers and placed them into Amber’s bony hand, backing away as she did as though she was defusing a bomb.

 

“Hmm,” said Amber, stepping away from the piece and running a hand through her green-tipped blonde hair. “What do you think, Mouse?”

 

Carey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d heard her share of requests and demands over the last few weeks, but never once had one of them been for advice. She could hardly think straight through the shock.

 

“I, um, think that—”

 

Amber rolled her hand through the air in an “on with it” motion.

 

“You’re going to need to learn how to project that squeaky little voice of yours, young lady,” said Amber, turning her emerald green eyes onto Carey and narrowing them. “See how far whispering like that gets you when you’re trying to issue orders to staff backstage in the last five minutes before a show opening.”

 

Carey cleared her throat. “I think that it’s a little heavy on the base,” she said, gesturing to the accumulation of gears and metal pipes at the bottom of the piece. “Maybe moving some of them up to the, um, middle would give the piece a little more in the way of balance. “

 

Amber placed her small, pert chin in the crook of her finger, considering the idea. “Hm. Maybe.”

 

She then turned her attention back to one of the other interns and barked out one order or another.

 

Carey felt light on her feet. Despite not being certain of just how her suggestion had been received, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrilled at even being asked. Turning her eyes back to the piece, however, she really had no idea what to make of it. It appeared to her as less a piece of art and more an assemblage of random items from a junkyard. She had no idea what Amber was intending with the sculpture, let alone why rich Bostonians were so keen on paying tens of thousands of dollars for them, and all she could do was give her opinion from her own aesthetic sense.

 

Maybe that’s what she wants, thought Carey, taking another sip of her coffee. I mean, I’m the only one here who actually knows how to paint.

 

A vibration from her pocket brought her back into reality. Amber hated phones in the workspace—she was convinced that screens interfered with the creative process—so Carey set down her coffee and ducked into the bathroom to see just who was texting her. She had a hope of who it was, however. Shutting the bathroom door behind her, she slipped her phone out of her pocket.

 

Hey, Kid. How’s Mistress Scrap Metal?

 

It was Owen, and Carey couldn’t help but smile as she looked at the text.

 

This was the development over the last few weeks that she was most happy about. Ever since their night at the party, Owen and Carey had been just about inseparable. Whatever night wasn’t taken up by Carey’s work at the studio or the restaurant, or Owen’s duties with his motorcycle club, was spent together. Carey couldn’t believe that she was dating a man like him, or what a rough guy like him would even see in a shy artist like her, but she wasn’t about to second-guess her good fortune.

 

The usual. Though she actually asked me for my opinion on something.

 

Moments later came the reply.

 

You serious? Praise from Caesar.

 

She quickly typed up her next message.

 

I know; I still can’t believe it. Anyway, I can only pretend I’m going to the bathroom for so long. Meet up tonight?

 

You know it.

 

Carey smiled as she placed her phone back into her pocket. Checking her watch, she saw that she was just about done with her time at the studio. After that, she had to hurry to be on time to her shift at the French Café, the upscale little bistro where she and Lily had been working over the summer. Then, after that, it was all about her and Owen. She found herself counting down the time until they could see each other once again, like a little kid counting down the time until her birthday. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited about anything.

 

She finished up her time at the studio and hurried back to the place she shared with Lily to quickly change into the white blouse and black skirt that she wore for her other job. But as she finished with the last couple of buttons on her shirt, a strange feeling gripped her. It was a sharp, intense nausea that felt like a sickly hand wrapping around her stomach. Her eyes going wide as she looked at herself in the mirror, Carey rushed to the bathroom, fell in front of the toilet, and vomited just a bit. She felt instantly better once she’d gotten whatever it was out of her system.

 

What the hell was that? she thought, quickly brushing her teeth and otherwise making herself presentable once again.

 

Shaking her head as she hurried back into her bedroom, she chalked it up to nerves while she finished making herself ready. But the explanation didn’t sit well with her; she felt as though something was very wrong.

 

After catching the bus, Carey soon arrived at the French Café, which was a chic, sunny bistro in the nice part of town. The place was only a few minutes from opening, and the small dining room floor was, like the art studio, a bustle of activity as well-dressed and attractive waiters and waitresses hurried to put the place in order for the dinner shift.

 

“There you are,” said Lily, standing in front of a mirror in the dining room and tying her bowtie. “I was worried you were gonna be late or something.”

 

“And miss all of this?” asked Carey, gesturing to the dining room floor around her. “Not for the world.”

 

“You complain, but you love it,” said Lily, putting the finishing touches on her uniform. “After all, you get to spend just about every night with me, the most fun person in the world.”

 

Lily flashed her a smile. Then, her face crinkled up into a perplexed expression.

 

“Something’s wrong,” she said. “I can tell; you’re fucking awful at hiding what’s going on in that big brain of yours, lady.”

 

A chill ran up Carey’s spine as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Lily was right, however—she was still thinking about that strange bout of nausea.

 

“It’s not Owen, is it?” asked Lily. “I swear, if he cheats on you with one of those stupid skanks who’re always trying to get at his dick, I’ll—”

 

“No, it’s not that,” said Carey. “It’s … I don’t know. I just got a little sick before I came into work today. It was weird.”

 

Lily put her hands on her waist and cocked her hips, looking at Carey in the same manner that Amber looked over one of her pieces as she tried to suss out just what was amiss.

 

“You know what I bet it is?” said Lily. “I bet it’s because you’ve been working your ass off these last few weeks. You’re working at the studio during the day and then coming here and night—that’s like a ten-to-twelve-hour day every day; maybe you’re getting sick as, like, your body’s way of trying to get you to slow down.”

 

The answer made sense but didn’t sit right with Carey. She felt like there was something else, something more serious than that.

 

“Maybe,” said Carey, considering the matter. “I don’t know.”

 

“Let’s move it, girls,” said Veronica, the lead server on the shift that night as she passed them by. “Time to lean, time to clean.”

 

“Ugh,” said Lily. “I hate it when they say that. Come on.”

 

The two girls busied themselves with prettying up the place settings in their sections as they continued to chat.

 

“And speaking of Owen …” said Lily, a playful smile forming on her lips.

 

“What?” asked Carey.

 

“Come on, don’t be coy,” said Lily. “You’ve been, like, attached at the hip with him for the last month. More than that. I mean, I wasn’t sure about you guys at first, but it seems like he really likes you.”

 

Her expression then quickly turned serious.

 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t carve him up with one of these steak knives if he fucks around on you. Believe that.”

 

“He hasn’t even looked at another girl since I’ve been with him,” said Carey, a dreamy expression on her face. “And it’s not like he doesn’t have girls constantly trying to get with him. It’s kind of gross how obvious they are with their flirting. They’ll come up to him and show off their cleavage or whatever, asking him for help on picking out a motorcycle or something. It’s so lame.”

 

“And what does he do?” asked Lily.

 

“He either ignores what they’re doing until they get the hint, or if they’re really persistent, he just treats them like some pushy salesman trying to get him to buy something that he really obviously doesn’t want. And they always leave in a huff, like they’re little kids who didn’t get the toy they wanted.”

 

Carey couldn’t help but let a little smile form on her face as she considered this scenario that she’d seen play out many, many times over the last month.

 

“And how does it feel to be ‘Owen’s girl’?” asked Lily.

 

“What?” responded Carey, a little surprised.

 

“That’s what they call you when you’re not around—according to Liam, at least. I mean they know your name, but calling you that … it means that this is more than just a fling. Bikers like him don’t throw that term around lightly, you know.”

 

Carey was a little shocked.

 

“It’s all happening so fast,” she said. “I mean, I love it, don’t get me wrong. I just can’t believe that I’m dating a guy like him … and that I’ve, you know, fallen for him so hard.”

 

“Maybe he’s thinking the same thing,” said Lily. “I bet guys like him don’t imagine getting involved with beautiful, rich artists. And speaking of rich, how’re your parents taking you being gone for the summer?”

 

“They’re treating it like I’m at sleepaway camp or something, like it’s just a little thing I’m doing for fun until I come back home and …”

 

Lily’s eyes snapped wide open.

 

“No,” she said. “They’re not still trying to get you with Brady, are they?”

 

Over the last few weeks, Carey’s parents hadn’t let up one bit with their plans of hooking her up with Brady. Her mother was especially pushy with the matter, letting her know constantly about all of the news in Brady’s life, like the fancy new condo that he’d just bought and how much he was making as the manager of his bank’s new branch. Carey was beyond tired of hearing about it, but she knew that there was nothing really she could do. She knew that once her parents were fixated on something that they were convinced would be best for her future, there was no way to talk them out of it.

 

It was an issue that she knew she’d have to address at some point. Just not now.

 

“They are, and it’s getting totally ridiculous at this point.”

 

“And I’m assuming that you haven’t told them about Owen.”

 

“Are you kidding? Tel them that I’m dating the president of a motorcycle club in Holyoke? I might as well tell them I’m dropping out of college to be a professional cam girl.”

 

Lily snort-laughed. “You’ll figure it out, girl. You always do.”

 

With that, the shift started. The next few hours flew by as the dinner rushed arrived and Carey and the rest of the staff fell into the organized chaos that was a busy night at a popular restaurant.

 

But at around nine, just as the rush was dying down, Carey was gripped with another bout of that same nausea that had affected her earlier that day. She rushed downstairs to the staff bathroom and, just as before, vomited briefly, feeling better right afterward.

 

“It happened again,” said Carey, back on the dining room floor.

 

“That’s not good,” said Lily. “I don’t want to worry you or anything, but you might want to think about seeing a doctor or something.”

 

“Ugh, being sick is the last thing I want to deal with right now.”

 

“We’ve got a family friend who’s a doctor; I bet I can get you in for a quick appointment if you want.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Carey. “It’s probably nothing.”

 

“Then make sure it is instead of just assuming it,” said Lily. “Better to do that then get sick and have to spend a week of your summer in bed or something. That’d take away valuable Owen time.”

 

She flashed Carey a smirk, and the two went back to the job.

 

Once the shift was over, Carey heard the telltale sound of a motorcycle engine revving in the distance.

 

“I think I know what that means,” said Lily.

 

“Oh, God,” Carey said. “I can’t believe he’s picking me up at work and that he’s going to see me in my serving uniform.”

 

“I doubt he’ll care,” said Lily. “Now go get your man!”

 

“Bye!” said Carey over her shoulder as she hurried out.

 

As she left, Carey spotted the other girls on the staff gathered at the front windows of the restaurant, talking eagerly amongst themselves as they tried to figure out just who this guy on the motorcycle was.

 

“Holy shit, he’s so fucking hot,” said one.

 

“Look at those tattoos,” said another. “They’re so badass.”

 

“What’s he even doing here?” said a third.

 

The eyes of the girls latched onto Carey as he hurried past them.

 

“Wait,” said one, “is that ‘the’ Owen?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Carey, a sly smile on her face as she stepped out of the door. “See ya!”

 

Carey eagerly bounded towards Owen, feeling the envious stares of the girls inside. Owen looked just as gorgeous as ever, his muscular frame seated on his motorcycle, the bike growling as it idled. As she approached, his sapphire-blue eyes locked onto her and a sexy grin pulled at one side of his mouth.

 

“There’s the girl I’ve been waiting all day to see,” he said, his voice its usual low, sensual purr.

 

“You mean ‘Owen’s girl’?” she asked, not able to help herself as she straddled the bike and grabbed onto Owen’s hard sides.

 

“That’s what they call you,” he said.

 

Then, he gunned the engine and they were off. Carey spent the ride enjoying the feeling and scent of his body, the vibrations making her want to tell him to pull the thing over so they could hop off into the bushes for a quick little bit of fun.

 

The idea was crazy to her at first, but the longer they drove, the hornier Carey got. By the time they were about halfway to the MC headquarters, Carey was in desperate need of some release. She leaned forward just a bit, placing her lips on the bit of skin just behind Owen’s right ear and kissing it gently. He flicked a glance over his shoulder, a sly smile on his face.

 

He turned his attention back to the road, but Carey wasn’t about to give up that easily. She kissed him again, this time nibbling his ear as she did. She felt tingles break out across his skin and took it as her sign that she was on the right track. Owen reached back and grabbed onto her leg, squeezing the flesh hard.

 

Then, she leaned in just a little bit more and whispered softly into his ear. “Pull over.”

 

Owen didn’t need to hear another word. He checked the lanes to his right and pulled the bike over. Soon, he slowed down and brought the motorcycle to a stop, killing the engine and turning off the lights. Carey took a quick look around her and saw that they were on a fairly isolated stretch of road. Still, she knew that that didn’t mean that they couldn’t get caught. But that only added to the thrill.

 

Owen glanced around him, his eyes locking onto the nearby trees. Grabbing Carey by the hand, he led her to a somewhat isolated spot.

 

“Someone’s feeling adventurous today,” he said, placing his hands on her hips.

 

“What can I say? You bring it out in me.”

 

She leaned up and kissed him hard, the two of them making out for a brief moment before Carey was ready to get down to business. Owen placed his hands back on her hips, turned her around, and guided her towards a nearby tree. Carey quickly grabbed the hem of her skirt and yanked it up, exposing her thong underwear. Owen slapped his hands down hard on her exposed ass, breathing in heavily through his nostrils. Carey placed her hands on the rough bark of the tree in front of her, stuck her ass out, and closed her eyes in anticipation.

 

She heard the sound of Owen’s pants unzipping, followed by the sensation of his hard cock against her ass. Then, he slipped her panties down just enough to expose her pussy, placed his cock against her sex, and slowly drove it into her.

 

“Oh my fucking Goood,” she said as he entered her.

 

They’d been fucking like rabbits over the last few weeks and still Carey hadn’t yet gotten used to just how big he was. It was always a surprise when he entered her, that initial feeling of being completely filled enough to make her knees buckle under her. Once he was fully sheathed inside of her, he began pounding her hard. Carey held onto the bark of the tree, doing the best she could not to collapse into a quivering mess of pleasure.

 

The sharp crack of Owen’s hand against her ass rang out in the still of the woods, Carey taking in a sharp gasp of air with each impact of his hand against her flesh. The motorcycle had already done all of the foreplay she needed, and she knew that an orgasm wouldn’t take too long to rip her apart in the most sublime manner possible.

 

A pair of lights appeared in the distance, however, and the surprise was enough to give Carey pause. They were hidden a little off the main road, so it wasn’t as though their little session was in full view, but they still weren’t completely hidden.

 

She knew she should’ve felt modest, that they should’ve stopped what they were doing and hidden from prying eyes, but something naughty overcame Carey. At that moment, she didn’t care who saw her. All that she was concerned with was the massive prick moving in and out of her, bringing her closer to orgasm by the moment.

 

Soon, the orgasm she’d been waiting for arrived, and it took all of the strength she had to hold herself upright as Owen drilled into her, pushing her over the edge of total bliss. She moaned and screamed as she came and by the time Owen unloaded himself into her, she struggled for breath, her vision blurry.

 

Once they were done, Carey couldn’t help but let out a light laugh.

 

“You doing okay over there, kid?” he asked, zipping himself back up.

 

“Yeah,” said Carey. “That was just … really intense.”

 

“Same here,” he said in between breaths. “Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy.”

 

Carey blushed. Owen always took the opportunity to tell her just how gorgeous he found her, and she never stopped getting tired of hearing it.

 

“But as fun as that was, we should get a move on.”

 

“Let’s do it,” said Carey.

 

They were soon back on the bike and on their way. After a time they arrived at the dive bar that served as the Fiends’ headquarters. Rowdy rock music could be heard from outside, and rows of gleaming bikes were parked out front. Once they parked, the two headed in through the front doors, a wild cheer breaking out from the crowd inside once they saw it was Owen and his girl.

 

“There’s the man!” said Liam, bounding up to the two of them. “And his oh-so-lovely lady.”

 

Carey blushed and waved her hand. As much as she loved being Owen’s girl, she still wasn’t used to all of the attention, both positive and negative, that it brought. She’d gotten used to being such a wallflower over the years so much that having a crew who all knew her was odd.

 

The partying started in earnest, and soon Owen had a pair of drinks shoved into his hand. He passed one to Carey, and she looked down at the foaming glass of beer with trepidation. As much as she wanted to pretend there wasn’t anything to worry about, she couldn’t help but think about the nausea that she’d been having all day. She wondered whether or not alcohol was what she needed.

 

“What’s up?” asked Owen once the two took the prized seats at the bar that overlooked the place.

 

“What do you mean?” asked Carey, feigning ignorance as best she could.

 

Owen gave her a knowing expression.

 

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve been together for almost two months; I can tell when you’ve got something on your mind. And you’re not the hardest person to read.”

 

Carey hated at times that she telegraphed her emotions so obviously. It was a stark contrast to Owen, who was nearly always the picture of calm and cool, no matter what was going on around him. She’d seen fights break out that he happened to be in the middle of, his only response being to calmly break them apart and make the participants know in no uncertain terms that he had no patience for such nonsense. And the men all knew that when Owen talked like that, he meant it.

 

“It’s stupid,” she said.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

 

“I just got sick a couple of times today. Like, out of nowhere I’d get really nauseated and have to, you know, throw up a little.”

 

“Are you serious?” he said, his brow knitting in concern. “And you’re just now mentioning this?”

 

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Carey said.

 

“You might be getting sick; of course it’s a big deal.”

 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and made a call.

 

“Hold on,” he said, stepping away.

 

Carey sat nervously for a few moments, wondering just what she’d gotten herself into. Owen returned a moment later with a small piece of paper that he placed into Carey’s hands. On it was a time and an address.

 

“You’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” he said.

 

“What? Just like that?”

 

“I know a guy,” he said. “When you manage a crew like this, it helps to have a doctor on call.”

 

“Um, thanks,” said Carey.

 

Then he turned his ice-blue eyes back to her.

 

“And don’t keep anything like this from me again.”

 

Carey could only nod. As controlling as he was being, Carey couldn’t help but feel good about knowing someone was looking out for her. That didn’t make her any less nervous about the appointment, however. But all she could do was put her head on Owen’s shoulder, feeling safe and secure, if only for that night.

 

***

 

Carey was a tightly-wound ball of nerves as she approached the doctor’s office. The building was unassuming enough—just a little storefront in one of the many strip malls outside of town—but the entire day she couldn’t shake the idea that there was more going on with her than something as simple a stomach bug.

 

She’d had more sickness that morning, too. Even before her alarm clock sounded the alert to get up, she was yanked out of bed by the overwhelming urge to throw up.

 

Here goes nothing, she thought, stepping inside.

 

The doctor saw her as soon as she stepped inside and let the receptionist know that she had been sent there on a recommendation from Owen Flynn. She’d learned quickly in their relationship that Owen’s name carried plenty of weight around town, but Carey still found herself surprised at just how many doors it opened for her.

 

Once seated upon the crinkly white paper in the examination room, she explained to the doctor—a slight, white-haired man named Dr. Hampton who was just as unassuming as his office—just what her symptoms had been. He jotted down his notes on a pad of paper, nodding his head as she went on.

 

“… and today I was sick right when I got up,” said Carey, rubbing her forearms with her hands for comfort.

 

“Ms. Oakley,” he said, looking up from his pad. “You and Mr. Flynn—you’re … an item, correct?”

 

He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.

 

“Yes,” said Carey. “We’ve been dating for around six weeks now.”

 

“I see,” he said. “And I’m assuming that you two have been sexually active?”

 

Carey blushed a little, hesitant to talk about sex with a stranger despite the circumstances. “Yes, we have been.”

 

“And are you on any sort of birth control?”

 

“Just condoms.”

 

He nodded. “We’re going to need to do some bloodwork to confirm, but I think I’ve got an idea of what, exactly, is going on with you. And I think you do, too.”

 

“You don’t mean …?”

 

He nodded, a small smile forming on his face.

 

“But let’s get these tests done before I start issuing any congratulations.”

 

The next hour passed by in a blur. Carey could hardly think, let alone speak. Only simple one-word responses came from her mouth whenever Dr. Hampton asked her a question. Eventually, he left the room to check on the results of his exam, and Carey was left alone with her thoughts.

 

Pregnant? she wondered.

 

The word was strange in her mind, like it was something from a foreign language. She knew that she’d been reckless with the sex she and Owen had been having, but she somehow had managed to convince herself that there wouldn’t be any consequences. But now, sitting in the sterile doctor’s office, she began to feel like her life was on the verge of coming apart at the seams. The anxiety building inside of her was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She didn’t know for how much longer she could take it.

 

After about ten minutes of waiting the door opened and the doctor, a nurse at his side, stepped in. Both of them had warm smiles on their faces.

 

“Ms. Oakley,” said the doctor, looking at the information in a manila folder opened in his hands. “I have some wonderful news.”

 

But before he could speak any further, Carey’s vision tunneled and all went black.