Losing Blue Novel – Priest, the president of the Saints of Retribution MC, the man I loved, has just announced in front of all the club members that Sadie is pregnant with his child. I see her—Sadie, always there. Priest’s hand settles at the small of her back as they head down the hallway toward his office.
It isn’t possessive. It isn’t overtly intimate. It’s familiar. That’s worse. I follow anyway. I don’t mean to eavesdrop. “I’m pregnant.” Sadie says. There’s a pause. Not awkward. Intentional. “I know you never wanted this,” Sadie says softly. “But I already love this baby. I can’t wait.” “I’ll take care of you, of the baby.” Priest says quietly. Something in my chest cracks. “What if Blue gets upset?” Sadie continues. “What if she were to get pregnant too?” My name slices through me.
The floor tilts. I don’t stop walking. I reach the front door just as Priest and Sadie return to the common room behind me. “I’ve got an announcement,” he says easily. “Sadie’s pregnant.” Cheers erupt. Whoops and laughter and clapping. “We’re gonna have a little prince or princess around here,” Priest adds. The words blur together. Prince. Princess. My stomach drops. I place a hand over my stomach. Barely there. Barely real. “You’re not a mistake,” I whisper. “And neither am I.” Blue Priest and I enter the clubhouse together.
His hand rests at my back as we step inside, warm and familiar, steering me through the noise and bodies like he always does. He’s in a good mood tonight-looser, lighter than usual. His brothers are here with their families, kids underfoot, laughter already loud and unguarded. Their last run went better than expected. Clean. Profitable. No blood. No surprises. He’s been riding that relief all day. I’m nervous.
I have news for him, tucked tight behind my ribs, waiting for the right moment. I don’t know how he’s going to take it. I don’t even know how to say it yet. Just that it matters. That it changes things. That it might ask more of him than he’s used to giving. He leans down, says something low in my ear about the music being too loud, about grabbing us a drink. His thumb presses briefly at my spine-grounding, affectionate in that absent-minded way that makes me feel chosen. I nod.
Smile. Let myself believe this is a good night. Then I pause. Because Sadie is already here. Lately, she always is. I know it before I see her-the way the room shifts, like the air tightens around a single point and everything leans toward it. The Saints’ clubhouse is packed wall to wall with leather and laughter, bass vibrating through brick. Family day. Kids dart between tables. Old Ladies cluster near the bar. Sweetbutts hover where they always do, orbiting heat.
And Sadie stands exactly where she knows she’ll be seen. She wears black tonight, like she always does. Tight. Low. The kind of outfit that doesn’t ask questions about intention. Her long dark hair spills down her back, glossy and deliberate. She’s laughing at something someone says, her hand resting on Priest’s arm like it belongs there. My chest tightens-not jealousy. Unease. I’ve learned the difference. Jealousy is loud. Hot. It scrambles logic and demands attention. This is quieter. This is my body clocking a threat before my mind catches up.
Sadie hasn’t been around long. That’s the part people forget. They talk like she’s always been here, like grief grandfathered her into the walls. But she’s new-new enough that some of the kids still watch her like they’re unsure what rules apply. She wears widowhood like armor. Like a shield no one is allowed to question. Priest never talks about her past. Which tells me everything. He squeezes my back once more before moving toward the bar, already being pulled into conversation, into noise, into the role he wears so easily here. I don’t follow him. I trust he’ll come back with drinks. That shouldn’t matter. It does. I stay near the back wall, empty hands folded together, waiting for him.