Broken Crescent (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 2) (6 page)

Her scathing commentary fired through him like missiles, cutting Rayan to the core. It was one thing to suffer in privacy with his demons. It was quite another to realize they were so obvious even his sister could see them. He couldn’t let his parents find out. In a final show of authority, Rayan viciously snatched up the brochure for the rehab facility and ripped it up into pieces, letting the blue and white paper flutter to the floor. He grabbed his keys and prepared to leave.

Afia thought all hope was lost. Her threat hadn’t scared him the way she had intended. But, Rayan stopped at the door and turned back to fire a retort. “I’m not going to that place. I’ll take care of my problems on my own…You just make sure you handle yours. I won’t tell Maman and Baba. That infidel will knock you up and tell on his damn self.”

He flung open the door and breezed out, slamming it shut behind him. The noise made Afia jump. She pressed a hand to her beating heart. Rayan had brought up a concern she hadn’t, in her lovesick wonder, thought about before. She slipped a hand to her tummy and pressed in fear. She hadn’t had her cycle.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 6

Afia sat with Bionca in the campus clinic, the two girls holding hands like nervous best friends preparing to receive bad news. Afia was anxious about any judgment that might be made for being young, unmarried, and having sex, but Bionca put her mind at ease. “The majority of people at this school fall into that category. I just wish you would have asked me about it sooner,” Bionca said for the third time, squeezing Afia’s hand in a sign of solidarity.

Afia shushed her, glancing around at the others in the waiting room. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. “How was I supposed to ask?” she whispered. “It just happened. We didn’t go into spending the weekend together thinking we were going to have sex, Bionca. Sam’s not that kind of guy, and I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Bless your innocent little heart,” Bionca tisked. “For future reference, when a guy asks you to spend the weekend—not saying he has any intentions—just go prepared, okay? I can’t stress enough how important safe sex is. I mean, getting pregnant isn’t even the worst of it.” She had lowered her voice. She wasn’t trying to lecture, but Bionca found it hard to keep her peace. She felt like the culture that shunned sex and kept girls in the dark about the birds and the bees was the same culture that set girls up to make these kinds of mistakes.

At length, the nurse called Afia’s name. She glanced at Bionca anxiously. Bionca patted her hand encouragingly. “You’ll be okay. They’re just going to talk to you and give you your options as far as birth control. Do you want me to go in there with you?”

Deeper into the week after the harrowing conversation with Rayan about Sam knocking her up, her cycle had finally arrived, removing all doubt. She wasn’t pregnant. But, Afia wasn’t willing to take any more risks either. The next week she had scheduled an appointment at the clinic to put barriers in place so she’d never have to worry about pregnancy again, not until she was ready to have kids.

In conversations with Sam, he had set her mind at ease about his sexual history and even gone the length of sending her a copy of his most recent testing. Now, she was going in to take control of her reproductive system.

“I think I can do this on my own,” she said to Bionca. Bionca threw up the rock star sign and waved her to the back. Afia followed the nurse into the doctor’s office. By the time she left the building, she was safely on the patch.

“I have to wait a few weeks before it’s effective,” she told Bionca.

They climbed in the Porsche and headed off campus. “Are you excited? You’re doing grown woman stuff now! I’m so proud of you! You stood up to Rayan, and you’re in charge of your destiny. Next up, giving your parents the same speech.”

Afia shook her head, smiling. “You never give up, do you?”

“Of course not. I’d never have made it this far if I had. What do you say we grab a coffee or something? I don’t feel like lingering around the house all day. I’m too antsy. You know I have a date tonight, right?”

It was Friday, and Afia had gone to mosque before going to her apartment. She had spent the entire week talking to Sam on the phone but avoided seeing him in person. It was part of her attempt to keep a low profile. At the thought of being home alone all night, however, she wondered if she could trust herself to be alone with him yet.

The girls drove over to the coffee shop where Bionca ordered a latté and Afia got tea. They settled at a table in front of the large plate glass window and stared out at the sleepy Friday afternoon. Afia nibbled at cookies, deep in thought, as Bionca prattled on about her new beau.

“I know it’s scary,” Bionca replied.

Afia looked up. The conversation had turned from Bionca’s courtship with Garrett to this. “What do you mean?”

“You’re worried about messing up or making a mistake. It’s natural. I’m worried about screwing up, too. I like this guy, but I don’t have a track record for holding onto a relationship. So, you know what I plan to do?”

“What exactly do you plan to do, Queen of Hearts?” Afia smiled.

“I plan to live it up, enjoy the moment. Love isn’t about forevers. It’s about now.”

“Wise words, friend. In the Quran, there is a scripture. It says, ‘I created you from one soul, and from the soul I created its mate so that you may live in harmony and love.’ I’m not really looking for forever, but I would like to know that he’s the one.” She stared wistfully out the window. It was complicated.

Bionca shrugged, carefree. “You’ll never know until you rule him out. That would be my approach…of course, I’ve ruled out a lot more men than you, but…”  They burst out giggling.  Bionca smiled softly.  “I have a feeling it’s going to work out for you.”

“We’ll see. I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow. It remains to be seen whether Rayan will keep silent or not. I think he’s concerned about me telling them he’s been drinking, but he might not even care. He might tell them anyway.”

“Then, that’ll be a prime time to let them know you’re standing up for yourself and staking a claim on your own life instead of letting other people own you.”

“If only I could be as blithely confident as you.” Afia chuckled. If Rayan told her parents about Sam, she knew there was no staying with him. Bionca knew it, too, but it was nice to dream. “Anyway, I hope you have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she teased.

Bionca’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Oh, goodie. That means I can spend the weekend with him and make mad passionate love then, right?”

Afia covered her blushing face. “I’m going to need better friends,” she joked.

***

Saturday morning, bright and early, Afia hopped in her car and headed across town to the house of Rashad and Fatima Amini. She was ready to do battle. After laying out the ultimatum to Rayan, she had avoided coming home on Saturdays, but she couldn’t put it off much longer.  There wasn’t much likelihood Rayan had kept mum, and as she climbed out of her car with a grim, resolute sigh, she wondered how much trouble she would be into when she walked inside.

“Ah! Afia!” Rashad opened the door to his lovely only daughter and drew her inside. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! You’ve been too busy for us, little girl.” He flashed a mock stern expression like he had a habit of doing when she was a small child and up to something mischievous but not too terrible.

Afia flew into her father’s arms, discovering she had missed him. He hugged her tight.  “Hello, Baba. You know I’d never get too busy for you. Where’s Maman?”

“Cleaning, cooking, the usual things. Sit, sit. How are your studies? You know I said to you before that you might be taking on too heavy of a course load. I’m hoping you’re almost done with this.”

“You say me that every time, Baba.” Afia grinned, realizing from the sign of things that Rayan hadn’t said a word. She plopped down on the couch and put her feet up. Her father launched into a recounting of his week with questions about hers, and she listened and answered drowsily. She was tired from a night of working on school work and watching reruns. In the end, she had opted not to invite Sam over while Bionca.  She wasn’t sure who would be watching her place.

“Jabar asked after you,” Fatima said brightly. “Afia, come help me in the kitchen, would you?”

Afia pushed up from her comfortable seat and ambled into the kitchen to help her mother cook. It was the only time of the week the entire immediate family sat down to eat together, and Fatima put a lot of love and energy into making sure Saturday meals were veritable feasts. The menu was usually traditional Iranian food, the makings of which spread out on the counter. There were also pots simmering on the stove and in the oven.

The savory smell of meat cooking and the sugary sweetness of desserts baking made her stomach rumble in pleasure. “You’re outdoing yourself,” she murmured, smiling. Afia stuck a finger in batter and tasted.

Fatima swatted her away. “I’m thinking you should have some good news for me. Jabar says he has kept in contact with you, right?”

Afia hid a frown. The suitor her parents had picked out for her was in his residency at Memorial Lake Hospital, and he had kept in touch with daily emails and occasional text messages, but Afia hadn’t really paid him much mind. She simply wasn’t interested. “What sort of good news are you thinking I should have for you, Maman?” she asked. She pulled her mother into a hug and looked her in the face. “Maman, I’m not marrying him,” she said soberly. “There’s nothing about him that appeals to me.”

Fatima sighed and swatted her away. “Ach!” she said with frustration. “No one ever appeals to you. I guess you’ll marry your books and your degrees then. I’ll be a grandchildless woman, I guess. You don’t love me enough to please your poor, dear, old Maman. Is that it?” She grumbled, stirring a pot, and Afia giggled.

“You know that isn’t it. I love you with all my heart. I just don’t care for the men you choose.”

“Is there someone else?” Fatima asked with interest.

Afia hesitated. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that there was, but how did she explain Sam to her mother? “Not really,” she hedged.

Fatima looked up from the pot, eyes like a hawk. “Not really or no? You haven’t gotten mixed up with the wrong kind, have you?” She shook her cooking spoon at Afia, and her daughter quickly denied.

“Of course not, maman.”

“I worry about you living on campus with that strange girl. Don’t let her ways rub off on you. You should come back home and live with us like your brother.”

Afia broached the subject, eyes on her manicure. She picked at a nail. “How has Rayan been doing with the job search?”

Her mother’s expression went from placid to a soft scowl. Fatima shrugged noncommittally. “Work comes and goes. He’ll be working again soon. It was a misunderstanding with your cousin is all. The money will come up someday, and we’ll all laugh about it. Get the plates, daughter. Set the table for me.”

Afia sighed and made herself busy, thinking her parents were deluding themselves. She couldn’t see how they could walk around with blinders all day. There was no job search. Rayan spent his nights drinking and his days recovering—if he wasn’t gambling or swindling someone else out of their money. Afia reached into an overhanging cabinet and pulled down dinnerware. Over her shoulder she asked, “Has any other money come up missing?”

From behind her came Rayan’s unmistakable voice. “So nice of you to join us this weekend, Afia. With your busy schedule, it’s amazing you make it home each week. How is school? Any new friends?”

She turned to him, catching the malicious glint in his eyes. Rayan had an apple in his hand and a smile on his handsome face, but the smile was brittle and cold. He tossed up the apple and caught it, biting into it with a loud crunch and smack of his sensual mouth. He winked at Afia. “No new boyfriends?” he goaded.

“Hush that nonsense, Rayan. Your sister is a good girl,” her mother murmured. “Are you hungry, son?”

Rayan shook his head and ambled out of the kitchen. Afia breathed a discreet sigh of relief. She had caught the threat. He didn’t want her mentioning anything about money or his drinking problem to her parents. Afia reluctantly decided not to pry any more into the situation. She had her own skeletons in her closet. No sense in trying to dig into his.

At dinner, the family shared pleasant conversation that ranged from her father’s work as a chemist to gossip amongst Fatima and her friends. Afia said little and ate well, watching her brother closely. She noticed he had taken to sipping from the flask instead of his wineglass. She didn’t think her parents noticed though. Rayan caught her staring and mentioned in an offhand way, “Afia, you should be thankful you’re not like these American women you try to emulate. They’re sex objects. If you don’t be careful, someone will use you up just like they use them.”

“Such foul language at dinner,” Rashad reprimanded, pounding the table. He pointed a warning finger at Rayan, but her brother simply chuckled and shook his head.

“I was joking, Baba. Afia knows I’m joking. Eh?”

Afia slumped down in her chair and continued to eat.

“Eating for two?” Rayan teased softly.