Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Jersey
I’ve been receiving some pretty horrific emails from my sperm donor and incubator. I never used to call them that until Britton did, and it seems fitting so I’ve continued doing so, at least in my head.
The first correspondence from them wasn’t too bad, it was more woe is me than anything else, but now, they’ve gotten more threatening.
They want things from me that I’m not willing to give them—my life savings.
Money I’ve been hoarding since I was fifteen years old and started doing things for our neighbors such as mowing their lawn, weeding their flowerbeds, and babysitting their kids so I could eat and put clothes on my back.
My parents all but checked out on parenthood the moment I could do things for myself. Walking and talking became a curse for me. I ate more cereal and pop tarts than anything substantial because I could pour my own bowls and open my own saran packages.
Bathing myself was more tricky because I didn’t understand temperature control and the first time I drew my own bathtub of water, I scalded myself.
Small burns, but one of them was bad enough that it scarred because I didn’t have the concept of treating it seeing as I was only four.
To this day, it’s a constant reminder of how bad my mom and dad were, and continue to be, as caregivers.
All they care about is their reputation, one that’s going downhill because they’ve lost all of their fortune due to their addictions and vices—daily gambling, and partying.
In three months, when I turn twenty-five, I will get my inheritance and they want it for their selfish selves since they’ve burned their way through theirs.
I’ll never understand how they went through millions of dollars that should’ve set them up for life.
Both of my grandparents were beyond wealthy, and they each split their wills in half between their children and me, their only grandkid.
The only good thing my parents ever did for me was teach me how not to be.
My friendship with Britton is genuine, not based on what I can do for her.
I made a career for myself, a rewarding one at that, where I’m responsible for molding young minds.
Though with me not being a social butterfly, this position the Kings offered me is perfect.
At least, for me it is. I don’t have to deal with a myriad of angry parents, I don’t have to split my attention between kids, for now, my only pupil is Elodie.
I know that will change as the kids grow up and become school age.
But for now, it’s a breath of fresh air.
I get to do what I love without all of the politics that come along with it.
It’s a win all the way around because it works out for all parties involved.
Elodie no longer has to deal with bullying, and she’s such an inquisitive kiddo that I can give her every ounce of my attention and answer her questions in a way that she comprehends.
She needs patience, kindness, and understanding because she’ll stop you mid lesson to ask questions.
Most teachers would shut that down since they have a classful of kids and are on a timeline for their lessons, but since I can spread things out seeing as I’m not on a time crunch, I never dismiss her curiosity and interest in one topic.
Most days, I have an assistant in Icer, although he still keeps his distance from me and gives me side-eyed glares if I get too close to him.
One day, I hope we can squelch his hesitance around me, but that would require me being able to form a complete sentence around him.
He still intimidates the hell out of me, like he always has, but he still has that aura of protector about him that makes me want to stay near him.
Even if his protection isn’t aimed at me, I still feel safe being in his proximity.
Being safe is all I’ve ever wanted. My parents were cavalier about who they allowed near their kid.
I had a lot of close calls when it came to inebriated men.
I found every nook and cranny in our house that I could use as a hiding place where nobody would find me, and made them my space by personalizing them with pillows, blankets, and books.
No matter what, I always made sure there was a locked door between me and their ‘friends’.
Needless to say, when I told them about those men, they laughed and were very apathetic to my plight.
They’d wave me off and claim it was my overactive imagination.
I promise, it wasn’t. I know that when I’m ten and a grown ass man lets his hand roam under my skirt, that’s more than a small dose of affection, that’s a predator.
I learned at a tender age to read body language and knew the ones I needed to keep a distance from.
Which unfortunately, was most of my folks’ crowd of partygoers and misfits.
Sighing, I close out my email, shut down my computer, and flop back on my bed.
I finally talked LoneStar and Britton into letting me move back to my trailer.
I needed my own space since I was starting to feel overly crowded and twitchy.
My nerves were becoming frayed and I could feel myself withdrawing from everyone—including my sister from another mister.
With the threat against Britton no longer an issue, and the lockdown not lifted, but softened, I knew with me being on the compound it shouldn’t be any trouble for me to reclaim my solitude.
After some grumbling and arguing, they gave in and thankfully, I’m able to breathe again.
When my phone begins to ring and vibrate on my nightstand, I roll my eyes.
Somehow, without even looking at the caller I.D.
I know it’s either my mother or father calling.
I’ve had to block them a handful of times, but somehow, they’ve been able to override it by calling me through various apps, even if I don’t have them downloaded on my phone.
“It’s time to change my number,” I mumble as I reach over and hit the ignore button on the side of my device. “But then I’ll have to tell Britton why I’m changing it and she’ll lose her ever-loving mind.”
With her being pregnant, I don’t want to bother her with my problems, that’s not fair to her or the new life she’s growing in her uterus.
I don’t want my life to stress hers. She’s done and has sacrificed enough for me as it stands.
I refuse to take advantage of our friendship more than I already have.
I could go to LoneStar, but he can’t keep a secret from his woman to save his life, unless it’s in the name of the club that is.
He says it’s for her protection, and in a way, I guess it is.
In the grand scheme of things, the less she knows, the less she can testify to if she was dragged in by law enforcement.
Although she can claim spousal privilege, cops are good about twisting things and turning husbands and wives against each other if it gets them to their end goal.
At least, the crooked ones do. Just like every aspect of life, there are some good eggs in the department, but it’s the bad ones that make people leery of trusting them and going to them when they find themselves in a bad way.
I learned in my preteen years to keep my mouth shut and not to trust everyone in blue with a badge.
I was at the grocery store once, counting pennies while trying to come up with enough change to buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna since I hadn’t eaten in two days.
I was ten cents short and the cashier and I were going through the donation jar when a cop cleared his throat behind me.
He was eyeing the newest addition of bruising on my arms, and when he asked about it, I told the truth just like the teachers at school taught us to do.
Find a police officer if you’re in trouble, they’re there to keep you safe and protected. I believed that with my entire heart and soul.
Officer Perkins paid for my purchase, allowing me to keep the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies I’d scourged between the couch cushions and laundry basket so I could eat, taking me home.
In the beginning, I thought he was honorable.
He was going to be my white knight and whisk me out of my home, taking me to a new castle where I’d be taken care of.
But like usual, my parents had a story that they weaved together and made me the culprit.
They convinced him I was troubled, and liked to fabricate stories so that I’d get attention.
I got a lecture from him about lying and the consequences I’d face if I ever lied again.
That night, I learned all about consequences, but not in the way he explained and thought I would.
I couldn’t sit for a week and didn’t eat for days afterward unless it was at school.
That’s when I started splitting my lunches in half and tucking enough away to eat during dinner so I didn’t get sick from my stomach protesting the lack of food.
When my phone rings again, I get angry. All of those memories that just resurfaced cause me to lose my temper. Without looking at the screen, with fire in my tone, I answer, “What?”
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” a gruff voice, one I recognize, asks.
“Slayer? Sorry, I was lost in a thought that wasn’t a happy one,” I quickly apologize, feeling bad about the way I snapped. Confused because he never calls me, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
“Not really. You got a minute? I could use your perspective on something,” he tells me and it’s then I pay close enough attention to hear the discernment and exhaustion laced in his voice.
We aren’t friends per se, but we’ve been working on getting there.
He’s a nice guy, but he also scares me. I feel things when I’m around him that are foreign to me.
There’s a spark between us that ignites each time his skin grazes mine, giving me the shivers.
I still haven’t figured out if they’re the good kind or the ones that should send me scampering off.
“Of course, I’ll do what I can to help,” I remark.
He breaks down what’s been happening while he’s been away.
Tears leak from my eyes for Carolina and Boston.
They may not think along the same wavelengths as everybody else, but why should that matter?
They have feelings. Love isn’t always about maturity, I’ve read some beautifully written articles about relationships that’ve flourished and lasted a lifetime with people who’re on the spectrum and suffer other ailments.
“When do they see the therapist?” I ask.
“Tomorrow, and I’m freaked out, Jersey.”
“Why does that scare you, Slayer?”
“Because if they don’t understand what’s happening and the fact that they’re going to have a baby, what does that mean for them?
I won’t be that brother that runs roughshod over his brother, I won’t take his baby from him, I’d never be able to live with myself if I did that, Jersey.
He may not think like we do, but my brother, he loves down to the depths of his soul.
Taking away his lifeline, his girl, that’d destroy him. ”
“Then don’t do that,” I advise. “There’s plenty of room for them with the Kings.”
“I can’t let them live at the clubhouse, Jersey. Especially not with a baby on the way.”
“Why not? There’d be eyes on them, plenty of people to help them if they’re struggling,” I argue.
“That’s true, but they’re innocent, Jersey girl. I can’t toss them into the lion’s den.”
“Then let them move in with me, Slayer. I’ll take care of them and you can see them whenever you want,” I offer. “It doesn’t have to be permanent, but it’s a better alternative than putting them into another care facility where they aren’t getting proper aid.”
“That’s a lot for me to put on your shoulders,” he says, sighing.
“I have special needs training, Slayer. I’m not going to be put out letting them stay with me. I wouldn’t have offered if I thought it would. It takes a village, Slayer, let me help you.”
“Okay,” he acquiesces. “We’ll give it a try. But if it’s not working out for you, if it does get to be too much and becomes a burden, you have to promise me you’ll come to me before it comes to a boiling point.”
“I will,” I promise. “And, Slayer, it won’t.”