Chapter 2
Two
K ept
It was a little after eleven o’clock at night on the first Thursday in March.
I came into the house through the garage, landing in my mudroom.
I quickly reset the alarm, slipped out of my shoes, and set my work bag on the bench.
After a good stretch, I bypassed the kitchen since I wasn’t hungry.
Once the Atterson, South Carolina city officials realized that the zoning meeting was going to run late, they ordered dinner.
I padded up the stairs in my stocking feet.
When I made it to the landing, I busted a right to head to the side of the home that housed the bedroom my daughters shared.
My house was a custom designed, six-bedroom home built by me.
Each of my girls could have their own room, but they were close and liked to share.
Dakota, my oldest, was almost four years old.
Her younger sister, Destin, had just turned two.
My daughters were the light of my life and the reason for everything I did.
The overly done, over-the-top, princess-themed room was softly bathed in a warm glow from the strategically placed recessed nightlights.
I crept across the room, the thick dusty pink area rug absorbing the sound of my footfalls.
I came to Destin’s bed first. Bending at the waist, I placed a kiss on her cheek, pausing to just stare at her.
My heart running around outside of my body.
She was my hurricane—my little tornado. From the moment she learned to walk, Destin was everywhere and into everything.
My younger sister, Trinity, liked to joke that the only time Destin was still was when she was asleep.
I walked over to Dakota’s bed—my serious angel.
She was my do-gooder, the one who couldn’t stand the thought of me not being pleased with her.
She was a perfectionist, and to me, she was absolutely perfect.
Not a perfect person or perfect child, but she definitely had a perfect heart, 100 percent pure.
I kissed her cheek and ran my hand over her soft hair.
Despite all of my career success and my money making, the two of them were the best things I’d ever done with my life.
I spoke my nightly prayer over them then made my way to my own bedroom.
I wasn’t a fan of overhead lighting. Personally, I found it too jarring and bright, but as a builder, I understood that it was occasionally needed.
I always included it, even in my own home, though I seldom used it.
This day, as I crossed the threshold, I flipped the switch without even thinking about it.
My feet immediately stopped their forward march as my eyes adjusted and my brain fully processed what I was seeing.
In the middle of my king-sized bed, in all her naked glory, lay my girls’ nanny, Paisley. I didn’t want to be that guy, but something about the man in me caused my eyes to zero in on the spot between her opened legs where she stimulated herself using two fingers.
I started to back away but remembered that it was not only my bedroom; it was my home. I was her employer, and she was supposed to be in the bedroom assigned to her on the first floor by the kitchen.
“Um, I’m not going to even ask what you’re doing because it’s obvious. I’m just going to ask you to cease and desist. Then I need you to grab your clothes and make your way downstairs. I’ll give you thirty minutes to pull yourself together, and then I need you to meet me in the kitchen.”
“Mr. Boudreaux,” she practically moaned, because her fingers were still working to take her to that special place.
I couldn’t help the sardonic chuckle that escaped from me.
That was what I got for hiring somebody so young.
The younger generation didn’t have any damn shame.
If I had walked in and caught a millennial, or God forbid, a generation X’er, they would’ve been mortified.
They would’ve scurried past me in shame before I even had a chance to address them.
But the young ones were raised with a level of entitlement that made you the bully and them the victim.
“Paisley, get your naked ass out of my bed, get your clothes on, and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”
She finally pulled her fingers from her pussy and focused her eyes on me. I pointed to the door. She slowly rolled from the center of the bed and did as I asked. I watched her leave my bedroom, her naked misshapen ass still swinging as she switched away. I didn’t need this shit.
“Stuff like that only happens to my brother,” my younger sister, Trinity, said as we sat on the balcony of our cousin Yahirah’s high-rise apartment.
I had just finished telling them about the incident with the nanny.
Trinity had recently accepted a new job in Atlanta.
For the first time in years, she and I wouldn’t live in the same state.
And I was messed up behind it. I had three half-siblings, all girls.
Trinity was the only one that I had a relationship with, and I always felt that she was the best gift my dad had ever given me.
My father and Trinity’s mother were in a long-term relationship when my dad stepped outside of it and got my mom pregnant.
At the time, my father, Gannon Boudreaux, was a hard-hitting, popular, and wealthy professional baseball player with the Londynville Lions.
My mother, Vivienne Russell, was his favorite groupie.
The story I heard was that the pregnancy with me wasn’t the first time Gannon had gotten Vivienne pregnant.
Each pregnancy had come with a stack of cash and outlandish, high value gifts in exchange for abortions.
But before he had the chance to get Vivienne straight with her cash and consolation prizes, Gannon’s long-term love, Priscilla, showed up on Vivienne’s doorstep talking shit.
Priscilla obviously hadn’t considered the consequences of her actions.
Vivienne made the spur of the moment decision that another abortion was not in her future.
She was giving birth, and her child would wear the last name Boudreaux before Priscilla ever would.
Then to add injury to insult, Vivienne named me “Kept,” a constant reminder to both Gannon and Priscilla that she was the only person who made decisions about her life.
Gannon and Priscilla had two daughters when I was born, Ganniece and Penelope. Much to Priscilla’s dismay, Gannon was excited about having a son. He was very active in my life, which was a blessing, because once Vivienne gave birth, she was very much absent in my life.
Life at Gannon’s house was awkward because he was on the road a lot.
I spent a lot of time with Priscilla and my half-siblings.
Their children basically ignored me, but to her credit, Priscilla was good to me.
She didn’t treat me badly or blame me for being conceived.
She was kind and fair. She just wasn’t very maternal.
Even her own girls weren’t showered in hugs, kisses, or attention.
Priscilla was the type who liked to throw money at problems. And since Gannon had a lot of money, Priscilla didn’t behave like she had too many problems.
What was a problem, though, was the fact that Gannon’s youngest child had been conceived with a groupie.
Gannon owed her for that. So, she got her marriage, and she got to wear the last name Boudreaux just like the rest of us.
And Gannon got one more shot at adding a son with his now wife to the family.
Once they found out that baby Trinity would be a girl, Priscilla decided to let me rock as the only boy.
I was four when Trinity was born, but from the moment they brought her home, she was my baby.
Even at the age of thirty, she was still my baby.
I hated to let her go. I had been hoping and praying that she would find a job in South Carolina, but I knew the chances were slim.
When she was offered the job in Atlanta, I encouraged her to take it.
She would have more opportunity for growth in Atlanta, and she could command a higher salary.
I was proud of her and happy for her, but I could admit that I was also sad for me and my girls.
Dakota and Destin loved their Ti-Ti Trinni.
“Oh my goodness.” Yahirah put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles.
Ayden looked around to make sure the girls couldn’t hear. “Ass out? In your bed, dog?”
“Naked as the day she was born,” I confirmed.
“And playing with herself?” Ayden was mystified.
Shit, I was traumatized. I nodded.
“Did your room stink?” Yahirah cracked.
Trinity dissolved into a fit of chortles.
“Shut the hell up, Hi.” I told her.
“What? I’m just asking.”
There had, in fact, been a little stench, but I wasn’t about to tell Yahirah that.
“How’d you get her out of there, brother?” Trinity asked, taking a big sip of the frozen margarita Yahirah blended up for her.
“Right, because your ass don’t really talk,” Ayden agreed.
“Did you motion with your thumb?” Trinity demonstrated giving somebody the thumb gesture for “you gotta go,” then she giggled.
“Aye, not too much on my cousin.” Yahirah defended me in between chuckles.
I looked around to make sure my daughters were otherwise engaged. “Fuck all of y’all.”
“For real though. Did you yell at her?”
I cocked my head to the side and gave Trinity the eye. “My daughters were asleep. You think I wanted to yell, have them come in there to investigate, and see their beloved nanny in the . . . raw?”
“This dude said ‘in the raw.’” Ayden laughed.
“Sorry. I guess I should’ve said that I didn’t want them to see their beloved nanny wrist deep in her own?—”
“They didn’t love her, Kept.” Trinity broke in. “I think Dakota was kind of scared of her.”
“My poor Dakota.” Yahirah made a pouty face. “She’s just as skittish as a puppy in a thunderstorm.”
“She does not take easily to people.” Ayden nodded his head.
“Damn, your nanny situation is falling apart right when I’m relocating.” Trinity acknowledged the unfortunate timing of the situation. “What’re you going to do?”
“Is there a reputable nanny service that you can contact?”
“Paisley was from the most well-known nanny company in the county,” I told Ayden.
“You need a nanny ASAP.” Yahirah tapped her chin with her pointer finger.
“I need a nanny like yesterday.” I concurred.
“And it needs to be somebody we can trust,” Trinity added. “She has to love our girls, and she can’t be no freak trying to seduce my brother in the midnight hour.”
Ayden made a face, like he didn’t necessarily agree that the nanny couldn’t be a freak.
“So . . .” Yahirah dragged out the word. “You need a nanny—somebody trustworthy, that’s good with kids, and that won’t try to seduce you . . .”
“You live in Atlanta, Hi. They would need to be local,” I reminded her.
“Uhm, she’s not local, but she might be willing to relocate.”
“From Atlanta to Jackson Island?” Ayden questioned. “I don’t know about that. Who is it?”
“She doesn’t live in Atlanta. She lives in Londynville.”
“Who is it?” I asked. “Unless it’s Aunt Sherise or my deceased great-grandmother, I don’t trust anybody from Londynville.”
“Do you remember Xarielle?”
“Your friend? The one that Aunt Sherise basically adopted?”
“Yes, exactly. She’s a teacher. She teaches pre-k. She went to school and has a degree. She’s been fingerprinted and bonded in the state of Kentucky. She loves children, and she needs . . . a break.”
“What do you mean break?”
Yahirah sighed. “She needs an opportunity to get out of Londynville, out of her current situation. As a pre-k teacher, you know she’s not making any money.
She doesn’t have any real support.” She let her voice trail off for a second.
“Working for you, living in your house . . . that would give her a chance to save money. It would give her the opportunity to see that there’s more to life than Londynville, Kentucky.
And your girls would get a nanny who is really good with kids.
You remember how it used to be when we were young.
All those ‘turn-up’ moms on the block would be leaving their kids with her while they went to .
. . do grown folks’ stuff.” She smirked. “Xari was a natural.”
I nodded in agreement. “She did always have some random baby on her hip.”
“And everybody thought because she was so good with kids that she would end up being a young mother.”
“She’s not a mother?” I was ashamed to admit that I’d been one of the people who thought she would start having kids and not stop until she had a house full.
Yahirah’s head wagged back and forth in the negative. “Nah. Xari’s not on that type of time.”
“You think she would be interested? Who would pick up their life and move several states away from everything they know for a position as a nanny? I mean, I’ll only need her until my girls are old enough to start school or . . .”
“Or what?” Trinity prompted. “You find a wife?”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Definitely not looking for one of those.”
“I’ll reach out to her and see if she’s interested in doing an interview,” Yahirah offered.
“Yeah.” I nodded absently. “If she is, let me know. Maybe we could set up a video conference.”
“Absolutely not,” Trinity fussed. “If she’s going to be watching my nieces while you’re at work, I need to meet her in person and get a feel for who she is. You can’t do that over the internet.”
“Yeah, but I know her, Trin. She lived in Aunt Sherise’s house. I was there all of the time. I know her.”
“You knew her.” She corrected. “You don’t know this person.” She turned to our cousin. “No offense, Hi, but that’s your friend. I don’t know this chick from a can of paint.”
“Oh, I agree. The interview should definitely be done in person. You can see if the girls take to her—if she’s a good fit.”