Chapter 2
Jack
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I scold Noel after walking in on my brother, who is jerking his rod. “Lock the goddamn door.”
The house is already hot, even this early. Ceiling fans hum but barely move the air. Old wood creaks underfoot.
I fling his door shut and open the next.
“Ready, Tommy?” I say, tousling his hair.
He looks up and smiles. His almond-shaped eyes crinkle.
Dark hair falls straight over his forehead.
His T-shirt is on backward. One sock is inside out.
Good enough, though. Too bad Noel didn’t have Down syndrome.
This kid always makes the grind worth it.
Makes giving up my dreams worth it. Most days.
“Ready,” he replies.
I grab his glasses and slip them on. “Remember these?”
He swats his own cheek and gives an impish grin. “Whoops!”
I lead him out and pass Noel’s bedroom again, who comes flying into the hallway with a red face, embarrassed. He won’t meet my eyes. His ears glow pink.
“I missed the bus,” he whines as he follows us outside.
“Can’t imagine why. Guess I have to take you now.” I gesture for him to get into the car. We pack into the old sedan. The car smells like fast food wrappers and gasoline. The air conditioner rattles but never really cools. “You better come to the center after school and help me.”
“I was planning to. She’s coming today. Morgan.” In the rearview mirror, I catch him fussing with his hair and shirt.
I sigh, annoyed. “Bro. That dumb Bible thumper you talk about? A religious girl ain’t right for you.”
“I’m actually getting into God.”
“Are ya? Sounds like you’re trying to change who you are for a girl.”
“You should participate in prayer tonight. You need God in your life,” he mumbles.
I chuckle. “Rather get my balls wrenched and twisted.”
He laughs and shakes his head. His hair falls out of place and he quickly fixes it.
Tommy grabs his own crotch and laughs, too. “No, thanks. No girls.”
“That’s right, buddy. Girls like her are a kick in the balls,” I tease.
Noel folds his arms and stares out the window. “Whatever. Morgan is an angel on Earth. Wait till you meet her. At church, she even hugged me like she wants me.”
“You actually went to church?” I exclaim, shocked.
“Yeah. She’s even more beautiful in person.”
“Listen. I’ve had plenty of pussy, bro. Trust me. None are worth sitting in church for hours while some pastor tells you to unload your wallet.”
Noel scowls but says nothing more.
Good. Hopefully my words sank in.
The building squats between a closed laundromat and a payday loan shop. Paint peels near the roofline. The sign is faded and hand-painted.
At Center for Special Hearts, the place Mom built before she died, clients trickle in. We affectionately call them ‘the crew,’ a mix of adult men and women.
Their round faces and sweet smiles always light up the room. Many give me hugs like we haven’t seen each other in years, even though I saw them yesterday.
We start with arts and crafts, followed by snack time. Then we teach them practical skills, like tying their shoes or counting money.
After, it’s time to cook lunch, which is a shit show of twelve people with Downs learning how to prepare simple and safe meals. Today is applesauce, a sandwich, and chocolate milk. Most overdo the chocolate syrup. Brown streaks drip down plastic cups and pool on the tables.
“Easy, Chance,” I say, stealing the bottle before his glass is half syrup.
Then we eat and go outside for recreation time. The asphalt court radiates heat. The chain-link fence rattles in the breeze. We play basketball and high-five despite them rarely making a basket. I miss on purpose, and Chance pats my shoulder. “Good try!”
“Thanks man,” I play along.
During all this, I wipe their noses countless times, remind them to use the bathroom regularly, and tell Tommy to stop licking things. Typical day.
It’s almost over. One more hour. What’s next...
Ah, shit. Noel’s new prayer-thing. For me, that means break time.
I head to the front desk, kick up my Converse on the wobbly desk, and sip coffee while I scroll on my phone. I browse race cars for sale, even though it’s just a pipe dream.
“One day,” I lie to myself. It keeps me optimistic.
The door opens, and a woman walks in holding a white and pink Bible with gilded edges.
Here we go. This must be the girl who lives in my brother’s head rent free.
She steps my way with a phone clutched in her hand and two people following her. One holds a phone. The other carries lighting equipment. Apparently, she needs an entourage to pray with special needs people.
She’s pretty, though. I’ll give Noel that much credit. Big dumb hazel eyes, thick brown hair perfectly styled into waves, flawless skin, petite nose, full lips, and a body that won’t quit. Her tits are huge, too. The boys are gonna love her.
She speaks with a Southern drawl that might be as fake as her painted face.
“Hello there, hon. I’m Morgan Leigh Montgomery, here for Bible study.”
I smirk, shoes still resting on the desk. Her eyes pass over me once. Then again. The second look is quicker, less controlled, before she meets my gaze like nothing happened.
“Well, I’m Jack Harrison Killborne,” I say mockingly, and mirroring her accent. “Praise baby Jesus.”
Her brow furrows. “Uh, yes. Indeed.”
I snort. Stupid girl.
Noel jogs and slides in sideways, making his shoes squeak on the old tile.
“Hi, Morgan! Welcome. Right this way.”
Damn. Didn’t know my brother was so terrible with women. I don’t think he could look more desperate.
He ushers her to a long table where the crew wait with fresh new bibles.
Of course, Morgan’s team sets up a stand and lighting for her social media bullshit.
No good deed goes unposted.
My brother leads a prayer like he’s trying to impress her. Might be.
Tommy looks through the book’s thin pages as if he can read. Most of the others are restless. Some nod in agreement.
And I watch from across the room until the hour is almost over.
Here’s my chance.
I swagger over there, grab a chair and shove it backwards next to Morgan, then swing my leg over it. I lean my shoulder against hers and she stiffens, which I love. Nothing better than seeing fakeness crack.
Immediately the chat screen blows up with hearts and comments: OMG who is that? I just fainted. Forgive me lord for lusting for that man. Can I get his username?
I ignore it, but it’s a good start. Her followers like me. A lot.
“How do’ya like the Center for Special Hearts?” I ask.
She turns her chair slightly so our shoulders no longer touch.
“Oh, I adore what you are doing here!”
“Excellent.” I grin at the camera, giving a casual wave. “Cause we sure need help and could use your church’s generosity to buy food, upgrade the kitchen, and install new tile. It’s cracking and they trip.”
Noel is horrified and fidgets, unsure how to silence me. It’s no use. He knows I give orders. I don’t take ’em.
She blinks and nods slowly. “We would love to help. Church of Redemption offers two-thousand dollar grants to charities—”
“Just two-thousand? That won’t cover the tile. How much did your church rake in last week?”
Her eyes widen, like my question is forbidden to ask. The answer should be public.
She resets, smiling like a beauty queen. “Let’s talk after Bible study. My church exists to help others.”
“Great. So thirty-grand? That’s how much it’ll cost. Got contractor estimates.” I drop a stack of papers in front of her.
“We will talk—”
I point at the live feed. Comments are still flooding in: I’ll donate! Do it, Morgan! We love those cuties!
“Seems like your followers are down for Downs.”
She lets out the tiniest exhale in frustration, so small only I caught it.
“Absolutely,” she says, though it sounds painful for her to agree.
I pat the table in victory and lob my arm over her shoulders, giving her a firm, dominant squeeze. Her whole body tenses. She doesn’t like her personal space invaded, and that makes this even better.
Then, I look at the camera and give a pre-rehearsed plug for the center.
Nailed it.
After Bible study ends, Morgan asks to use the bathroom and Noel gleefully escorts her.
There’s one more thing I need to do. Didn’t plan it, but after seeing my brother’s pathetic game, it needs to happen.
“Noel, call transport and make sure they are coming tomorrow for the zoo field trip. They’ll close soon.” Then I pretend to help one of the clients.
Noel groans but obeys, leaving Morgan unattended for when she exits the bathroom.
When she steps out, I swoop in.
“Oh. Mr. Killborne.”
“Jack,” I correct. “Stupendous Bible study.”
She grins, but her tone is strained. “Uh, yeah. It went... well.”
Before she sees it coming, I close in on her, invading her personal space yet again. She steps backward, pressing shoulders flat to the wall. I place my hand firmly on the drywall next to her head, boxing her in.
“Listen, Bible bitch. I want you to stay away from my brother. From my center. From the fucking air I breathe. Don’t come back here, and mail the check. Understand?”
She gasps, her expression outraged.
“Bible bitch?” she snaps. “I assure you, sir, me and my church are good for this community. I find your attitude unfounded and rude!”
I lean closer, but she doesn’t shy away. She’s stubborn. Not surprised. She plays at being gentle and virtuous, but I don’t buy it. Nothing that wealthy is ever born from pure intentions.
If she wants to stand up to me, I’ll teach her a lesson.
I tilt my head and glare down, wanting her to flinch.
“I see you,” I murmur darkly, making sure my breath sweeps down her skin.
It’s the closest I can get without touching her slender neck.
“I see a dumb preacher’s daughter. Someone who pushes people to a false idol while you steal their money.
Just like your father. Are you a hypocrite like him, too? ”
Her palm flies up and smacks my cheek hard enough to leave a welt. Sound cracks sharp in the hallway. It burns, but I don’t wince.
She narrows her eyes, ready to feel my wrath. Baiting me with that defiant look.
I move closer still, my body inches from hers. I didn’t intend to get close enough to feel her chest barely touch me, but it does.
She remains firmly in place though, with her chin held high.
“Church girl likes to bite. Use violence. How predictable. Tell me, when you lay down at night, do you think about what a phony you are?”
She stares for a moment, but I see it the second she breaks, closing her eyes like it cost her something. She ducks under my arm and hurries away, her high heels clicking on the floor. Her stiletto sticks inside a cracked tile, causing her ankle to twist.
Fucking perfect.
And then she’s gone.
I win. I always win. When my family is involved, I’ll cross any line.