Chapter 39
One month later
I burrow closer to my grandmother’s frail body and rest my head on her chest. The soft mattress seems to swallow her tiny frame whole. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she assures me. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
I lift my head and stare into her soft, rheumy gaze. “I have to tell you something.” I inhale a deep breath as tears spill from my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
She smiles and wipes the wetness from my cheeks. “I know, sweetheart. You’re going to be a great mother.”
“How-how do you know?” I ask her. “I haven’t even told Momma yet.”
“I know these things.”
“You’re not disappointed in me?” I love my grandmother so much. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader. I would hate to upset her in any way.
“I could never be disappointed in you. You’re my sunshine.”
“What am I going to do, Grandma?” I sob and bury my face against her thin shoulder. “I’m not ready to be a mother.”
“Listen to me very carefully,” she orders in a stern voice. “God won’t give you anything you can’t handle.” She places a gentle kiss on my temple. “I have to go home now. But I’ll always watch over you and your children.”
I frown and lift my head again. “What are you talking about, Grandma? You are home.”
“Goodbye, my darling. I love you.”
One second she’s there, and in the next, she’s gone. I scramble off the bed and spin in a circle, but she’s not here. Where did she go?
“Grandma, come back!” I shout frantically. “Please don’t leave me! I need you!”
“Grandma!” I scream, waking with a start, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Fucking hell, Zilphia,” Sandman grumbles and pulls me into his strong embrace. “It was just a dream.”
I stare up into his beautiful blue eyes. “I miss her so much.”
It’s my first Thanksgiving without her. We didn’t always spend the holiday together, but we never missed a phone call. She died of a massive heart attack. It’s been a little over a month, but it still feels like yesterday. The paramedics tried to revive her, but it was too late.
I haven’t heard from my mother since. My texts and calls go unanswered.
I thought she’d at least come to the funeral.
Instead, she ran off with her married lover, leaving nothing but wreckage behind.
I hate her so fucking much. Who skips their own mother’s funeral?
Even Nolan showed up, though he barely spoke two sentences to me.
I live with Sandman now. Sheila wasted no time kicking me out. I don’t blame her, but I shouldn’t be punished for my mother’s sins. I carry enough of my own. But the lowest blow was not including any of our names in the obituary.
My grandmother had a few good years left—maybe more. But the hatred between her daughters wore her down. In the end, it killed her.
He sighs. “People die. It won’t get easier, but some days will be better than others.”
“I want her back!” I wail, crying my heart out. “I can’t make it in this world without her.” I’m so lost without her.
God, why did you take her from me? I just want to hug her one last time. Grandma!
“I can’t console you, Zilphia,” he tells me. “I’m not that man, but I can give you this.” He brushes his lips ever so gently against my own.
Sandman is still Sandman. My grandmother’s death didn’t soften him toward me. He’s less monstrous in a way, but I don’t know how much longer that’ll last. Every day, his control slips a little more.
Because I need to dull the pain in my heart, I thread my fingers into his golden strands and return his kiss.
He yanks the comforter off our naked bodies and rolls me onto my back, settling between my thighs.
I spread my legs wide for him, and he fills me in one fluid motion.
He doesn’t give my body time to adjust to his invasion.
In true Sandman fashion, he recklessly plunges in and out of my pussy.
It burns, but I need this.
I need him.
There are a million different paths my life could’ve taken, but I ended up here, in his bed and completely under his control.
I cross my ankles at the small of his back and roll my hips upward, meeting his hard thrusts. I’m still hurting, but he gives me a different kind of hurt. A hurt that feels good. A hurt that overpowers my senses and makes me forget my grief, even if only for a little while.
Soon my body accepts him with little resistance, melting over his erection like liquid silk. Our sweaty bodies meet again and again, in tandem with our hungry lips and dueling tongues.
I score my nails down his back as the throb between my thighs intensifies with every passing minute.
Sandman anchors my legs over his shoulders and intertwines our fingers, pinning my hands to the bed, then he pounds into me with a fierceness that thrills and frightens me.
He trails open-mouthed kisses down my throat and along my collarbone.
I turn my head and suck his earlobe into my mouth, twirling my tongue around his small hoop earring.
“Fuck, Zilphia,” he rasps, fucking me harder and faster than ever before.
I implode, succumbing to the white-hot sensations at the center of my pleasure.
Sandman shouts his own release, pouring his seed deep into my convulsing walls.
He settles onto his back, his semi-hard length resting on his belly, slick with my juices.
The pain of my grandmother’s loss hits me like a wrecking ball, and all I want to do is cry.
“Please hold me,” I whisper.
Sandman pins me with his steel-blue gaze, and I know for certain he doesn’t want to provide the comfort I so desperately need.
“Please.”
He growls in annoyance but pulls me into his arms. For the next thirty minutes, I cry my sorrows against his chest.
I scan the lounge, a knot of discomfort tightening in my chest. These men almost seem normal—eating, laughing, and joking.
Not the hardened criminals I know them to be.
Sandman sits to my left at the island, scarfing down the food on his plate.
Cricket occupies the stool on his other side, making quick work of his own meal.
All kinds of grilled meats, seafood, sides, and desserts stretch across the long tables against the back wall.
My stomach churns at the mix of smells assaulting my senses.
Between the football game blaring on all eight flatscreens, the cacophony of sounds from the arcade, boisterous conversations, and little God offspring running around, I can barely hear myself think. I really just want to go back to bed.
I don’t want to celebrate. I want my grandma.
It all seems so surreal, like I’m watching someone else’s life through a television screen.
I’m not two and a half months pregnant. My grandmother is still alive and healthy.
My brother and I get along. My father isn’t a fugitive.
My mother is the perfect housewife with a heart of gold.
And my aunt and cousin don’t hate my guts.
I blink back tears and check my cell phone for the millionth time, even though my notifications have been silent.
My mother and brother still haven’t responded to the Happy Thanksgiving texts I sent this morning.
I shouldn’t have texted them. But it’s Thanksgiving, and I felt… alone. Stupid, I know.
I throw my phone back into my purse. I’m done. I’m not extending the olive branch again.
“Eat,” Sandman commands, jabbing his fork toward my untouched plate.
I stiffen but hold my ground. “Not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry,” he growls. “I said eat.”
I push the plate away, a quiet rebellion.
He leans in and presses a forkful of pasta against my lips. “Open.”
I turn my head. “I said I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve been losing weight. If you’re not healthy, neither is our baby.”
“Just because I lost a few pounds doesn’t mean I’m not healthy,” I retort.
Sandman grabs a fistful of my long, knotless braids and yanks my head back. “Don’t make me hurt you, Zilphia.”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” I snap at him. “In one breath you claim to be worried about my health, then in the next you’re threatening to hurt me.”
He drops my hair, his jaw clenched. “I’m going to take a piss. When I get back, a quarter of that food better be gone.” With that edict, he stomps away.
I turn back around in my seat, locking gazes with a smirking Cricket. “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Cricket’s smirk melts into a scowl, and he shifts in his seat to face me.
“That baby in your belly is the only thing keeping Sandman from putting his foot up your ass,” he states matter-of-factly around a mouthful of cheeseburger.
“Do yourself a favor and do what you’re told.
You won’t be pregnant forever, and you and I both know he has a very long memory. ”
I reach for my cup of peach tea, intending to throw it in his face, but familiar arms wrap around me from behind. “Hey girlie, how’s your day going?”
“It could be better,” I answer, relaxing into Meela’s embrace. My baby daddy’s asshole best friend is consigned to the back burner for now. I admire his loyalty, but that doesn’t make him any less of an ass.
Meela hops onto the stool Sandman just vacated. “How about you stay with me tonight? I’ll do your toes and nails, and give you the best full-body massage you’ve ever had. The works, honey. What do you say? I’ll tell Leah and make it a girl’s night.”
I sigh. “I have to ask Sandman.”
As the days pass, his leash around me gets tighter and tighter.
It’s been school and then home most days, unless we’re together.
I don’t know if it’s concern for me, for our unborn child, or for both of us.
On the rare occasion I’m allowed to go out solo, he’s always lurking in the background somewhere.
Meela rolls her eyes. “God, tell him to loosen his grip a little. He’s stricter than a preacher whose daughter likes doing the Lord’s work on her knees.”
If only it were that easy.
“Where’s Tulip?” Our heads snap in the direction of the growled question.