by Lucy Smoke
Again Grayson nodded. “As long as she stays away from my friends and Harlow, I’m good.”
It was obvious to me that Mr. Caruso wanted to say more, but either he was too uncomfortable to say it in front of me or he wasn’t sure how well it would be accepted by Grayson. I decided to make the first move. “You know what,” I said lightly, patting Grayson’s hand. “I think I’m going to go grab something to drink with the others. I’ll be right back.”
Grayson let me go but lifted his eyes to meet mine as I left. I winked back at him and silently closed the door. I hoped that he and his father would work through the abandonment and loss that Grayson must have been feeling. For now, though, I really needed a shot of espresso or two to keep me from feeling the bruises on my back and the discomfort from sleeping so poorly on a scrunched up mattress, plastered to Grayson’s side.
Chapter 25
6 weeks later…
I approached the room my mother had refused to leave for the last month and a half slowly, as if by entering I would be giving my consent to the inevitable. She knew she was dying and instead of wanting to come home with me and the guys, she had elected to stay at the Care Center. It wasn’t as sad as I had originally thought. She had friends come by—friends that she’d met in the common areas, people who’d healed and gone on to live their lives came by to give their condolences and spend time with her in her last days.
“Hey, Baby.” She smiled at me from the bed as I stepped into the room.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You just missed Mrs. Collier,” she said.
“I caught her in the hall,” I admitted.
“Oh, good, good.” My mother’s eyes grew hazy as she turned her head on the pillow and looked out the window. “It’s bright today,” she said, “but Mrs. Collier said it's cold.”
“Yeah.” I sidled up to the bed and took a seat. It was December, of course it was cold. But if anything, my mom wasn’t too concerned about what time of year it was. She wasn’t much concerned with anything anymore.
“So, the hearing happened?” she asked, turning to look at me as I shifted in the chair at her bedside.
I nodded. The guys and I had decided to tell her about Grayson’s mom. We’d told Alex as well, who’d been concerned but pleased that it had all been resolved. “It did,” I answered. “I went and Teddi will be in confinement for a while.”
“That’s good, Baby,” Mom said. “She can’t hurt that poor boy of yours anymore.”
“Yeah…” I didn’t know what else to say to that. I didn’t come here to talk about Teddi. To me, Teddi was nothing but a painful memory—for me, the guys, and Grayson. But she was out of our lives. She wasn’t a problem anymore. Not for us, not for anyone.
She hummed quietly. “So, what did you bring me today?” she asked after a beat.
I swallowed around a thick throat and reached for the bag that I’d brought with me. Retrieving it, I pulled out a book that one of the guys had gotten me. Even though it wasn’t Christmas yet, I’d been finding gifts waiting for me, placed randomly throughout the house—in my purse, on my bed, in front of my bedroom door—for the last few weeks. No one ever owned up to the presents, not even when I straight up asked. I think they had come to some sort of boys-agreement that anything they got me was from all of them. It made me smile even when I didn’t feel like smiling.
“The Great Gatsby,” I said quietly.
“You like that book,” she replied.
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”
“Let’s hear it then, Baby.” Mom shifted weakly in her bed.
“Do you need anything before we start?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, just…please start.” She wheezed out a breath and I hesitated, but the look she shot me—one of pleading—had me opening the hardback collectors' edition of the classic American novel.
My voice shook as I began to read. The words poured out of me, words of vulnerability and youth. Honestly, the book was entrancing. The eyes of a billboard capturing my attention as a reader and yet...it wasn’t enthralling enough to help me escape reality, especially with her laying so near, wheezing with every breath she took.
I wasn’t sure if she was truly listening to the story or if she just enjoyed having me with her, talking. She no longer had the energy to carry on conversations—to follow them—so it was no surprise to me when she fell asleep halfway through the second chapter. I quietly stopped, closed the book, and held it in my lap. My eyes were drawn to the window where sunlight poured in through the open blinds.
The sunlight belied how cold it had actually become. Sitting inside the Care Center, swathed in my sweater and scarf, I still felt like I could sense the chill outside. After several minutes, I realized that my mom was awake again and watching me.
I reopened the book without a word, but then she started coughing—hacking so loudly that I paused. “No!” she wheezed. “Keep reading.”
I didn’t want to. “Let me just call the nurse real quick,” I said instead.
“Baby.” My mom’s hand on mine as I reached for the nurse’s call button stopped me. “There’s nothing she can do.” I froze, my heart breaking in my chest as I sat back down. “I don’t want to fall asleep with the drugs,” she confessed. “I just want to hear my Baby reading to me.”
“O-okay,” I choked out, lifting the book. I turned to a page blindly. I didn’t care if I was picking up where we’d left off. I don’t think she did either because she didn’t say anything.
I read about summer nights and the mysterious Mr. Jay Gatsby. I read about music and a distant time where money poured from champagne flutes and women wore beaded gowns and men smoked cigars while complaining about their wives. It wasn’t real, but oh, how I wished it was. Though I knew how things would turn out for Gatsby, I felt like I was staring out at the green light at the end of the dock with him. Tears fell down my cheeks as I read. Mom reached out, her cold hand touching mine as I spoke. I grasped it and held it, but I didn’t stop.
A few days later, she passed away in her sleep. When the phone call came, I felt numb to the news. I called Michael up in New York and told him. He promised to come down for the funeral the next week and when I hung up with him, I crawled into my bed and cried myself to sleep, seeking solace in the arms of the guys as they crawled into the bed with me. When one would leave—to go do whatever they had to in order to help me plan the funeral—another would climb in with me.
I was never alone. And even though they didn’t say it, I knew what they were trying to tell me: I’d never be alone again.
A few weeks after my mother’s funeral, after Michael had flown back up to New York, I woke to the soft sound of footsteps in the hallway. They were moving so slowly that I knew whoever it was meant to be quiet. I sat up, rubbing my eyes with my palms and groaning as a yawn echoed up my chest. After a moment more, I tugged the covers off and shivered as a wave of chill hit my bare legs. Continuing to shiver, I hurried out of the bed, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and yanked them up my legs, over the sleep shorts I'd worn to bed the night before. Why was it so cold? I wondered.
I went to the door of my bedroom and peeked my head out. Texas stopped at the end of the hallway and turned back when he heard my door open. I blinked blearily at him and he smiled, waving me forward.
"Come on, come see," he whispered.
Frowning, I crept out into the hallway after him. It was early. Far too early for most of the house to be awake, but for some reason this didn't feel like a Texas prank. He waited for me at the end of the hall, and when I approached, he reached out and took my hand, pulling me behind him as we headed for the kitchen.
When the sliding backdoors came into view, I stopped. A gasp slipped free from between my lips.
"Isn't it pretty?" Texas asked. "I saw it from outside my bedroom window."
A solid blanket of white covered the ground outside. "But..." I approached slowly. “Snow?”
“Yeah.” He nodded his
head enthusiastically. “The weather report said we might be getting it.”
“We never get snow here,” I said.
He chuckled quietly. “I know.”
“It’s beautiful.” I released Texas’ hand and pressed mine against the glass separating us from the outside. The soft, cloud-like substance covered everything—from the lawn chairs to the patio and the grass. It looked like a winter wonderland. There was something precious about how untouched it was.
“Want to go outside?” Texas asked.
I turned wide eyes on him and nodded fervently. He laughed. “Come on, let’s go get some more clothes on then.”
Both of us rushed back to our rooms and the next time we met, we were both dressed from head to toe. Thick pants. Boots. Long sleeves. Sweaters. Coats. Hats and scarves. We went all out. When we reached the backdoor once more, we were joined by Bellamy—who was dressed the same as we were.
“Heard you getting ready,” Bellamy said with a grin. “Thought we’d join you.”
Unable to help myself, I grinned back. “Let’s go!”
Texas slid the door open and I dashed outside before anyone else had the opportunity, loving the feel of my boots making the first footprints in the snow.
“Hey wait up!” I giggled and rushed ahead as Texas’ call followed after me.
Scooping up a handful of snow and mashing it down into a semi-circular shape, I stopped, whirled, and tossed it straight at him. The ball of slushy snow smacked his face and slid down his neck.
“Shit! Oh, Spider-Monkey you are in so much trouble. That shit’s cold!”
Laughing, I sprinted away, heading around the side of the pool house. I wondered if Grayson was awake yet. I found out he was a moment later, as I was circling the other side of the building when he stepped out and caught me.
“Ah. Ah. Ah. Babydoll. No running from your punishment,” he said.
“Grayson!” I shrieked in outrage and betrayal as Texas rushed up behind me and dumped a handful of snow down the back of my coat and shirt. I screamed and thrashed, laughing and slapping out at the two of them as they laughed back. Grayson dropped me and ducked away as I swung my fist.
“Run!” Texas ordered and both of them dashed away.
“You—damn!” I wiggled, flapping the back of my clothes, trying to get the snow out. It melted against me as I moved. “You assholes!” I screamed.
I heard the soft stomps of their rushing footsteps as they sprinted away. I ran around the rest of the pool house, hoping to cut them off, when I ran headlong into Bellamy. I slipped on the soft wet ground and nearly went sprawling backwards before he caught me.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning as he dusted off some extra snow that clung to the back of my coat.
“No,” I snapped. “I’m vengeful. Wanna help spread some holiday cheer?” I asked.
He grinned. “Let’s get them.”
Bellamy and I moved around the side of the pool house and when he spotted Texas and Grayson on the ground, scooping up handfuls of snow, he called back to me. “SNOWBALL FIGHT! PREPARE YOURSELF!”
I giggled and laughed and cursed as minutes later an avalanche of premade snowballs—most of which were still piled together at Grayson’s and Texas’ feet—began to assail us. I scooped up handfuls of snow as fast as I could. I didn’t even wait long enough or appropriately pack them before throwing them. Half of the balls I tossed barely made it halfway across the yard before disintegrating.
“You suck, Spider-Monkey!” Texas taunted.
I laughed out loud when one of Bellamy’s snowballs caught him in the face. “What was that?” I called back. “I didn’t hear you over the snow in your mouth!”
I laughed, my heart feeling full. My chest expanding as I sucked in the frozen air. I paused for a brief moment, turning my cheeks up to the sun as it peeked up and rose over the horizon. And for a moment, I recognized my own contentment. How grateful I was for the guys, for whatever magic in the universe that had decided that I needed them, that I deserved them. I closed my eyes and thanked that unknown magic.
Then Texas lobbed another snowball at my face.
Epilogue
Knix
Harlow's hair swung around her face in wild disarray. I watched with a small smile as Texas—ever the prankster—snuck up behind her as Grayson held her immobile. The way her cheeks flushed and her teeth clenched as she stiffened when Texas let a scoop of snow fall down the back of her clothes brought a chuckle to my lips. Cleo sat on the inside of the window before me, licking her paws as she watched on. When Harlow shrieked in outrage, Cleo meowed and leapt from the sill and darted away.
She was so beautiful, our girl. I loved thinking of her like that. Our girl.
I looked down at the small box in my hands. For me, it reminded me of the day I had last spoken to Harlow's mom. It was a bittersweet recollection. One filled with the sorrow of knowing I’d never have the opportunity again, but with the soft glow of her acceptance and understanding and her blessing. Thankfully—hopefully—for Harlow, it would bring nothing but good memories. Happy memories. All the memories I wanted to give her for the rest of time.
“You be good to my daughter,” the woman had said. She’d been as frail as a body could be. Her arms too weak to lift as she let them lie alongside her. Yet still, she’d glared down the group of them, all five men—boys to someone like her—and demanded that of them.
Marv and Grayson had stood side by side at the back, Bellamy and Texas as well—all of them just behind Knix as he sat at the older woman’s side. Harlow was devastated. She knew that her mother wouldn’t last much longer, and she knew there was nothing more she could do about it.
“I wasn’t always as good to her as I should’ve been,” the woman admitted. “My head wouldn’t let me be. She was too good for me.”
“She’s too good for us too,” Marv said suddenly, drawing the woman’s gaze.
“Then why do you want to marry her?” she asked, eyes narrowing on him. “What could men such as yourselves ever hope to gain from my daughter?”
“Love,” Bellamy answered.
“Acceptance,” Grayson agreed.
“Happiness.” Of course Texas would say that.
“A lifetime together,” I replied as I reached forward and clasped her shriveled hand. Too weak to squeeze back, she turned it over and just let me hold it.
“Will you promise?” she asked, “not to leave her? To love her forever? To keep her with you and look after her? Make sure she eats well and takes care of herself? Will you promise to love her the way I couldn’t for so many years?”
Even as my throat swelled with emotion—the same emotion my father had taught me to accept while society had told me to reject it—I nodded and answered. “I promise—we promise—to love Harlow Hampton for the rest of our lives.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Texas’ whisper echoed around the sullen room.
I looked back at him sharply, but he seemed to realize his blunder at the same time. "I mean—" he started.
Harlow's mom chuckled, cutting him off. "I wouldn't say go that far," she replied. "But I think I can trust you." Then her hand weakly contracted against mine, drawing my attention back around to her now serious face. "Take care of her for me," she said.
I couldn't deny her that. "I will," I promised.
Grayson stepped forward. "We all will," he confirmed.
The memory trickled away as I looked away from the box in my hands to the window. Harlow threw a snowball, launching it at Texas’ head as Bellamy drove Grayson into the snow. Harlow was still healing from the loss of her mother. She likely would be for a long time. If anyone could relate to that, it was me.
The image in front of me, though, was one of hope. The smile on her face was undimmed by the recollection of what she’d been through lately. That was the weird thing about life—though it took things away, it also gave you more than you could have ever dreamed for. It had given me more than I could have ever dreamed for
. It had given me her.
A knock on the door interrupted my inner musings. I turned as Marv stepped inside. “You’re watching them?” He said it as a question, but truly it was just an observation.
I answered anyway with a nod. “Yeah.”
Marv stepped up alongside where I stood at the window. His eyes looked down to the box clutched in my hands.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked, sounding a bit nervous.
I smiled. “We all had a hand in choosing it,” I said, “so even if she doesn’t, it’s not because she doesn’t like you.”
"I know that," he said.
But still...I got it. It was nerve wracking. We'd all made a decision together as a group—even Grayson, who now fit in with our group far more than I could ever have predicted. Harlow was the woman we wanted to spend the rest of our lives with. She was it. None of us were willing to back down. She didn't seem adverse to the idea, but I wondered if she knew how serious we actually were.
"She'll say yes," I assured him.
"How can you be so sure?"
I shrugged. "She either will or she won't. I'm not sure. I'm hopeful."
Marv eyed me and then sighed, turning back to the window to watch the amusing proceedings as Harlow lodged a snowball at Grayson's head and caught him in the neck instead. Marv chuckled.
"You know," he said, "with the five of us, and her, there's never going to be a dull moment."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," I replied.
Marv shifted on his feet, hands going to the buttons on his cuffs. I smirked as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. “Shall we?” I asked.
He blew out a breath, but nodded, and together—as future husbands to one woman—we headed downstairs and out into the backyard.