“Maraya!” I yell for my five-year-old daughter, her name a combination of two of my favorite women, her middle name Loryn after my third favorite, her surname Smith after her daddy.
In fact, the only thing she has of mine is my red hair, though hers is an ember orange. It looks almost unnatural but in a really cute way.
“He’s lying,” Maraya states while her feet stomp a path to us. She has twigs in her hair and dirt on her freckled nose. She only had a bath this morning. I don’t know why I bother.
“Don’t pull your brother’s hair.”
She folds her arms across her chest and huffs. Out of the corner of my eye I see blond-haired Dexter stick his tongue out at her and wonder why I bother to get involved at all. Mason rarely does, he tells me to let them figure it out amongst themselves but sometimes I just can’t handle the arguments. It’s so stressful. They go from zero to sixty with no in-between.
“Breathe,” Mason whispers in my ear and wraps his arms around my middle. The scruff of his beard tickles my neck. “It’s all good, darlin’.”
Since moving to Virginia, to settle down on a vineyard that Mason and his uncle decided to start together near Afton Mountains, his accent has become so much heavier. It’s incredibly sexy.
Moving south was the best and the worst decision we ever made.
Best because it’s quiet, we have land, trees, our neighbors have horses that we can ride anytime we want, the kids have friends, and the community works together to raise them.
Worst because it’s not just a drive away, it’s almost a two-hour flight to take me back to New York to see my people, I miss my friends despite the fact I still see them as regularly as I can, and shopping down here isn’t great.
Still, it meant Mason would only have to do one more year in the military and then he’d get to retire. I didn’t hesitate to say yes if it meant more time with him and less time worrying.
The following year we got married in the country after Mason proposed while we vacationed in Hawaii. Everyone attended, even Chris came with his new flame and we’ve all been on great terms since. So much so we have Chris’ son, Charlie, for a few nights during spring break. Charlie is a month older than Maraya. They get along so well. It’s wonderful.
Life is incredible. Better than incredible.
That one night that ruined it all actually just opened the door to the kind of happiness I never would have known otherwise.
It just goes to show that sometimes our biggest regrets can become our greatest decisions.
“Away with you wildlings,” Mason yells playfully at them, patting Dexter on the rear with his foot as he turns away from us.
“Hey,” Dexter groans and glares at his father. “Don’t make me get my sword.”
“After the ass whoopin’ I gave you last time, you should know better than to challenge me.”
They’re playing of course. I laugh as Dexter races from the room with his sister hot on his heels. Their prior argument forgotten.
Mason chuckles into my hair and then sighs wistfully.
“Are you happy?” I ask Mason as I look out the window, across the vast land that holds trees, rocks, dirt, grass, footballs, and Frisbees. I can see Axel climbing the black cherry tree in our front yard. It used to make me panic when he did things like that but now it’s just whatever.
Axel has already broken both his arms at separate times, two fingers, one toe, and his collarbone. Dexter has broken the same wrist twice, his ankle once, and his thumb.
Luckily for them their dad doesn’t let me panic and lock them in padded cells like I want. He said kids should be feral, especially little girls. So long as they have good manners and they don’t grow up to bully anyone, then let them be wild.
They’re crazy kids but I love them the way they are.
Maraya hasn’t broken anything yet but she’s wilder than her brothers so I’m just waiting for it.
“You always ask me that. Don’t I show it?”
“You do, I just like to hear it,” I whisper as I turn in his arms and tilt my head back. “To think we might not have any of this now if we didn’t fuck at Maya’s wedding.”
“It was that dress you were wearing.” He reaches for my ass and grabs it with both hands, grinning when I do the same to him. “All I could think about was holding this all night as you let me fuck you.”
I shiver at the memory and kiss him deeply, tasting the sweet tea on his tongue. “Let’s lock the doors and fuck.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “As much as I’d love to—”
“PAAAAA!” Axel screeches from the tree outside, his binoculars against his eyes as he looks down the driveway that’s partially hidden by more trees to the right.
“They’re all here.”
I release him, squeal with delight, and clap my hands like a sea lion. My girls are here. Fuck yes.
“Try not to miss me too much,” Mason mutters, chuckling with it.
“Try to keep the kids alive.”
“Gonna need a miracle for that.”
I throw him a grin over my shoulder as I race to the door. This weekend is going to be the best weekend ever.
THE END
* * *
(Keep on Reading for a clip from STEPDORK, another of my works)
STEPDORK
1st Chapter
I place the last box in my new room. I’ve been here a few times over the past couple of months as is expected when your dad is getting serious with a new lady. It was a guest room before but Shonda had it cleared for my stuff. Nice of her.
I’m not exactly bitter about it.
There are a lot of pros to this move:
This house is bigger than my last one.
It has a pool.
It’s closer to the beach.
There’s a pool.
It’s further from the school so I have an excuse to be later home. Though not if they make me carpool with my hermit stepbrother. Dad won’t let me have another car after I got high and crashed my last one into Mr. Brunswick’s prized giraffe-shaped hedge.
My room is bigger than my last and has a roof below the side window. One I might be able to utilize in future.
It smells like lavender furniture polish.
I have a stepmother who actually likes me and makes the effort to talk to me. She’s nice and she smells like lavender furniture polish too. She’s also a badass accountant at some stuffy rich-man’s building in LA, so she has money. But then again, so does my dad and he never let me spend any. Well, not beyond my allowance anyway.
There’s a pool!
The cons are simple:
My new stepbrother has hated me since forever. Though this isn’t really a con because he mostly ignores me and leaves me alone.
My dad has less time for me now that he’s all loved up. It’s nice but it’s also sad. I’ve been his world for as long as I can remember.
There are more people around which means I’ll have to sneak out to get high before bed. Nothing major. I’m not into the heavy shit, not for the most part. But my body does require a certain amount of green in its system to sleep. To shut off the brain noise that I can never escape.
There’s a knock at my door but I know who it is. Dad’s knocks don’t sound like that.
“Come in,” I call as I pull the brown tape from the brown box and tip the contents onto my bed. Dad built it yesterday. It’s new. My old one squeaked too much so I now have a solid frame double bed with a drawer underneath. I’m wondering if I can hide people in there. It looks big enough.
Shonda steps one foot over the threshold but keeps the rest of her body out. That’s something else I really like about her, she doesn’t impose or force her way into my life.
When she looks at me I can tell she cares.
“I’m going to make sandwiches, are you hungry?” Shonda is a really beautiful woman with light brown hair to her shoulders and warm, yet sharp, hazel eyes. She has this way about her that commands respect yet oozes acce
ptance at the same time. There’s nothing cold about her at all.
“I’m starving.” I look at the mess on my bed. At this point I’ll do anything else but this. “Do you need help?”
Her smile brightens. “Not at all. You’ve got enough to do. I’ll help you when I’m done if you like?”
“I’ll be fine.” Really, I just don’t want anybody poking through my stuff. “I was actually going to leave most of it in boxes until I’ve painted. Can I still do that?”
“It’s your room,” she replies earnestly. “I meant that when I said it. So long as you don’t damage the walls or windows.”
“Shonda is ballin’,” I mutter, grinning at the blank canvas before me.
“I’m hoping that’s a good thing,” she replies. “Come down in ten for something to eat.”
She shuts the door behind her and leaves me to my silence.
It’s too silent.
I plug my headphones into my ears and turn the music on my phone before starting on my clothes. I have a decent enough closet. Maybe I could hide a person in there too.
I snigger at the thought and get on with my job.
I only just finished packing this shit yesterday. Packing sucks. I don’t want to pack anymore. Or unpack.
Still, I get on with it, taking care to hang up my clothes neatly. I’m not a slob, for the most part. I might forget to dump a mug in the sink, but I don’t leave my clothes everywhere.
It’s as I’m bopping to the music and sticking my favorite black skater dress onto a metal hanger that fingers tap me on the shoulder.
I startle but I don’t show it, I just yank out my headphones and let them hang around my neck.
“You shouldn’t play your music so loud,” Stepdork tells me, frowning in that way he’s always frowning. “You’ll damage your hearing.”
I blink at him and reach up to yank on the dark hair that’s tickling the edge of his long lashes, beneath large rectangular glasses. “You should get a haircut.”
He steps back, glaring at me with narrowed, intense hazel eyes that are so much like his mother’s but a lot colder. “Lunch is ready.”
“Four-one-one.” I yank on his hair again and he slaps my hand away and holds my wrist between us until I tug it free. “Don’t ever walk into my room again without knocking first or I’ll come into your room while you sleep, cut off this mop, and stick it to your face with superglue.”
Rolling his eyes, something he often does around me, he snaps, “I did knock. You didn’t answer.”
“Then text me! You know I’m always listening to music.”
“Text you how? What makes you think I’d have your number?”
I nod at that, smiling at the humor of it. “Good point. Different social circles and all.” I hold out my phone. “Input your number, Stepdork. Let this be a lesson to us both.”
I watch as he types it in and take it back the second he finishes.
“If you and your stoner buddies start pranking me I will make your life here absolute hell on earth.”
At that I laugh loudly and step even closer to him. He smells of fresh linen but little else. Not that I’m sniffing him or anything.
“You could try, but where you excel in smarts, you lack in moxie and we both know it. Good luck with making anybody’s life hell. Pussy.”
To Jami Kehr, such an amazing woman, always so supportive and kind. I am so glad to know you.
Melissa Teo, for constantly recommending me books upon my demand. Sorry not sorry!
And to all of those who accepted an ARC of STEPDORK and took their time to read and honestly review. Thank you so much. It means a lot to me.
Jenn Hare (NaeNae), Kathryn Manzella, Yasmin Alyssia, Jackie Ashmead, Tania Emma Shrimpton, Paige Sayer, Scarlett Emily, Ericka Howard, Kristy Gilliland Odom, Savanna Miller, Elizabeth Butts, Charlotte Day, Kayla Marie, Natasha Gutierrez, Shannon Garner, Jaimie Stevenson-Cox, Miz Biheiv (Monika R).
It is people like you who keep me going, that and my love for writing, but mostly the reason I keep publishing is because of awesome people like you who constantly tell me I should.
You keep me strong but also humble.
A. E. Murphy is the queen of sarcasm and satire, she likes long walks in the park, as much as ice cubes like to chill in a roasting oven. She’s effortlessly independent and so good at adulting it’s unfair on the rest of the world. She only napped twice today and has only avoided the dishes for three days before making the child slaves do them this morning. Winning! Her favourite hobby is writing, her worst hobby is reading through that writing. Also, she has three cats that carry toys to the top of the stairs and drop them down so they can chase them. They do this repeatedly in the middle of the night. Who cares if she has work the next morning? Not the cats, that’s for sure. And if it’s not the cats doing the waking, it’s the toddler crawling into bed with her and pulling individual hairs from her scalp with pudgy little fingers for comfort.
This is likely why she’s in a constant state of grump unless there’s chocolate and coffee. P.S. Please leave feedback, if not on the book then on this ridiculous bio she wrote herself. It’s the least you can do seeing as she’ll forever talk in the third person now.
Alex loves her readers. Alex says thank you. Alex smiles.
Contact
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Standalone Novels
Masked Definitions
HIS FATHER
STEPDORK
Seas of Seduction
Seizing Rain
Freeing Calder
The Little Bits Series
A Little Bit of Crazy
A Little Bit of Us
A Little Bit of Trouble
A Little Bit of Truth
A Little Bit of Guilt
The Distraction Trilogy
Distraction
Destruction
Distinction
The Broken Trilogy
Broken
Connected
Forever
A Broken Story
Disconnected (Dillan)
Sweet Demands Trilogy
Lockhart
Lockdown
Unlocked
A Little Bit of Guilt: Little Bits #5 Page 26