HARDCORE: Storm MC

by Zoey Parker

She frowned. “I never said I was.”

  “No, not out loud, but you’re acting like it. I thought you had maybe loosened up a little. But no. You’re gonna sit here all night and act like a mom, giving us dirty looks because we’re having a good time.”

  “I’m not giving you dirty looks. I’m not even looking at you.”

  “You don’t have to, believe me.” I walked away, taking the beer to Flash.

  “Maybe if you’d act more like a father…” she muttered.

  I heard every word, and after I had handed Flash his beer, I went straight back to her.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I stood in front of her, hands on my hips. I knew I could be intimidating when I wanted to, and I saw the way her eyes went wide when she took in my size.

  “What does what mean?”

  “I don’t act like a father.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t, do you?”

  “I guess your father was something out of a sitcom. Right? The perfect dad, the perfect mom, the perfect life.”

  “Something like that, yes. My father didn’t whore around, drinking and partying it up every night. He had a responsibility to me.” Her eyes flashed, and her creamy cheeks had a flush to them. I wanted to kiss her, even with the shitty things coming out of her mouth.

  “I’m glad you had the perfect experience, honey, but not everybody did. Wake up. You should know better than to think people have to act that way. Don’t you see lots of kids every year? Lots of parents? There are all types in the world.”

  “Yeah, including you.”

  “Damn straight, including me.”

  She scoffed. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

  “Then get the hell out.” I pointed at the door. “You’re the one who wanted to stay, to take care of Gigi.”

  “I didn’t want to stay. You made me stay.”

  “If you want to take care of my daughter, yeah.”

  “Your daughter. About time she was your daughter. You talk about her like she’s your possession, but you don’t even know her. Seven years of nothing, and now she’s your precious little girl.”

  “Listen. Get this through your head.” I leaned down until I could almost feel the fear coming off her in waves. “I never had a father—nothing. So I wouldn’t know, would I? How to be, I mean. And I didn’t know about her until Monday. So excuse me, Miss Perfect, if I’m doing the best I can and it’s not good enough for you. I’d hate to be in the shoes of any man who tried to be good enough for you.”

  I walked away then. I was afraid of what else I would say if I didn’t. I sat down at the poker table and didn’t get up for hours. By the time I left the game, she was gone. Probably in bed.

  Only she wasn’t. She was in my office, curled up on the sofa by the wall. I looked around, wondering what the hell was going on. I knew Erica already set her up with a room.

  I nudged her gently to get her to wake up. She sat up fast, shaking her head.

  “Shoot. I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

  I shrugged it off. “It’s okay. I was just coming in to turn off the computer. What’s up? Something wrong with your room?”

  She shook her head, stretching. I couldn’t help looking at her body when she did, especially when she pulled her arms back behind her and showed off her tits. Even in a baggy t-shirt I saw that what she had going on was mouthwatering.

  “I wanted to apologize,” she murmured. Her eyes were on the floor. I knew it wasn’t easy for her to say it.

  “For what?” I couldn’t help it. I wanted her to admit what a bitch she was earlier.

  “For trying to make you feel bad. You’re right—there are all different ways to be a father. I can’t give you crap for it. You don’t know what you’re doing. By this time, most dads would have seven years of experience under their belts. You don’t have seven days.”

  “That’s true.” I leaned on my desk, facing her. “I’m only doing what I can. I’m guessing most of the time.”

  “You’re doing well,” she said. “When I thought about it—the way she’s so happy here, or seems to be, the way she’s so comfortable in her room. The way you’ve eaten her favorite food every night to keep her satisfied?” She grinned.

  I grinned, too. “Yeah, I’m getting kinda sick of spaghetti. If she likes anything else, and you know about it, tell me. Please.”

  She laughed. “I’ll have to think about it. How do you feel about chicken nuggets, though?”

  I groaned. “We’ll have to make something separate for her.” Jamie laughed again.

  “I know you’re trying. This is all new to me, too. Your world.” She motioned with her arms to take in the whole building and everything in it. “I’m not used to the partying, the drinking and card playing, and all that stuff. I don’t feel comfortable, I guess. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

  “What do you do for fun, then?”

  “Fun?” Her face was blank.

  “Yeah. Fun. You know.”

  “Nothing specific.”

  “Don’t you have friends?”

  “Oh, yeah. We hang out sometimes, drink wine, watch our favorite TV shows. Now that Downton Abbey is over, I don’t know what we’ll do. Though I like Game of Thrones, too.”

  “I love Game of Thrones.”

  “Really?” Her face lit up.

  “See? We have that in common.”

  “We have Gigi in common, too,” she said, softly. “And you have to forgive me, but I’ve been looking after her since late August. I started packing two lunches to make sure she always has something to eat. I keep snacks in my desk drawer for her. I keep an eye on her shoes to see when she needs a new pair. Rae doesn’t do those things. She’s sort of been my project for the year. So it’s hard for me to give that up.”

  “You don’t have to give it up. She needs all the help she can get.”

  “True.” Jamie smirked.

  “Be nice.” Her face went blank again, and I went on. “We can work together. We don’t have to work against each other. I want her to be happy. You want her to be happy.”

  “Do you really? Want her to be happy, I mean?” She sounded sort of breathless.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “No, I do. I do. I just wanted to be sure you felt that way, because I didn’t know how you felt. I thought maybe you…I don’t know…resented her a little bit.”

  “How could I? Shit, I know what it’s like to be resented by a parent. By foster parents, too. I could never do that to my kid.”

  “I don’t mean to pry.” Jamie leaned forward, arms crossed over her knees. “What happened there? You talk about foster care like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

  “Maybe it’s not for some kids. It was for me. I wasn’t treated well. We’ll leave it at that. Okay?”

  She didn’t look convinced, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I turned around. Lifting the back of my shirt, I asked her to come closer. “See the circle-shaped scars on my back?” There were over a dozen of them, all over. I could close my eyes and tell her where each one was.

  I heard her come closer. “Yeah, I see some.”

  “My foster father decided to put his cigarettes out on my back one night.”

  “What?” It came out as a whisper. I turned around to see her horrified face. Her hands crossed over her mouth, tears filled her eyes. She whimpered.

  “Yeah.” I leaned on the desk again. “That was the worst night. That was the last night he ever did anything like that, too. I didn’t go to school the next day—the pain was so bad, I couldn’t. I went the day after that, though. I tried to put a burn cream on my back, but I couldn’t reach all the burns. Anyway, the cream went through my shirt, and so did some blood and other stuff. My teacher saw it, pulled me aside, took me to the boys’ room to get a look. I never saw a man cry before that day.”

  “Oh God. I’m so sorry.” She touched my arm. Her hand was shaking.

  “Now you see why I can’t put
her in one of those homes. There’s no way of telling how those people are, you know? They could look totally normal on the outside. My foster family did. On the inside, they were fucking evil.”

  “I get it. I do. I’m sorry.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she couldn’t. She stood very close to me, though. Her eyes were still wide, shiny with tears. And very green.

  “Not your fault. But now you know why I feel like I do. Why I wanna take care of her myself. It’s important to me. You know?”

  “I know.” She opened her mouth again to say something else, then closed it. She looked around. “I guess I’d better go to bed. Big weekend ahead, need lots of sleep.”

  “Sure.” I waved at her as she left the office, saying goodnight to a few stragglers having a last drink before going up themselves. We’d have a full house that night. I didn’t mind—being an only child, I liked having other people around me.

  “You okay, boss man?” Erica winked, leaning in through the open doorway.

  “I’m good.”

  “Goodnight, then.” She went upstairs. I was the last person down there, which was the way it should have been. I was the boss, like Erica said. I locked up, making sure everything was off and the burglar alarm was set. Then I went upstairs, exhausted all of a sudden.

  I couldn’t help poking my head into Gigi’s room, just to be sure she was okay. She was sound asleep, arms around a teddy bear. Her nightlight gave me just enough to see by, and I went quietly across the room to make sure her blankets were pulled up. I ran a hand over her dark head, just like my own.

  “Sleep tight,” I whispered. And silently I swore to her that I would make her life better than mine was. Even if it was the last thing I ever did.

  Chapter Nine

  Jamie

  “Miss Jamie?”

  “Jamie,” I corrected, mumbling as I rolled over in bed. I didn’t usually sleep well in strange beds, but this was different. Maybe I was just exhausted from being so worried about Gigi, meeting so many new people. Spending half the night thinking about Lance and the scars on his back. I had spent untold hours thinking about him, imagining what it must have been like to be that little boy. No wonder he turned out the way he did.

  “Jamie,” Gigi corrected herself. “Good morning.”

  I opened one eye, teasing her. She giggled, standing at the edge of the bed. I grabbed her, pulling her in with me. She giggled helplessly.

  “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  She sat up. “Good. It was kinda noisy downstairs, though.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it did get noisy sometimes. I’m sorry. I tried to keep everybody quiet. I’ll make sure to do a better job tonight.”

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged it off philosophically. “I’m used to it.”

  There was no hatred in her voice, no anger or pain. That was just the way it was for her. She was used to living with noise coming from downstairs.

  I took a chance, feeling my way into the conversation. “Did your mommy always have a lot of people over?”

  “Yeah. I mean, not every night. But a lot of nights.”

  “And you would always stay upstairs in your room when that happened?”

  “Yeah. I had my toys up there, and a TV and movies to watch. It wasn’t so bad. Then I would go to bed. Sometimes I would leave the TV on so I didn’t have to hear downstairs.”

  “That’s pretty smart,” I said mildly. “Did anybody ever come upstairs? I mean, did you hear people in the hallway, outside your door?”

  “Sometimes.” She traced the floral pattern of the bedspread with one finger. Her hair was a mess, total bedhead. I smiled at her when she wasn’t looking.

  “Did anybody ever come into your room?” I said it as calmly as I could, like it was normal for it to happen. I didn’t want to scare her off.

  “No. I was always alone.” She shrugged. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  “What do you think about Lance?” I asked, propping up on one elbow.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, is he nice to you?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. I mean, he wasn’t always. When I first got here, he pointed a gun at me.” She linked her hands in the shape of a gun and pointed it at my face.

  “What?” I didn’t mean to shout it, but she’d shocked me.

  “Yeah. He didn’t mean it, though. He told me he thought somebody left something bad at the front door. It was just me.” She shrugged, laughing it off like it was nothing. “But I cried when he did it. It was scary.”

  “I bet it was!” I wondered how Lance would feel if I stuck a gun in his face, then reminded myself he’d probably already had that happen more than once in the past.

  “After that, it was okay. He asked me lots of questions about my mommy, and where I live. He asked me for my address, but I didn’t remember it.” She avoided my eyes when she said that. The kid who could bluff her way through how many hands of poker didn’t remember her address?

  “Why didn’t you remember it?”

  “I was too scared.”

  I looked at her in my best teacherly way. I had to assert authority again. “Gigi. I know you know your address. Why don’t you tell me the truth? Remember what I always say about the truth? It’s always better to be honest. Right?”

  She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Is it wrong that I lied?”

  “In this case, sweetie, I don’t think so. But why did you?”

  “Because Mommy told me not to tell him. She didn’t want him to go there.”

  I frowned. It made sense to an extent. “Did she say why?”

  Gigi shook her head, tousled hair bouncing on her shoulders. “No. Just that I shouldn’t tell him, no matter what.”

  Rae might have been afraid of Lance taking Gigi back to her. Or maybe something was scheduled to go down there that she didn’t want anybody else to be part of. Whatever it was, it was over by the end of the week. The house looked dark and deserted when I checked it out. Rae had most likely fled somewhere.

  “So if Mommy told me to lie, is it okay that I did?”

  “Yes, it’s okay. You did it because Mommy asked you to.” I patted her on the back, then hugged her when I saw how upset she looked. “Don’t you worry about it even one little bit. You’re a very good girl.” Then I pulled away. “Though you did trick everybody you played cards with last night.”

  She grinned. “That’s not lying. That’s bluffing.”

  ***

  When we went downstairs, teeth and hair brushed, both of us dressed, we were the only people there. I knew more than a few people had spent the night—I remembered watching them stumble upstairs. Lance was one of them. It was already past eight o’clock, but I guessed that was practically pre-dawn to the people sleeping it off in the upstairs rooms.

  “It’s so quiet down here right now,” Gigi whispered. “It’s always quiet like this in the morning.”

  “Are you always alone like this when you first wake up?”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. I watch TV and play games until people get up. I don’t have to wait too long.” She was the most patient child I had ever known. I guessed a lifetime of waiting made a person more patient.

  “What do you say we make breakfast for everybody?”

  Her eyes lit up. “You know how?”

  “Are you kidding? I know how to do lots of things.” We went to the kitchen, which was fully stocked. I guessed once Gigi came along, it became important to be sure there was plenty of food available. I looked around.

  “What will we make?” Gigi tagged along behind me, watching as I pulled out ingredients.

  “I think this is a good day for pancakes. What do you think?”

  “Pancakes are my favorite!”

  I smirked. “Have you been eating them every day this week?”

  “No. Yesterday we had eggs, and the day before that, we had cereal.”

  “Okay. Pancakes it is.” I didn’t want to serve something they’d been eating
for days on end, like the spaghetti.

  “Gee,” I said, looking at the ingredients. “I’ve never cooked them for this many people at once before.”

  “You can do it.” Gigi smiled at me in that way only a totally trusting child could smile at an adult.

  “You’re right. I can do it.” I pulled up a recipe on my phone and multiplied the ingredients to make more servings. Flour, milk, eggs, sugar, salt, butter, baking soda. They even had vanilla extract.