Untwisted

by Cari Quinn

  “If I knew that, would I be asking?”

  “The chicken afterglow has clearly worn off. There—that’s the one we’re looking for.” He pulled the car over and glanced at her, apparently noticing her distress. “We passed a convenience store a few blocks ago. After we meet Molly, you can stay here and visit and I’ll go see if I can find you something to settle your stomach.”

  “Don’t forget the Pepto.”

  He grabbed her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “She’s going to love you. It’s impossible not to.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I’d be thrilled if you were my sister.”

  “Sicko. I already sort of was. And you see how that turned out.” Pointedly, she looked down at her belly and he laughed.

  They got out and stood on the curb, staring at the multi-family house in front of them. Sunset wasn’t too far away and the rundown brown building in front of them didn’t look any better in the soft pink and gold haze of almost-twilight. “So, I guess we should go see if she lives upstairs or down.” She frowned. “Oh shit, I was supposed to call and let her know when we were close.”

  “Call her now. She didn’t say how close, right?”

  She rolled her eyes and started heading up the sidewalk. “Good thing you’re hot, because you’re a total pain in the ass.”

  “Hello, Dylan is listening. I am offended on his behalf.”

  Ignoring him, she jogged up the crumbling steps and stopped in front of the row of mailboxes. Three of them. Box number two was for the second floor and was labeled Molly McIntire, written in fading purple ink covered by a piece of peeling tape.

  Jazz’s already iffy belly sank down to her toes and roiled. Molly’s name was the only one on the mailbox, not their mother’s.

  And sticking out of the top of the mailbox was an eviction notice.

  “Nice decorating scheme,” Gray said, stopping beside her and gesturing to the weathered gnome holding a daisy that was guarding the front door.

  Saying nothing, she pulled out the eviction notice and pressed it into his hand.

  He read it silently, his gaze lifting to hers. “Guess it’s a good thing we got here before she got booted.” His brows knitted. “Unless that’s why she contacted you in the first place.”

  “God, now you sound like Harper.”

  Moving past her, he aimed for the second door and knocked. When he didn’t get a response, he pulled it open, revealing a narrow hallway and a flight of stairs to the left. To the right was the door for apartment number three.

  Gray glanced back and motioned her forward. “After you.”

  Jazz bit her lip and dragged her attention away from the window covered with bars that she’d just noticed. That was probably some sort of design. Most likely the bars weren’t for protection.

  She hoped.

  She went inside and started to lead the way up the stairs, but he took her arm and gently nudged her behind him. “Nope. No can do. Until we see what’s on the other side of that door, you’re riding shotgun. Sorry.”

  Her feminist side demanded she argue. Her newly emerging mom side, however, had no problem letting him check the situation out first, even if that made her a wuss.

  A nauseous wuss to boot.

  She nodded and he ascended the stairs, still holding the eviction notice. He knocked once, twice, three times. Finally on the fourth, a guy bellowed, “Who the fuck is it?”

  Gray raised a brow in Jazz’s direction. “Don’t think that’s the welcome wagon.” He turned toward the door. “Avon. Sale on lip gloss. Interested?”

  “Jesus, G.” Jazz shoved him aside and knocked politely. “Hi, this is Jazz—Jasmine Edwards. I’m looking for Molly?”

  “Hang on.”

  “What’d I say about behind me?” Gray grabbed her shoulders and eased her behind him, so that her ass was pressed against the wobbly railing. “If this looks as dicey as it sounds, we’re outta here,” he added in an undertone. “Sister or not.”

  Reluctantly, Jazz nodded, though she had no such intention of fleeing so soon. Now that she’d come all this way, she needed to see Molly. Needed to listen to her talk and watch her smile and hopefully, hug the stuffing out of her. She couldn’t just turn her back without making a real attempt.

  Maybe the guy was just the growly sort but was a perfectly decent human being.

  The door swung open and a guy with a purple faux hawk leaned out, his gut preceding him. He wore disturbingly tight jeans, some kind of spiked belt and had a large tattoo of the devil—who happened to be frothing at the mouth—on his right pec. “You callin’ yourself Jasmine?” he demanded, staring hard at Gray. “It fits.”

  Not rising to the bait, Gray jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jazz. “That’s Jasmine. I’m her husband. Where is Molly?”

  “Husband? Since when?” A tall girl in a bra and booty shorts shoved past past the smirker in the doorway and dragged a mile of honey-blond curls out of her face. “I thought you were—” She broke off as her eyes locked with Jazz’s.

  Jazz opened her mouth, intending to say something. Anything. Hello. How are you? I’m sorry I forgot to call back.

  But a wave of nausea strangled anything but a choked, “Move!” She cupped her hand over her mouth and shoved her way into the apartment, frantically looking right and left over piles of debris that resembled furniture until she noticed a door on the opposite side of the living room/kitchen combo. She barreled into it and slammed the door shut before losing her well-earned chicken and half of her esophagus in the toilet.

  Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom. Everyone—minus Gray who lurked outside the bathroom like a sentinel—was still in the doorway of the apartment. Apartment was kind of a compliment, since it resembled a large coat closet more than an actual living area. And its inhabitants were now staring at Jazz as if she were an alien life form.

  “Are you okay?” Gray asked, reaching for her.

  Jazz lifted her damp hair away from her cheeks. Washing her face and rinsing out her mouth twenty times had helped revive her, but only marginally. “I’m fine.”

  “Dude, are you knocked up?” Faux hawk asked.

  Gray pressed his mouth against Jazz’s ear. “We can still leave. Just walk out the door and keep going.”

  “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

  Molly frowned in the general direction of Jazz’s belly. “Where is it?”

  For unknown reasons, Jazz glanced down at her stomach too. She knew her bump wouldn’t be any bigger than it had been at the doctor’s office, and hell, she had photographic proof in her purse that she had a kid in there. But a strange panic seized her and she cupped her belly, wavering a little on her feet.

  “Easy.” Gray guided her to the nearest seat, a recliner that had clearly seen better days. “Can she have some water? Or something that isn’t toxic?”

  “Shush,” Jazz mumbled, sagging into his side as he sat on the arm of the chair. She tried not to look around at the mess—the piles of discarded newspapers and takeout cartons, the empty beer bottles that littered the tables, the dust that seemed to cover every surface—but it was almost impossible.

  Jazz wrinkled her nose. Equally impossible to ignore was the faint stench of pot that hung in the air.

  Molly headed into the galley-style kitchen and pulled down a glass from the cupboard. She filled it with tap water then crossed the room and handed it to Jazz, moving back quickly before their fingers could touch. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

  Jazz sipped the lukewarm water and gripped the glass to give her hands something to do. “We haven’t really made it public yet. Our manager likes to spin things a certain way so she picks the timing for most announcements.”

  “Even your baby? Wow, that’s wack.” Molly sat on the edge of the coffee table and let her arms dangle between her legs as she looked from Jazz to Gray. Jazz was sure that the fact that her sister’s current pose nearly made her extremely ample breasts fall out of her bra was just a coinciden
ce.

  As way the wolfish way she was now eyeing Gray and licking her lips. Literally.

  “So y’all are married? When did that happen?”

  “It hasn’t yet.”

  “But he said he was your husband. Or is that common law?” Molly decided to change positions, this time relaxing with her hands behind her on the coffee table, therefore pushing her breasts in the air.

  “Do you think you could put a shirt on?” Jazz asked, not for Gray’s benefit but her own. Gray hadn’t spared Molly more than a look so far.

  “Why? If I wasn’t meant to show these babies off, God wouldn’t have been so generous with them.” Molly laughed and hopped up off the coffee table. “Hey Junior. Grab my shirt off the bed, would you?”

  Like the dutiful whatever-the-hell he was, faux hawk abandoned his post in the doorway to go retrieve Molly’s shirt from an adjacent room that was presumably the bedroom.

  “Junior, huh? So he’s not the first formed in that mold?” Gray kicked out his long legs and crossed them. “So glad to hear that.”

  Molly narrowed her eyes. “You makin’ fun of my boyfriend? He’s in a band, same as you.” She crossed her arms over God’s generous gifts. “Matter of fact, we’re both in a band.”

  “Where’s our mother?” Jazz demanded, filing away the band information for later. Way later, when her head stopped exploding from the barrage of new data.

  “Mol, here.”

  Molly caught the shirt Junior tossed her and pulled it on. And oh, what a shirt it was. It appeared to be made out of some kind of lime green mesh and showed off almost as much skin when she was wearing it as without. She turned back to face Jazz and Gray, propping her hands on her equally generous hips.

  Whereas Jazz was stacked up top and nowhere else, Molly had been the recipient of a trifecta of presents from the body fairy—huge boobs, curvy butt and long legs that could make a tree feel jealous. The tiny waist, huge blue eyes and shampoo commercial-shiny curls were bonuses.

  “My mother isn’t here.”

  “Your mother,” Jazz repeated, saying the words again to lessen their sting. But it wasn’t the repetition of them that accomplished that. It was the strong arm around her shoulders that offered her a place to lean even when she couldn’t admit that she needed to.

  “Yeah, so what? I’m grown. I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

  “Right. Seventeen is grown. And you’re not even seventeen yet.”

  Molly’s mouth curved in something awfully close to a sneer. “You’re not that much older than me and you’re some kind of married and knocked up.”

  “I’m plenty older than you and I’ve also been the next thing to on my own since—”

  “Since you were fourteen, yeah, yeah. I read your press bio. Until you moved in with this one’s family,” she pointed at Gray, “and scored yourself a rich man. But not all of us care about money and status.”

  Gray glanced around the apartment. “Yeah, I’d say that’s obvious.”

  “Who says we ain’t got money or status?” Junior dropped down on the coffee table and Jazz wondered how it didn’t break in half from his considerable bulk. “Just because we choose to live here doesn’t mean—”

  “You’re living with your boyfriend at the age of sixteen?” Jazz interrupted. “And Mom’s just gone?”

  Gray tugged the folded eviction notice out of his pocket. “Speaking of choosing to live places, I think your fortunate run here is almost up.”

  Molly snatched the paper out of Gray’s hand. “He doesn’t live here,” she said, obviously distracted as she read the paper she held.

  “Hell I don’t.” Junior pounded a meaty fist on the coffee table. “I cook, I clean, I take care of this place while you go out whoring around.”

  “Wait a second,” Jazz and Gray said simultaneously.

  But Molly didn’t need their help.

  She turned toward Junior and lifted a brow. “Did you just call me a whore?”

  Junior set his jaw. “And if I did? Then what? You gonna kick me out before you’re kicked to the curb yourself?”

  Without hesitation, she pointed to the door. “Get the hell out.”

  For a long moment, tension throbbed in the room like a heartbeat. Jazz felt Gray brace beside her and knew he wouldn’t hesitate to leap to defend a girl who hadn’t been kind to either of them.

  She’d never loved him more.

  “You know what?” Junior hauled himself up and stalked toward the bedroom. “I don’t need this. I’m outta here.”

  Less than a minute later, him and a raggedy duffel bag of his stuff were gone.

  Molly cupped her elbows and stared at the closed door, still vibrating in its hinges. For the first time since they’d arrived, she looked less than sure of herself. She actually looked…desolate.

  Jazz glanced at Gray, who was already looking at her. Then he sighed and stood. “Do you have any place to stay?”

  Jazz gripped the arms of the chair. She’d known he would make some sort of effort to ease Molly’s discomfort—as would she once the numbness that had descended over her wore off—but even she hadn’t expected that. There were kind gestures, and there was going above and beyond.

  “Yeah.” Molly stuffed her hands in her back pockets. “Right here.”

  “I think that eviction notice says otherwise. Do you have a way to pay?”

  “I’ve got it covered.” Molly smirked at him, but her eyes were as heavy and dark as bruises. “Don’t worry about it, moneybags. Y’all can just head on back to your fancy house up in LA now.”

  Idly, Gray stroked Jazz’s hair. “Babe, why don’t you take the car and go down the street to that convenience store we passed on the way in? Get those crackers we talked about.” While he spoke, he never took his eyes off Molly.

  Jazz pressed her fist against her growling stomach. At the moment, crackers sounded like a gourmet meal. But why was he sending her off? “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just go get your crackers and come back.” He dangled the keys in front of her and she took them, too tired to argue. Besides, she knew he wouldn’t do anything to harm her in any way. It wasn’t like her relationship with her sister could be damaged more.

  They didn’t have one.

  When she didn’t move, he leaned down and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, and somehow those words were a promise.

  Let me take care of this for you.

  She didn’t know what that meant, but she trusted him enough to not make an issue of it.

  Nodding, she rose and headed to the door. Then she turned back to look at the girl who didn’t resemble her at all, in any way. “I was told several times that coming here was a mistake, but I didn’t want to believe it. Because I only have one sister, and it seemed like a gift that I might get her back.”

  Something flickered in Molly’s eyes, though she remained silent.

  “You might prove me wrong this time, but I won’t let you change me for the next. And maybe that’s the biggest gift I can ask for.” Jazz exchanged a glance with Gray before walking out and closing the door behind her.

  ***

  After he heard Jazz’s footsteps descend down the stairs outside Molly’s apartment, Gray sat in the chair she had vacated and tugged out his wallet. He wasn’t at all sure this was the best move to make, but he was running out of time—and options. “So what will it take?”

  Molly stopped staring off into space and shot him a look dripping with derision. “What will what take?”

  “Tomorrow needs to be special for Jazz and I’m willing to make sure of that through any means necessary. I think she’d be happy to have you there, and I’m gonna guess that you aren’t real interested in doing anything to make her happy. But you do need this.” He inclined his chin at his wallet. “So…let’s talk. Fast. Before she comes back.”

  “You’re paying me off?” Shock coated Molly’s previously husky voice. “For what?”

  “
I just told you, she needs you there tomorrow. And I need her to be happy.” At Molly’s blank look, he realized he was skipping steps in his haste to get this squared away.

  If Lila thought he was lacking preparedness for the wedding, he could just imagine what she would have to say about his methods here.

  “We’re getting married tomorrow. I hope. It’s a surprise. A surprise,” he repeated. “Which means if you blab to her, you’re going to answer to me.”

  “Getting married because she’s got the bun in the oven, I’m guessing.” Molly’s smirk was back in full force as she sat on the back of the loveseat and propped her bare feet on the cushions. Evidently she and her former “boyfriend” didn’t like actually sitting on the parts of furniture actually intended for that purpose.

  “No, getting married because we love each other and we want to be together.”

  “You already are together.” She used the back of the loveseat like a slide and bounced onto the cushions, a rather impressive feat considering how tall she was. “Unless you’re trying to lock her down because of that whole love triangle business.”

  “So you’ve heard of that but you hadn’t heard the gossip about us being engaged or her being pregnant. You have selective hearing.”

  “I think you do too. How do you even know that kid’s yours?”

  He didn’t let the jab take root, because it was baseless and he knew it. “How do I know you’re even really her sister?”

  Molly pursed her lips in an expression surprisingly similar to Jazz’s. It was the first time he’d seen any sort of resemblance between them, and the glimpse startled him into sitting back in the chair while she rose to rifle through a file cabinet that was being used for an end table. She dug out a sheaf of papers and strode over to him, thrusting one out. “That’s my birth certificate. Mama left it with the other papers when she took off.”

  Rather than looking at the paper, he looked at her instead. “How long have you been on your own?”

  Immediately the defensiveness snapped back into place. “Why does it matter?”

  He sat back in the chair and glanced out the curtainless window. Bars crisscrossed across it, blocking out a lot of the light. “My family took in foster kids from the time I was small. I saw a lot of them come and go. I heard a lot of stories.”