by C. Tyler
“You okay, bro?”
Spencer’s voice draws me out of my thoughts and forces me to glance up. He’s coming towards me with a worried expression, wiping his hands off on a dirty rag as he does.
“What’s wrong?”
I say nothing and offer him the piece of mail. Curiously, he takes it, and I see his face drop the second he reads the name.
“Genetic Diagnostics,” he reads. “Dude, are these the results?”
“Yeah,” I say heavily.
“Well, shit,” he offers it back. “Open it.”
I feel myself shaking my head. “I don’t think I can, man. Just … you do it.”
He seems to get why I’m so nervous, and while I can tell he doesn’t want to open it either, he does.
Spencer hesitates for a second. I think he can feel the weight of the results as easily as I can. Fortunately, he tears through the envelope and yanks out the piece of paper. His grease-covered hands smear oil all over the outside of it, staining the pristine surface, and for some reason that’s what I’m focusing on. Weird…
His eyes dance over the wording, and I swear I can hear Maury in my head saying the phrase, “you are the father”, and that shit terrifies me more than I can put into words. I don’t want to be stuck with Macy any more than I already am. Although, thanks to whatever the hell Mike said to her, she’s backed the fuck off for the most part. Still, I don’t want another kid with that bitch.
Without warning, Spence laughs. The action catches me so off guard I actually jump. With that victorious smile, he practically shoves the piece of paper into my face. It takes me a second to focus on the writing, but after a minute, I find what made him laugh. One simple phrase stands out in blaring contrast to everything surrounding it: no familial match.
A sudden weight is immediately lifted from my shoulders. He’s not mine. The kid’s not mine.
“Jesus, fuck,” I sigh, finally relaxing for the first time in weeks.
Spence lunges forward and hugs me tightly, smacking my back so hard it stings, but I don’t care. The kid’s not mine.
Sure, part of me pities him. I mean, God only knows who the hell his father really is, but he’s not mine.
“Aw, man,” Spence pulls back. “You gotta tell Mikey.”
“She’s workin’, right?” I ask. He nods. “Cover for me?”
“You got it, bro.” He grins.
Without another word, I jog to my bike, shoving the piece of paper into my pocket as I do. I’m gone in minutes.
****
I pull up to Henderson’s Hardware and park on the street. I can see past the massive writing on the windows and notice Mikey in the background straightening something on a shelf. Getting off my bike, I head inside just as she’s coming towards the front again. The minute she sees me, she smiles wide. I fucking love that smile. I fucking love her, everything about her.
“Hey,” she says happily when I step inside the store. “What are you doing here?”
I smile back and instead of answering, I give her the piece of smudged paper. Her brows come together curiously before she unfolds it and quickly finds the same piece of information that caused me and Spencer to celebrate only a few minutes ago. Her shoulders immediately slump and a relieved breath leaves her lips.
“Oh, thank God,” she sighs. Mikey throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly. She’s as relieved as we are. I bury my face in her hair and breathe deep.
“You smell good,” I tell her, smiling again when I feel her shiver in my arms. I love that she reacts like this to me. Jesus, if only she knew how she makes me feel…
“You smell like grease,” she teases. “And sweat.”
“M-hm,” I mumble, shifting some of her hair out of the way so I can kiss her neck. She immediately relaxes in my arms, so I do it again.
It takes no time at all for her to get me all excited. Everything about this chick is addictive as hell to me. I mean, she’s such a genuinely good person and gorgeous and everything any guy could ever want. Shit, she’s literally my perfect woman.
And it pisses me off that someone else touched her. It took all of my self-control to keep from lashing out when Spencer told me about her ex and the scars he left behind. I was actually shaking. The thought that someone did that, that neither of us stopped her from leaving, and she was actually living in fear of that prick was almost too much. I was pissed for weeks, until Spencer told me they found the guy and “took care of it”. I don’t think I’ve ever slept that well in prison before. Serves him right. Nobody touches our girl.
I feel the blood pumping through my body the longer I’m holding Mikey in my arms, and I know what I want to happen next. Drawing back, I kiss her deeply. I love it when she coos and moans when I kiss her. It makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle.
“You here alone?” I ask when we part.
“Yeah.” She nods. “Why?”
I flash a half-smile before stepping back. She watches me curiously as I walk to the front door and flip the lock. When I turn back to her, she’s fighting a smile, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to level an intimidating glare on me, but she can’t do it.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Chas?” she asks, but I’m pretty sure she knows.
“Nothing,” I openly lie. When I reach her again, I lift her into my arms and turn, setting her down on the counter next to the register. “Just want a little privacy.”
“Uh-huh,” she replies skeptically.
I step forward, guiding her legs around my waist and kiss her again. It honestly takes nothing for her to get me excited. Seriously, a smile’s enough half the time.
Things start to heat up quickly like they always do with us and soon we’re pawing at each other. Whether I want to or not, I step back again, breaking our kiss. It actually shocks my system when I do, and I fucking hate it. The only thing that helps is I know what’s going to happen next.
****
I don’t know how long we fucked on the front counter in plain view of the world outside, but we know we have to part. My forehead falls against hers as we breathe heavily. My body is still tingling with residual pleasure.
Eventually, we separate, and I help her get dressed. When she’s presentable again, I step closer and tenderly cradle her jaw. She looks up at me again with that same fathomless love. I’m lucky to have her, and I know it. She looks out for me when I’m too fucking stupid to do it for myself.
“Love you, Mikey.”
“Love you, too,” she says, kissing me when I dip forward. “See you at home.”
I give her a nod and a smile before unlocking the door and heading out. She stands behind the counter, watching me get on my bike. She blows me a kiss as I start my motorcycle, and I give her a parting wink.
Life as a Son may be hectic and crazy most days, but I’ll take this domestic shit any day.
Trouble is, I have another stop to make before I get back to work, and I’m not looking forward to it.
****
The closer I get to the grocery store, the deeper my scowl becomes. I wish I could avoid Macy for the rest of my life, but I can’t. The fact is, we do have kids together, even if this boy isn’t mine.
After parking, I make my way inside. Thanks to my stature, I can see just about every cashier and bagger without having to struggle, and I spot her at the end. Her badly bleached hair shines like a beacon to me and makes my skin crawl for some reason. I think it’s our past that makes me cringe.
The heels of my boots fall hard against the ugly tile floor. I can feel myself getting angrier the closer I get to her. I know why she tried to pin Sam on me, and why she spent the last few weeks manipulating me with him, and I hate her for it. Macy played on my fears, on my need to be a good guy, to be better than my own father.
I love my dad, but the guy spent the first ten years of my life in prison. I was old enough to know something wasn’t right long before I ever met him, and because of that, I swore I wouldn’t be the same. My kids w
ould have their dad around as much as possible, and she knew that was my goal.
The girls are old enough now that I can give everything to them specifically, whether it be my attention or cash. Macy can try to hold them over my head, but they’re growing up and the more that happens, the less control she has. That’s why she tried to claim Sam was mine.
With Sam, my cash would be more indiscriminate. When the girls were babies, I’d give Macy a couple hundred bucks a week, and even though I knew she was spending some of it on herself, I was sure at least part of it was going towards them. Whatever I didn’t get myself, I knew Macy could still afford. It gave me peace of mind when I couldn’t be there with them for whatever reason.
Macy raised hell whenever the cash started to slow down because the girls needed less and less. They weren’t on formula anymore and didn’t grow out of their clothes every three months. It gave her less of an expendable income, less money to spend on drugs or booze, or whatever the fuck it was she bought.
I won’t lie, it does break my heart that I don’t have a son of my own. Part of me was actually kind of happy when Macy said I had a son, even though it meant we’d be tied together again for a few years. Isn’t that every guy’s dream, though, to have a son? And even though Macy was sucking the soul out of me every second I was in that apartment, even though my heart was broken ‘cause I “wasn’t allowed” near Mikey, and even though I knew she’d make my life a living hell for years to come, I loved that little boy. I played with him, fed him, changed him, and gave him the attention that woman didn’t. I doted on him like she knew I would. She knew if I spent enough time with him, I’d connect and never want to let him go. She played me, hard, and separated me from the people I love in the process.
Bitch.
She hears me when I’m close and pauses right in the middle of scanning some bread. I can tell she’s confused to see me, and before the cogs and gears can start spinning around in her head, I hand her the piece of paper.
“The fuck’s this?” she asks as she takes the results.
I don’t say anything and just leave. I know if I open my mouth, I’ll probably make a scene, and while I’m an asshole, I’m not that big of an asshole.
The tension leaves me as I make it back to my bike. Shit is about to get so much better, and I’m glad of it.
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
A ROCKSTAR IN HER BED
C. Tyler
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
September
My ears still hum from the concert as I’m led through the hall to the back room of the theater. A smile stretches across my lips, and I don’t bother hiding it when my guide opens the door. I’m immediately presented with a massive space filled with roadies, band members, and what look like old stage pieces from plays put on in the venue. For a moment, I’m invisible, but then a tall, attractive young man with nearly black hair and bright green eyes spots me. His face lights up with a smile.
“Holy shit!” he declares as he slips off a hollow boulder and jogs towards me. “Chris! The hell are you doing here?”
I meet him in stride and wrap my arms around him tightly. “You didn’t think I’d miss you guys coming to town, did you?”
“You should’ve given me a call or something, Sis.”
“And miss the look on your face? Nah!” I laugh as we part. “Oh my god, you’re so sweaty.” I push at him playfully and he laughs. I’ve missed my brother. Max, my fraternal twin brother, is the rhythm/lead guitarist of the band Diesel Weasel, and I dare anyone to say that name and not smile at least a little.
He’s been with them since the beginning, and about four years ago they finally hit it big. They composed the textbook earworm of a song that was just the perfect level of infectious. Once it wiggled its way into your brain, you couldn’t get enough, and somehow, it eventually found its way to the radio. That was just the beginning. The doors to stardom had been thrown wide open, and nowadays, Diesel Weasel is given the chance to play venues way bigger than someone’s backyard. It’s been a crazy whirlwind ever since.
Once I’m discovered, the rest of the guys come forward and offer me hugs, too. Within this sea of wild and goofy, there’s Max with the guitar, Tommy on drums, Jason on bass, and … smack! The pain now radiating through my ass is compliments of the last and final member of the group, Adam.
“Hey, sexy,” he chimes with a dimple-filled smile as he steps around after landing the sharp slap. He’s brandishing that damn smirk that makes me want to hit him. “Long time no see.”
“Asshole,” I grumble in response.
“Come on, man,” Max half-heartedly complains. “I don’t need her kicking your ass.”
Adam holds up his hands in mock surrender before shooting me a wink and stepping back.
Adam Cleary is many things, and irritating is definitely among them. The man goes out of his way to annoy me whenever I’m around the whole group, and given he’s on rhythm/lead guitar and lead vocals, he’s not going anywhere. Neither of us is, actually, so moments like this have become the norm.
He’s roughly six-foot-four, lean, good-looking, and he knows it. His chocolate brown hair is always styled in a modern version of a 1950s pompadour, his sapphire eyes are always sparkling, and his full lips are currently hidden just beneath a thick Fu Manchu with chops. The facial hair should look utterly ridiculous on any man of any age, but somehow, he pulls it off. I don’t know if it’s his inherent ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude that makes it work, or the fact that he’s relatively young at twenty-nine, but whatever the reason, he can get away with almost any fashion choice.
Adam continues to grin while I rub my ass briefly. Honestly, I think he hit me almost as hard as he could. A small part of me actually hopes he hurt his hand, but I doubt it.
“Anyway,” I sigh as I shift my attention back to Max. My smile returns almost immediately. “How’s the tour going?”
Max lets out a loud, obnoxious, almost comical groan before grabbing my arm and leading me away. He proceeds to tell me about everything: the good, the bad, and the insane. While we catch up, we’re surrounded by a swarm of activity. They guys don’t have long before they have to be on the road again for their next show, and I honestly can’t stay too long, either. But this is what life’s become. Max and I both have hectic work schedules, then tack on the fact that he lives on the East Coast, me the West, and he’s in the middle of touring, well … let’s just say, seeing one another is tricky. We take what we can get.
Eventually, I have to go, so I spend the next ten to fifteen minutes saying goodbye to everyone. I don’t know where the hell Adam slipped off to, but for the moment, I don’t care. It’s easier to concentrate when he’s not around.
“So, are you coming home for Christmas?” I ask Max as he walks me to the door leading back into the theater.
“Yeah, I think so.” He nods. “We’ll be swamped up until then, but we’ll have a couple of days off.”
“Good.” I reach forward, pinch his cheeks, and in the most ridiculous voice I can muster I add, “Mommy’s been missing you.”
He shoves my hand away and glares halfheartedly, but we both know it’s the truth. Mom doesn’t get to see us too often anymore, so she lives for family holidays where everyone can be together.
With a final wave to the guys, I disappear through the door and back into the darkened hall. As I walk down the narrow corridor without my previous guide and round a corner, someone grabs my arm. Without warning, I’m yanked into a recess I hadn’t realized I walked by. The moment my back hits the wall, someone is pressed securely against my chest.
It happens in seconds. It leaves me a little dazed until I look up a
nd see a familiar face staring down at me with glowing blue eyes and dimples. Heat fills my cheeks, but I glower as best I can. The expression must be as weak as I think it is because he chuckles in response.
“Where’s my goodbye?” Adam asks in a low, sultry voice. He makes sure there’s no space between us and takes my hips into his hands, massaging them gently when he does. It makes my heart flutter.
“How the hell am I supposed to do that when you’re out here hiding in the shadows?”
His smile widens at my mock defiance. I’d been so busy in the back room ignoring Adam that I didn’t actually see when he slipped out. I only knew that he’d disappeared. Obviously, he used that chance to hide out in the nearly black hallway so he could grab me when I came walking by.
“Besides, my ass still hurts, so you don’t deserve a goodbye.”
“Oh,” he pouts. Adam shifts his grip until his massive hand is wrapped around the cheek he’d slapped earlier. “Did I hit you too hard?”
“Maybe,” I mumble as he leans even closer.
Adam’s lips brush over mine and he squeezes the globe of my ass firmly. “Want me to make it up to you?” he whispers in a gravelly tone.
I nod and when I do, he kisses me. I let out a soft sigh as his tongue sweeps across mine. My arms encircle his neck and hold him close as he kisses me deeply. Passionately. Any and all thoughts flee my mind the instant we’re wrapped around one another again.
His hands rove over my body, squeezing and touching everything they can. I feel like I’m going to come through my skin. Heat immediately pools between my thighs, followed shortly by a familiar ache of need. It’s been too long since I’ve felt him touch me.
Suddenly, Adam lifts me into the air. On instinct, I wrap my legs around his waist, and we draw back from each other. He smirks at my stunned expression. I can’t help it––it happens every time. At 5’8”, with a job restoring houses and doing light construction, I’m well-toned. That makes me a little heavy for most guys to pick up on a whim, but not Adam. Never Adam.