Behind the Bars

by Brittainy Cherry

  At last…

  I was home.

  Elliott

  Eight Years Later

  “Daddy! Wesley bit me!” a small voice hollered, dashing into the bathroom. I sat beneath the sink, trying to stop the leaking pipe instead of hiring a professional. The little girl standing in front of me was the perfect mix of Jasmine and myself. Luckily, she got most of her mother’s beautiful looks.

  “I only bit her a little! She’s being a big baby!” Wesley barked, barging into the room. He too, was a perfect mix of my wife and me. He received mama’s sassiness, and her smile.

  “Am not!” she cried.

  “Are too!” he shouted.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out.” I placed the wrench down and stood up from beneath the sink. “What’s going on? Katie, Wesley bit you?” I asked my daughter. With tears in her eyes, she nodded. I turned to Wesley. “Why did you bite her?”

  “Because she bit me first, Daddy!” he cried, growing equally as dramatic as his twin sister.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Having two four-year-old twins was a lot to handle. “How about you both hug and apologize?”

  “But, Daddy, I don’t want to apologize! I don’t wanna be her friend no more,” Wesley explained, crossing his arms with a huff.

  Katie mirrored her brother’s reaction. “Yeah! I don’t want to ap-ap…” She stomped her feet, trying to push the word out.

  I saw the irritation in her eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Take your time, Sweetpea.”

  She inhaled deeply and exhaled slow. “I don’t want to a-apologize either, Daddy!”

  “Come on, both of you, sit down on the edge of the tub,” I told them, and they did as I said. I kneeled in front of them. “What’s the most important thing in the whole wide world?”

  “Ice cream!” Wesley giggled.

  “Yes, and after that?” I smirked.

  “Family,” Katie chimed in.

  “Exactly, and we all know that sometimes we can get a little tired and grumpy, right? And we make mistakes, but when we are family what do we do?”

  “We say sorry,” Wesley grumbled.

  “And love each other,” Katie said rolling her eyes. When did my baby girl become an eye-roller?

  “That’s right. Because family is the most important thing, even before ice cream sometimes. So I need you both to hug one another and go back to playing, okay? Also, keep it down so you don’t wake your mom or Leo, okay?”

  “Ugh. Okay, Daddy,” they said in unison.

  They hugged for half a second before hurrying out of the bathroom.

  “Wesley, stop biting me!” Katie shouted.

  “You stop pinching me, then!” her brother replied.

  Well, that lasted longer than I thought.

  Like clockwork, Leo began to cry, and before I could go grab him from his crib, Jasmine was already there, lifting him up.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” I said, walking toward her and kissing her forehead.

  “I’m not tired,” she yawned, rocking Leo back to sleep. He was a little over a month old, and fifty times more mellow than the twins had ever been. The only time he cried was when he was hungry, needed a new diaper, or was awakened by loud noises.

  “You’re half asleep.” I smiled. “Here, pass him this way.”

  She handed me Leo, and I rocked him back and forth. He was so small, so perfect. I couldn’t believe the life we’d created, the dreams that came true.

  We couldn’t have done any of it alone, though. We had a tribe of people always standing behind us. Mom and Ray were only a phone dial away if we needed them. They were busy creating their lives together, but always made time to come help us with the kids if we called. Jason and Kelly also had their hands filled with two children of their own, so playdates with beers for the grown-ups were always fun. Their kids were almost as wild as the twins. Almost.

  When we needed help the most, we’d stop by Uncle TJ’s house and he’d make the twins listen to jazz and soul music for hours on end as he fell asleep in a rocking chair. He was well into his nineties, but swore he hadn’t looked a day over eighty-seven.

  Those people were my tribe. My family. My life.

  I was so blessed.

  Right as Leo was on the verge of rest, Wesley hollered. “Oh my gosh it’s a flood!”

  “Mama, can I put on my swimsuit?” Katie screamed, making Leo cry.

  We headed to see the commotion, and there in the bathroom stood Wesley with a wrench in his hand and guilt on his face. “Oops? Sorry, Daddy,” he murmured as the pipe under the sink was snapped and water was gushing across the wooden flooring.

  “Oh my gosh, I’ll turn off the water,” Jasmine stated as I tried to soothe a howling Leo. As I went to scold Wesley, he shook his head.

  “Remember, Daddy. Family says sorry, and I’m sorry. So, you can’t be mad and you have to love me.”

  Did he just throw my parenting lesson in my face?

  “I think it’s time to get ready for bed,” Jasmine said, grabbing the twins by their waists. “Before your father’s vein in his neck pops.”

  She hurried them to bed, and then came back to help me clean up the floor. Leo stayed in my arms the whole time, and even with all the movements, he found a way to sleep. I lay him back in his crib and kissed his forehead. “Thank you for not being a twin,” I whispered before returning to help Jasmine.

  “I’ll call a plumber tomorrow,” I told her. “And I’ll have someone look at the floors.”

  She yawned and shrugged. “No worries. It will all be okay, we’ll have bacon in the morning.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “A-are you sleepwalking?”

  She yawned again. “I think I’m sleepwalking.”

  “Let’s get you to bed.” I wrapped my arm around her, and she tried to avoid slumber, but I lay her in the bed regardless of her refusal. I wrapped my arms around her body and held her close. “Sleep,” I whispered against her ear.

  “Sleep,” she whispered back.

  The twins were heard through the walls, still bickering. Whenever Jasmine tried to rise to check on them, I’d hold her tighter. “Sleep…”

  She nodded. “Sleep…” She snuggled her small figure against me. “Our kids are devils.”

  “They are literally the worst humans to ever exist.” I paused. “Let’s have another one.”

  “Piss off.” She laughed. “Would you choose this life again? If you had another chance, would you love me and these crazy kids?”

  “Always. I would always choose this, choose you and the kids. I would always choose us.”

  “Forever and ever?”

  “And ever.”

  She was so small and exhausted, and I swore I weighed five times as much as her, but she loved me just as much as I loved her. She was all beauty, and I was just me. Her skin was white as cream, and mine was painted caramel. My polar opposite. We weren’t meant to fall for one another, but when we blended together we were some kind of beautiful.

  “Elliott?”

  “Yes?”

  Her eyes were closed, and her lips brushed against mine. “Are you going to kiss me tonight?”

  I smiled as my lips fell against hers, and I breathed her in. Of course I was going to kiss her. I’d planned to kiss her for the rest of forever. Our kiss was a promise for all that we’d find. For the family we made, for the adventures we’d discover. I kissed her for our past, present, and future lives.

  Because of her, I lived again.

  Because of her, I smiled.

  Because of her, I was freed from behind the bars of my darkest days.

  I’d spend the rest of our lives showing her my love through every single song that lived within me.

  The End

  About the Author

  Brittainy C. Cherry is an Amazon #1 Bestselling Author who has always been in love with words. She graduated from Carroll University with a Bachelor’s degree in Theatre Arts and a minor in Creative Writing. Brittainy lives in
Brookfield, Wisconsin with her family. When she’s not crafting stories, she’s probably hanging with her pets or traveling to new places.

  The Elements Series (All Complete Standalones)

  The Air He Breathes

  The Fire Between High & Lo

  The Silent Waters

  The Gravity of Us

  Other Books by Brittainy C. Cherry

  Loving Mr. Daniels

  Art & Soul

  The Space in Between

  Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-Up Christmas Relationship

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is hard. Writing this book was extra hard. Behind the Bars dealt with so many road blocks during the writing process. I’ve written and re-written this story so many times trying to find the best way to give Elliott and Jasmine the story they were asking for. This book almost broke me. If it weren’t for a group of extraordinary individuals to hold my hand, I’m not sure I would’ve made it out alive. This is a story about strength, so let me quickly showcase where my strength comes from.

  This book is for you, Mama. My ‘Laura’. You are my rock, day in and day out. You are the voice of reason when I’m irrational, you are the calmness to my erratic sea. Thank you for always holding my hand and saying that everything always works out. You’re right—it does. You have no clue how much you mean to me, and I’ll spend the remainder of my life trying to show you. You are the music in a mute world.

  To my sisters, Tiffani and Candace: You are everything good in the world. I know they say family isn’t what you are born into, it’s who you choose, but in this situation, you are both. You are my blood, you are my heartbeats, and I would choose you over and over again for the rest of my life. You are the Prue and Piper to my Phoebe. In the words of The Originals: “We stick together as one. Always and Forever.”

  To my brothers who will probably never read this: You are living proof that there are good men in this world. The world needs more good, kindhearted, funny, respectful, and loving men. Thank you for being exactly that. You all are a good thing.

  To my papa: my cheerleader! Thanks for singing the praises of my books, even though it makes me blush and go, “Dad! Stoppp!” You’re a hardworking man with an amazing heart.

  To my agent, Flavia: You saved this book, and you saved me from crumbling. Thank you for reading re-write after re-write to help me in the late hours. From pushing me, and challenging me to put my all into the craft of storytelling. For believing in me—that’s my favorite part: your belief in me as an author and a person. Your belief in my writing when I struggled to see my own worth. Thank you for always standing by my side through every storm. When I think of strength, I think of you.

  To my best friend. The Ann to my Leslie. The Princess to my Frog. I love you, Samantha. I love your heart and how it beats for love and justice, and all the beautiful things in the world. I love that you still love me even though I disappear during writing deadlines. I love that we sometimes hold full conversations with only memes. I love how somehow those are our most profound messages. I love you, and your husband, and your daughters more than words. If I could put a meme in this book for you it would be the ‘Musk Ox’ one from Parks and Rec. Obviously.

  To Kandi Steiner—the girl who gets me more than most. Your messages of encouragement and words of wisdom stay so close to my heart. Then, during my breakdown about my cover, you swooped in and designed the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Your heart is huge, and I love you so much. You are truly such a blessing to me, and I don’t know how I became so lucky to call you one of my closest friends. We are the girls who feel everything, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  To Talon, Maria, Allison, Tera, Christy, Tammy, and Beverly: My favorite group of betas in the world. Thank you for pushing me. And thank you for not hating me for rewrites and having you read a pretty much different story from when you began. You are all the real MVPS.

  A big, big thank you to my copy editors, Ellie at Love N Books, and Caitlin at Editing by C. Marie, and Emily at Lawrence Editing. All three of you went to war for me with this book. You’ve watched me break down and still, you smiled and showed up with grace and charm. You went above and beyond with your editing skills. Please don’t ever leave me.

  Virginia Alison—the best proofreaders in the world. Thank you for combing through every hair in this book. You both aren’t just super sweet and amazing, you’re also very gifted and I’m so thankful that you shared your time and energy with helping me.

  And finally, to my readers: thank you. Without you, I’m just a girl typing to myself. Thank you for trusting me on the crazy journeys I take you on with these books. Thank you for believing in me, encouraging me, and pushing me to keep writing. There were so many days I’ve almost quit, and thankfully I had you all telling me to keep going. You are my lyrics. You are my strength. You are my key. You are my world.

  Thank you for existing.

  Thank you for being my favorite song.

  GRIP Series by Kennedy Ryan

  Available Now-FREE in KU

  An Excerpt from Kennedy Ryan’s FLOW, the FREE prequel of the GRIP Series

  I wanted to keep this pain locked away, private. Until now. Until Grip. His eyes rest on my face. I feel his compassion, and it weighs so much I want out from under it. I turn my head to escape the honesty between us for a few seconds. Just for a reprieve. As soon as I look over the side, I realize my mistake.

  “Oh, God. We’re so high.”

  Breath charges up my throat, panic pushing out the last few minutes of peace. My heart jackhammers. Blood rushes to my head, and the world spins. I grip my head to make it stop.

  “Hey, hey.” Grip scoots closer, eliminating the distance between us. “Put your head down as far as you can.”

  The safety bar keeps me from putting my head between my knees, but I don’t think it would help anyway. Nothing helps. It’s irrational. I know I’m safe, but fear mocks me and makes me its bitch. I hate it, but I can’t stop it.

  “My mom used to tell me to recite things,” Grip says from above me. “Like to distract myself when I was scared. To give me something else to focus on.”

  It only makes me more anxious that I have nothing I can recite. Fear jumbles all my thoughts together, so discombobulated that I can’t even assemble the digits of my phone number.

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Okay. Hold up.” He rubs my back in soothing strokes that don’t soothe. “I’ll do it. Just listen to my voice. Focus on what I’m saying.”

  I can’t focus. I can’t stop the encroaching darkness, blurring my edges and knotting my interior. It’s never been this bad, and it would happen right in front of Grip.

  “I’ll recite “Poetry” by Pablo Neruda. My favorite actually.” Grip’s voice is warm but disembodied as I press my eyes closed. “It feels like he was writing my life story. Like he knew there would be this kid who needed something bigger than himself, and he wrote this to guide that kid to a different path. This has always felt like more than a poem. It’s personal. It feels like my prophecy.”

  The emotion, the honesty in his voice compels me to hazard a glance at him. In the faint light of the moon and the bright lights of the carnival, I see his face. Beautiful and bronzed, a sculpture of bold bones and full lips. His eyes are intent, never looking away from mine as he begins.

  His deep voice caresses Neruda’s sentiments of how poetry called him from the street and away from violence. Of how writing saved him from a certain fate and opened up a world he’d never imagined. And Grip’s right. The poem could have been written for him . . . could have foretold the story of a boy called, not from the streets of a Chilean city, but from the streets of Compton.

  Passion weaves between his words and conviction laces every line. He means these words. He loves these words. Amazingly, as he’s reciting a poem I’ve never heard before, someone else’s words illuminate Grip to me. I see him clearly. A man deeply committed to his craft and who views
his gift as a miracle of circumstance. As cocky as he is, I see him humbled by the means to escape a path so many others never leave. And if the poem tells his story, his eyes are a confession, never straying from mine, holding mine in the moonlight, his voice liquid poured over something sweet. As he approaches the end, my fears are forgotten, but I’m still stuck on a Ferris wheel under a darkened sky, and nothing has ever been more fitting than the final words, in which the poet says he wheeled with the stars and his heart broke loose on the wind.

  There are too few perfect moments in this life. Far too few of us get them, but I am privileged to have this one with this man. When he empties his chest of his heart and empties his body of his soul for me under a starry sky on a Ferris wheel. And I know. In this moment, I know that I’m lost to him. It has been a matter of days. It has been a string of moments. It has not been long enough to tell him, but in my heart, I know I am lost.

  “Did that help?” he asks.

  He searches through the dim light for my fear or my panic, but they aren’t there anymore. He leans closer, so close his breath whispers over my face. I don’t know when he realizes that fear has gone and that something else has come, but I see the change in his eyes.

  I think he might be lost in me, too.

  The inches between our lips disappear. At the first brush of his mouth on mine, I know this kiss will never end. It will live on in my memory for the rest of my life. His lips beg entry, a tentative touch that blazes through my defenses and hastens the rhythm of my heart. I clutch his arm, skin and muscle, satin over steel. A thousand textures collide. The hot silk of his mouth. The sharp, straight edge of his teeth. The firm curve of his lips. The taste of him. God, the taste of him makes me moan. He cups my face, fingers spearing into my hair. I press so close the heat of his body burns through the thin fabric of our shirts.