Alpha Ever After

by Casey Morgan

I was an adult by legal standards and someone who should be able to make her own decisions. And yet, the thought of disobeying my parents—beyond adding a few off ingredients to cookie dough—was unthinkable.

  There had been a lot of love and kindness in my childhood and I wasn’t exactly one to upset the boat. I would argue and yell, but never fully defy them and I wouldn’t leave against their wishes. Still, with most of my friends gone and so few customers popping in at the bakery, life was lonely.

  Slight movement caught my eye and I looked up and out the long line of front windows again, thinking I must have missed something last time when I had become distracted by the snow.

  Was a customer coming in?

  My eyes met a man’s—dark brown, almost black, like the chocolate chips I had just mixed. They were unbearably sad, as if the whole world had forgotten him somehow.

  And yet, I smiled.

  I smiled to let him know that not everything was bad. I smiled to let him know there was goodness in the world, and that he wasn’t alone. Something in my soul wanted to soothe this stranger.

  He didn’t open the door or come into the Bakery. He just stood outside in the cold and falling snow, staring through the windows with a depth of longing in his eyes.

  I kept my smile and tried to look as inviting as possible. Meanwhile, I gave him a quick once over.

  The stranger was extremely tall. It looked like he was very muscular under the piles of clothes that he covered his body with: old loose jeans, a dark blue hoodie pulled up over his hair, and a torn brown duster coat to try and keep the wind out.

  He had a worn backpack on his shoulder, covered with rough sewn patches; it was military green. He was a drifter.

  Maybe I should have felt scared. So many of the people who came by our shop these days were malicious. Most of them were gang members. We had had rocks thrown through our windows, graffiti painted on our walls, and a few robberies.

  Multiple times, I had begged my father to get a gun, but he wouldn’t do that; nor would he move. When we called the police, the officers would just shrug—too underpaid and low staffed to handle the criminal activity on the streets of Gray Acres.

  Somehow, though, I could tell that this stranger meant me no harm. His eyes were too lost and too sad. I had a feeling that all he needed was a chance to not feel invisible.

  I moved down the counter to the display case and slid it open. Grabbing a cinnamon roll that had been baked this morning, I raised my hand up and out to offer it to the man. His deep eyes took in my movement and widened slightly in surprise.

  His eyes were really beautiful, elegantly shaped with long dark lashes and flecks of amber that seemed to glow out of the dark depths of his irises. The face that held them was beautiful too, with a rugged, angled jaw line covered with a rough beard, high cheek bones and thick brown eyebrows.

  His lips, narrow but well-shaped, parted as he looked at my offer. I assumed he was hungry, since most drifters were.

  Giving my hand a quick wiggle, I offered the cinnamon roll to him again. The movement seemed to shake him out of his hypnotized state.

  He dropped his head, breaking the connection between us, and looked down at the sidewalk. Shoulders bent, he moved on; his long stride taking him quickly out of view.

  I hurried around the counter and ran to the windows—cinnamon roll still in my hand. My hand brushed the front door handle, but I didn’t run after him.

  I wasn’t sure why.

  I told myself that it was because it was cold out and I didn’t have a coat.

  But maybe the truth was that I was a little scared of him after all.

  Chapter Two

  Celeste

  Mary came into the shop just a few minutes later. My best friend shook the snow from her curly, red hair and brushed it off her old gray jacket, before taking the coat off and hanging it on the employee coatrack.

  My only friend left in town, Mary was pretty much in the same situation I was in. Her parents wouldn’t let her leave either, so she was stuck here working for us.

  “Ugh,” she said, rubbing her hands together and shaking her shoulders. “With Valentine’s Day just a few days away, you would think that it would warm up a bit. I’m so tired of feeling cold.”

  My mother poked her head in from the kitchen.

  “Is that Mary?”

  My friend gave her a little wave.

  “Come back here to the kitchen a bit and warm up, child,” my mother instructed her. “I have one of the ovens open.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Blenko,” Mary chimed.

  She came behind the front counter and gave me a questioning look.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I shook my head and continued to roll up batter for the cookies I was making.

  “No, I’m fine. Just lost in thought. Barely any customers today and Mom was harping on me for making cookies. There’s nothing else to do.”

  I leaned towards her when she got close enough to me on her way to the kitchen.

  “She wants me to read my Bible,” I whispered and rolled my eyes.

  Mary gave a snort of a laugh but covered her small mouth quickly. Her blue eyes sparkled over her hand.

  “Yeah, that’s what my mom tells me to do when I’m bored as well. It’s their answer to everything,” she whispered, and rolled her eyes back at me, just slightly.

  One of the double doors swung open and Mom looked through again.

  “Come on, child.”

  She gestured for Mary to get into the kitchen.

  “Your mother would never forgive me if you caught a cold. Come in here and warm up your bones.”

  My friend gave me a quick smile and hurried into the kitchen. She was always the good girl, obedient and soft spoken.

  Our parents belonged to the same church, The Path of God, and their very conservative beliefs shaped both our lives.

  Mary wasn’t allowed to go to college, either. Our church believed in sheltering ourselves from the outside world, not to mention the fact that they believed womens’ jobs were to be wives and mothers, so they didn’t see the need for higher education.

  My parents let her work part time of the bakery. We couldn’t really afford it, but they felt it was necessary to do good within the church. Plus, Mary’s parents wanted her to be good in the kitchen, for when she eventually became a wife and mother. She wasn’t.

  The front door opened, and a cold breeze filled the room. I turned, with a smile on my face, ready to greet a customer and found Big Dog standing in muddy boots in our doorway.

  “Smells like heaven in here!”

  He sniffed exaggeratedly and stalked towards the counter.

  Big Dog wasn’t big. He was just barely taller than my five-foot-four frame, and his short stature made him extra mean.

  He walked with an exaggerated swagger, one hand clamped onto his belt buckle and the other swinging back and forth. He was getting mud all over the wooden floors I had mopped this morning.

  I frowned as he approached and pulled back from the counter.

  He ignored my displeasure, leaned over the counter and swiped at the red sweater I was wearing. He succeeded in getting a hold on my arm and pulling me towards him. My nose wrinkled as the smell of his cologne overtook me—it was much too strong.

  “Maybe it’s just you, princess,” he mumbled, his eyes running over my body and stopping to stare at my chest.

  I folded my arms and hunched my shoulders. Yes, God had blessed me with a big chest and no, he didn’t need to look at it. There was something about Big Dog that made me want to act invisible. I knew he had unclean thoughts about me, and I didn’t like it.

  The small rough hand he put on my arm gripped me tighter and he pulled me towards him until my hip hit the shelf below the counter. He was strong for his size, which made sense since he was one of the local gang’s enforcers. The Southland gang had been bugging and harassing us for months.

  His shoulder muscles bubbled up
under the black jacket her wore. Black seemed to be the standard of dress for the gang members: black shirts, jackets, ripped black jeans and various items of leather. Today, Big Dog had on a leather vest.

  His beady eyes bore into me from his overly round face.

  “When are you going to let me taste your cream, honey?” he whispered close to my ear. “I bet you’re the sweetest thing in here. And the warmest, too.”

  My body started shaking with rage. I had wanted to punch Big Dog in the face the first time he walked in here, but my father’s strict rule of non-violence kept my arms locked at my sides. My fists still clenched, though.

  The double doors to the kitchen swung open and my father walked though. Dad always had a commanding presence and he kept his head held high.

  “Mr. Big Dog,” he said, his slight accent still apparent in the nasal quality of his voice. “We have an agreement that you do not manhandle my daughter.”

  Big Dog dropped the hold on my sweater, but not until he licked his lips and blew me a kiss. The thug shifted his weight and rolled his shoulders back. A snake tattooed on his neck became visible.

  “We also have an agreement that you pay us on the first of the month.”

  He thumbed the side of his bulbous nose and raised his busy black brows. Those harry face caterpillars were the only visible hair on Big Dog’s body; his scalp was shaved clean.

  “Dominick is aware that you have been having problems getting customers due to the streets of Gray Acres getting more dangerous. One would think that you would pay us—on time—to protect this place. Perhaps it would assist your business to pay us a bit more. Things are getting worse and worse out there.”

  My whole body was hot with anger. I could feel my cheeks burning red and I had to physically clamp my mouth shut. I hated how the Southland gang was manipulating us. They did the damage that we supposedly paid for protection from.

  My father glanced at me and I knew it was to make sure I kept my mouth under control. Then he looked back at the thug.

  He crossed his skinny arms in front of his chest and rose up to his full height. My father is not a small man. His limbs are skinny, but he is at least six feet tall and he likes to emphasize that point whenever Big Dog comes in. Apparently posturing is okay in his book, just not fighting.

  “If Mr. Dominick knows that I have less customers, then he also knows that I have less money to pay him.”

  Dad looked down his sharp, hawk-like nose at the gang enforcer.

  “But I will make this deal in the spirit of friendship. I will give your members a free pastry when they watch the store. But I have to see them working. None of this ‘boys just passing by’ stuff!”

  My father had the tendency to act and talk like this whole situation was just a bunch of young boys acting up, rather than what it was— a highly dangerous street gang that beat and killed people in our area. He tutted and admonished them as if he could ground them to their rooms or deny them dinner.

  Dad walked around me and opened the display case. After pulling out an extra large apple strudel, one that was still warm, he set it down on a napkin in front of Big Dog.

  “Tell Mr. Dominick that I will have his money tomorrow. I just need to get my budget in order.”

  I knew that was code for selling more of my mother’s jewelry. Almost every precious thing she had ever been gifted or inherited was gone. It pained her, I knew, yet she never said anything to my father. But I could see the sadness in her eyes when he took things out of her jewelry box.

  The two men before me stared at each other a long moment. I felt my breath catch as Big Dog seemed to consider my father’s offer. But he wasn’t saying yes or no yet. Maybe he was wondering if agreeing to such a deal would cause him to lose face in the eyes of the other gang members.

  Tension crept into my shoulders and I realized that the way I had balled my fists was causing my nails to cut into the flesh of my hands. But I couldn’t release or relax.

  Big Dog grinned widely; a move that displayed the gold covers he had put on his teeth. He reached forward and took the offered napkin. With his fat, stumpy fingers, he pulled off a corner of a pastry and stuck it in his mouth.

  “Mmmmm,” he groaned, while chewing with his mouth open. “You’re lucky you cook good, Mr. Blenko.”

  He held the rest of the pastry aloft in an odd salute and backed towards the door.

  “I will tell Dominick about your offer. If you get the money in tomorrow, I’m sure he will be agreeable.”

  The gangster pulled the front door open, turned abruptly and strutted down the sidewalk with his exaggerated gate. When he was out of sight, I unclenched my fists.

  Mary and my mother must have been listening at the kitchen door, because just then they both popped their heads inside the bakery and looked at us. Mary was shaking slightly; she wasn’t good with confrontation or arguments. I, however, lived for them and I was disgusted by my father’s dealings.

  My face felt hot. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and glared up at him.

  “You just invited that whole gang in, you know. They’re going to eat everything we make.”

  My father turned slightly, eyeing me now—he had been staring in the direction Big Dog had walked when he left our bakery. His face was emotionless, and his mouth formed a thin line.

  Part of me wanted to turn away from his glare, but I couldn’t stop myself from speaking.

  “No one will ever step foot in here with those thugs constantly coming inside. At least before, they left the customers alone. You…you promised them food when they come in, like they were distant cousins or something!”

  Dad put a hand on the counter and leaned.

  “What would you have me do, Celeste?”

  His voice was even but not hard.

  “You know the police do nothing. I find it best to treat these men as human. Men who can be reasoned with and negotiated with. If I don’t believe that, then there is little hope in our situation.”

  His response was open and honest, and it made me uncomfortable. I dropped my eyes.

  Father continued as he strode forward and put his hands on my shoulders.

  “I know what you’re thinking in terms of alternative solutions, but none of them are any that I would agree to. I will not have a gun in this house, Daughter. It will only cause them to bring theirs. I am keeping you and your mother safe in the most logical way I know how.”

  He leaned down a bit and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

  I couldn’t think of any way to retort or change his mind, so I bit my lip and kept silent. Father would not be swayed. I knew he was doing what he thought was just and right.

  He was a man of values and integrity—part of me was ashamed that my response was as far from his as it could possibly be.

  I wanted to rip Big Dog, his boss Dominick and every other Southland gang member limb from limb for even looking our way.

  Chapter Three

  Celeste

  The small bedroom that was mine was positioned above the bakery’s seating area on the second floor. My windows looked down to the street below and to the building across from us. It had been empty for about a year. And it was a sight that constantly depressed me.

  When I was a little girl, the street had been full, lined with shops of every sort and the families that ran them. A dress shop used to be opposite my window and it brought me joy every morning when I was a child to watch them put out the display dresses.

  Old Woman Judy was a masterful seamstress. Her dresses were gorgeous, and as a child, I longed to have one.

  Every morning, her two shop assistants would roll out a clothing bar and two stands. Sometimes they would try to catch the shopper’s eye with bright colors: cobalt blue, deep red or lemony yellow. Other days, they would just stack dresses of any color on the display and it was like looking at a rainbow.

  Seeing what they put out every morning was one of my true joys. When the shop closed, I was fifteen, and part of me died a lit
tle. I never was able to buy one of Mrs. Judy’s dresses. Not only were they too expensive, but they also weren’t conservative enough for my parents’ rules about how I was to dress. It remained a dream that never came true.

  There was no riot of color to cheer me when I looked out my bedroom window that night. It was just gray: gray building, gray sky, the gray of old snow that had been sitting on the streets for too long, mixing with the trash and dirt. The sight was depressing, so I closed my blinds and flopped onto my bed.

  There had been no more customers after Big Dog came in. That was often the case, as if his mere presence put a curse on the place that wouldn’t wash off till the next morning.

  Mary and I had finished my cookies, scrubbed the mud from the floors and waxed the wood to a shiny finish. If we had any customers tomorrow, they would find the Crescent Moon Bakery perfectly clean.

  I burnt my chocolate chip cookies slightly, an act that earned me another lecture about money from my mom and a frown from my dad. So, I sent half a dozen home with Mary for her little brothers and sister and stashed the rest in my bedroom.

  I thought I had been stealthy about it, but after our humble dinner, Mom had caught me by the arm and pinched my hip with her boney fingers. She didn’t lecture; she just frowned and tutted.

  Laying stomach down on my mattress, I pulled the Tupperware container full of cookies out from under my bed and popped the lid open. I liked my cookies slightly burnt—I wasn’t ever certain if I subconsciously burnt them on purpose.

  I put a crisp cookie to my lips and bit off a chunk. It practically oozed chocolate. Two cups of chocolate chips had probably been too much. I savored the flavor of my baking experiment, tasting the hints of cinnamon and nutmeg I had added in.

  It was good. A nice treat after a rough day. And a tiny way to rebel against my parents and the whole depressing world.

  I ate my second cookie while staring at the ceiling. The thought of my mother pinching my hips came to me and I didn’t reach for a third.

  Was I really getting fat?

  I rolled over and got up to look at myself in the full-length mirror I had attached to my bedroom door. To me, I looked the same as I always looked: perfectly curvy, if I did say so myself.