Get You Some_To format

by Lani Lynn Vale

  “Wow,” I finally said, unable to hold it in any longer. “You Mackenzie men are a bunch of wussies!”

  The man’s eyes came to me, and I found myself grinning at the look of aggravation there. “And you women that belong to us men are annoying.”

  I giggled, my hand going over my mouth as I did, trying in vain to contain my mirth.

  “I’m glad that y’all are having these parties,” Silas murmured, standing up. “Family is the most important thing that there is.”

  That’s when it hit me.

  Family wasn’t only blood. Family didn’t have to be so black and white. They were who you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, would be there if you needed them. I knew, if I needed them, every single person in this room would be there for me if they could be.

  Johnny’s family was my family now.

  They may not be related to me by blood, but they were related to me by heart.

  They were mine, and I’d fight for them. I’d kill for them. I’d die for them.

  Johnny slung his arm around my shoulder and placed a kiss on my head.

  I hadn’t heard him come up behind me.

  “We’ll keep it up, Pops,” Johnny promised.

  The baby in my belly jumped at the sound of his father’s voice, and I felt my heart swell again.

  I knew that Johnny would be everything to this baby—something I’d never had with my own father—and he’d never feel the way I felt. He’d have everything that I didn’t. Love, protection, shelter. Johnny would rather die than ever not give him that.

  “You’ll keep what up?” Sebastian asked as he came up to us, Hank on his back.

  Hank and Sebastian were as thick as thieves since he’d come into our lives, though he wasn’t in it in the same capacity as we’d once thought he would be.

  After Rosie had gone to prison for attempted murder, Sharon had stepped back from working as a lawyer for the state and stepped back into her role as grandmother. Today, she’d come to attend Blaise’s going away party with Hank in tow.

  Johnny was the ‘best uncle ever,’ and Sebastian was the ‘best friend’ and a ‘pseudo-papa.’

  But, the moment that Sebastian was close enough, Hank went to his uncle Johnny, and Johnny didn’t even hesitate.

  Hank was smaller than most kids his age. He had a heart defect that still gave us cause for concern—as was the consensus with his doctors—but over time, he was expected to heal and become a fully functional adult. He was fragile now, but he wouldn’t be forever.

  Johnny still treated him like glass. Like he’d crush him in his strong hands if he held on a little too hard.

  But he wouldn’t.

  After Rosie had done the unthinkable, Sharon had her rights terminated. Never again would Hank have to return to his mother. Never again would he see her—but that was mostly thanks to the twenty-three years she’d be serving in prison after trying to kill me.

  Hank was loved. By me. By his Johnny. By his Pops and his papa. And Baylee, ‘Mamaw’ as he liked to call her, was the soothing voice in the middle of a storm sometimes. The kid would never want for love, that was for sure.

  Then there was Sharon, his ‘Nonnie.’ His world. His support that he couldn’t live without—just like my grandpa had once been for me.

  That’s when a wave of sadness had rolled through me.

  My grandpa had passed away peacefully in his sleep about a week after the entire fiasco with Rosie.

  I’d been absolutely devastated, and still was.

  Yet, day by day, I was slowly getting better.

  The day that Johnny and I got married in a small ceremony outside his family home, right near the lake, had been one of the hardest days of my life.

  Since I was a little girl, I knew that my grandpa would be the one to walk me down the aisle. Yet he hadn’t been there to fulfill that duty.

  What he had done, however, was make sure that I would forever be financially stable.

  Meaning he’d given me not only the proceeds of his bank accounts but about half a million dollars and a note to ‘use it and not feel bad about it.’

  “Tired, buddy?” Johnny asked when Hank laid his head down on Johnny’s shoulder, interrupting me from my morose thoughts.

  “No,” Hank immediately denied.

  Johnny snorted. “Did you eat your corn?”

  “Of course, he did,” Baylee said as she walked up with Sharon. “I made sure his plate was clean myself before I allowed him to have any cake.”

  I leaned forward and stuck my fingers in Hank’s front pockets, unsurprised when I felt something squishy and wet in there.

  I poked another finger in there and pulled out a few kernels, showing them to her.

  Baylee started to laugh, as did the other men.

  I rolled my eyes. “I think I heard something about another certain little boy hiding his food. Maybe you shouldn’t be trusted with kids and their veggies anymore.”

  “Well,” Baylee hesitated. “There was this one time that Johnny filled his cheeks like a freakin’ chipmunk and held the veggies there for what must’ve been thirty minutes before we allowed him to have his dessert. When he got the ice cream, he spit the veggies out, surprising us all.”

  I sighed. “I’m going to have angina before I’m thirty.”

  Sebastian winked at me. “Welcome to the family. Angina for everyone.”

  “YO!”

  We all turned to see Roland walking up behind us, six men in tow.

  That’s when I saw my husband nearly lose it.

  Why?

  Because all of his friends—his buddies from the military—were all standing in front of him.

  I leaned over and took Hank from Johnny’s arms, and then he was swept up in a wave of excitement as all of his friends rushed him.

  Hank was taken from my arms moments later, and I turned to find Silas tucking him up into his chest. “I seem to remember the doctor saying not to lift anything over fifteen pounds. And this little guy, though small, weighs more than fifteen pounds.”

  I winced.

  That was true.

  When I’d unexpectedly found out that I was pregnant, I’d thought I was going to die.

  The blood had not only freaked me out, but it’d also freaked Johnny out.

  So we’d started out my pregnancy, scared to freakin’ death, because apparently, I had what they called placenta previa. That’s where the placenta attaches too close to the cervix.

  After finding out, I was put on bed rest for a few weeks—effectively forcing me to quit my job—and even now, at eight months, I was still only allowed to do very light activity. Meaning Johnny and I hadn’t had sex for a full eight months—not that he was upset about it.

  Another strong kick had me absently pressing my hands to my belly, and I smiled.

  “And who is this lovely lady?” came a honeyed drawl from the man closest to me.

  I smiled at the man who had to be Carlos.

  “This,” Johnny said, bringing me in close to his side and wrapping his arm around my back. “Is my wife, June.”

  Carlos offered me his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  I took his hand and smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you, too.”

  And as I was introduced to the rest of Johnny’s friends, I felt a sense of peace roll through me.

  I may not have had the perfect life, and I certainly hadn’t had it easy, but Johnny had done his best to fix what had been broken in me.

  I no longer freaked out when strange men were near—and that was because of Johnny.

  I no longer had any fears, really. Because who could be afraid with a man like Johnny Mitchell Mackenzie at their side?

  “What are you smiling about?” Johnny’s lips feathered against my ear.

  I smiled up at him, and he dropped a kiss to my lips.

  “I’m smiling because I’m the happiest woman in the world, Johnny.”

/>   He leaned down until he was looking me straight in my eyes. “That’s because a man named Johnny, and a woman named June, will always find a way to be happy. Just ask the original Johnny and June.”

  I thought about what he said, and his words couldn’t be truer.

  We’d overcome so much.

  My fear of being touched.

  His fear of sleeping next to me—which he’d overcome completely while I’d been in the hospital. Seems Johnny had no willpower when it came to me.

  Everything that had happened to us made us the couple we are today, and I’d never forget where we both started.

  “All right, baby. Time to meet the rest of your family.”

  I smiled, and then met the rest of my family, quickly realizing that what Johnny said about them was true.

  They were crude, hard and more than a little intimidating—but they would be the best friends that I’d ever have.

  What’s Next?

  Ain’t Doin’ It

  Cora & Coke

  Book 4 of The Simple Man Series

  Chapter 1

  Grocery List:

  1. Avoid people you know

  2. peanut butter

  Cora

  Chugggggaaaaaa chuggggaaaaaa vroooooooom.

  I ground my teeth together and glared so hard at the wall that it was a wonder it was still standing against my anger.

  I was not a happy girl.

  In fact, if there was one person in the entire freakin’ city of Hostel right now who might kill their neighbor by midnight, it was me.

  “What in the hells bells made whomever was starting that truck—and it was probably a goddamn man—think it was okay to do that at,” I looked over to the clock. “Twelve oh three in the freakin’ morning? Some of us have to freakin’ work tomorrow!”

  The empty house didn’t answer me, and I looked at the offending wall.

  If I didn’t have my bed in this room, I’d literally go to another part of the house.

  Unfortunately, with none of the other rooms having any furniture, that wasn’t really an option for me.

  Not if I wanted to have a good night’s rest.

  Which I needed since tomorrow was my first day of work.

  I, Cora Stoker, was an official animator on the newest children’s animated movie, The Young Ones.

  I’d been drawing since I was young. When I started showing my parents how good I was, they’d enrolled me in art classes by the age of five. By age nine, I was drawing comics and selling them—or my parents were. By age fifteen, I had my own deviant art account and was creating book covers for romance, sci-fi, and paranormal authors.

  By the age of twenty-one, I graduated with my bachelor’s degree in business administration, with a minor in art.

  And now, at the age of twenty-six, I was now the newest member on the biggest team of children’s movie animators in the world.

  I was still quite unsure how I’d managed to get where I was.

  But that three hundred-thousand-dollar incentive bonus should’ve been enough of a ‘you’re making it.’

  Now, I’d bought a house, I had a link to the mother ship in New York, NY, and I could work from home.

  I still was so unsure of myself and my abilities, but my family and my bosses weren’t. They believed in me, so I was going to kick ass, even if I had to kick my own ass to kick ass.

  Vroooooooooooooooooooooom.

  I winced, staring at the wall again, and came to a decision.

  I was going to have to do something. This was non-negotiable.

  I had to be able to link up with the rest of the team tomorrow, and I couldn’t do that if I had no sleep.

  My luck, I’d oversleep, not wake up until twelve, and they’d revoke my bonus.

  Then I’d be homeless because I couldn’t pay my house note or the note on the new car that I’d just acquired.

  Much to my father’s chagrin.

  Gabriel Stoker hadn’t even wanted me to leave town, but I had to. I needed to be independent, and to do that, I couldn’t live at home anymore. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman, well on her way to twenty-six, and I needed to have my own place.

  Even though I missed my family like crazy.

  Vroooooooooooooom.

  I pulled out my phone and texted my dad.

  I knew he’d be awake.

  Cora (12:03AM): If I asked you to, would you come over and fix some guy’s truck that won’t stay running?

  Dad (12:04 AM): No. He’d have to pay me. I don’t do shit for free, yo.

  I grinned, knowing that it was my mother, and not my father who was answering me.

  The first clue was the punctuation. The second was that my father communicated in one or two-word sentences whenever he could manage it. If he couldn’t, he called.

  Cora (12:04 AM): Whoever it is can’t keep his truck started for long, and I’m about to go over there and knife him.

  Dad (12:05 AM): Shoot him. You won’t have to get as close.

  I grinned, loving my mother.

  She wasn’t my biological mother, but you couldn’t tell by the way she treated me.

  She was my best friend, and not a day went by that I didn’t talk to her.

  Moving had been harder on her than it had been on my dad. It was hard not to have your best friend around.

  And she was my best friend.

  Where normal people had kids their own age as their best friend, my mother had been mine instead.

  Sure, there were kids around who were my age, but I was a loner. Always had been, and always would be.

  But I had followed two of those kids, Kayla and Janie—the daughters of a couple of my mother’s close friends—here to Hostel. I needed to grow up and get my own life, and I couldn’t do that if I couldn’t even get out of my parents’ house.

  Which led me to here.

  Vroooooooom. Vroooooooom.

  I should’ve listened to my father.

  He’d told me this was too far out, and that there would likely be something that came up that couldn’t be solved on my own.

  This was a perfect example.

  I was a dummy.

  I hadn’t even made it a week in this place, and I was already having problems.

  Determination making my limbs stiffen with resolve, I threw the covers off of my body and made my way to the closet.

  After selecting a pair of sweatpants, I grabbed the closest sweatshirt—which totally clashed with my bottoms—and made my way to the door. I slipped my feet into my tennis shoes by the door, reached for my concealed carry weapon, and shoved it into my pants.

  My pants sagged, and I hastily tightened the string looping through the waistband.

  Once it was as tight as it was going to get, I searched for my keys, locked up, and then headed in the direction of the sound.

  Due to where my house was located, I decided to cut through the woods instead of walking down to the road. That way would take off about twenty minutes from my trek, and I wanted to get this over with tonight—not tomorrow morning.

  If I were to go by road, it’d take twenty-two minutes. By woods it would take less than five.

  It was a no brainer.

  Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best of shape.

  Sitting on my ass all day drawing didn’t make for the most toned body.

  Every once in a while, I’d pull out a couple of videos and do about a week’s worth of T-25 or Insanity. But then I’d get really, super sore, and forget why I wanted to be fit to begin with.

  Then, I’d pick it back up a couple of months later, and start the cycle all over again.

  I was not overweight, per se, but I was on the verge of being embarrassed about my size.

  On the verge, meaning, I wasn’t quite there yet.

  I was five-foot-three and wore a size eight.

  I was more like an Oompa Loompa than I was a person.

  Vroooooom.


  “You piece of shit,” came a deep, rough, male voice.

  I bit my lip and looked at the barn that was coming into view.

  Would he completely freak out if I walked up to him?

  “Come on, you sweet little bitch. You can do it,” the raspy male voice said.

  What the hell was wrong with his voice? It sounded like he was a pack-a-day smoker who had recently been punched in the throat.

  What the hell?

  “Ahhh, there you are. Fuck you.”

  I found myself smiling at him and his power words.

  Power words were those words that you just had to use when you were trying to make something happen, and you needed that extra umph to make it work—that’s where power words came in.

  My dad was exactly like that.

  I couldn’t tell you how many times when I was a child that I’d walked into the shop and heard my dad or my uncles doing the exact same thing.

  Although my dad had started curbing his mouth when I began repeating those words—at least he did when I was around. But when I snuck into the shop late at night while he was working, I’d hear him use those words.

  “Fuck you, motherfucker,” came another snarl.

  I was smiling when I finally made it around the side of the shop, but that smile left my face when I walked around the corner and saw him.

  He was tall, around six-foot-four at least, if not taller. He was standing, his legs encased in dark washed jeans that were covered in stains. Jeans, I might add, that fit his ass as if they were made for him. A white t-shirt that was stained to hell and back and a red ball cap that looked like it had been taken off his head a hundred thousand times with dirty, grease-stained hands rounded out the image before me.

  He was staring at the engine of an old Chevy, maybe from the fifties? His arms were braced against the side, and he was looking at the motor as if he was trying to figure out the meaning to life—or maybe how to get the damn thing running.

  I didn’t know.

  What I did know was that he was beautiful. Breathtaking.

  Solid, thick, and muscular—he looked like he’d give good hugs. Especially with those long arms of his, thick and strong. The veins in his arms were plentiful and beautiful, too.